Mowing Time

I mowed the yard yesterday.



Maybe a more apt description would be to say that I bush-hogged the jungle.

While most of our neighbors have mowed at least once or more by now, we procrastinated. I like to think we saved money by not filling our gas tanks yet, but in actuality, we've just been too busy.

There are three houses for sale that directly border our house or yard. The timing of that doesn't show that we're bad neighbors. Our dog isn't even a big barker (our kids on the other hand....). Seriously, one household is undergoing a divorce, another has bought a lot in a new subdivision nearby, and the third one is being sold after the death of a spouse.

I told Bruce if we put off mowing long enough, there was a good chance one of those three would consider our yard such a bad reflection of the neighborhood that they'd mow it for us. I could have held out a bit longer, I think.

But the weather was so gorgeous that I couldn't resist. Besides, it was either mow or clean house. That was the easiest decision I made all day.

I'll procrastinate just a bit longer on house cleaning, but the hubby and I have date plans for the next two weekends, so the house will get a good scrubbing before the sitter comes. Sometimes I just need some good motivation. (No silly comments about how my family should be motivation enough. I know where several of you live and I know how to use toilet paper appropriately and still make it look like someone from the youth group did it!)

Back to the yard. I love mowing. I started doing it a few years ago, mainly because I got jealous of Bruce coming home from work and immediately heading out after supper to mow while I got to continue my harrowing day with three preschoolers. He'd sit out there, gently bouncing around on the seat of the riding mower, headphones on, listening to his MP3 player. I'd glance out the window in between chastising one child for this and wiping something sticky off of another child, and I'd think, "Something is not right here."

I never got to mow when I was growing up. My brothers did the mowing and probably didn't care for it. But within the sole daughter in the house beat a heart that was longing to mow.

My jealousy of Bruce's solitude provided me the motivation I needed. So one day, I asked Bruce if I could mow instead of him. He seemed relieved. Crazy man didn't quite understand the nuances of what he was getting into when he said, "Sure."

It was wonderful. I didn't even take the MP3 player he offered to loan me. Are you kidding? I'd had noise bouncing around in the house and my head all day. The drone of the mower was all I needed. White noise, here I come!

I've been the mower in the house for a while now, and it works for us. On days like today, when I "bush-hog" Bruce comes home and uses his handy-dandy "sweeper" attachment that hooks onto the back of the mower, and he picks up all the mounds of grass left behind. We use the clippings as mulch.

I get a tan, too. It's a farmer's tan, but I'm not in a bathing suit enough for anyone except other vacationers to know my secret. What do I care if they think I look like a hick?

I have it so good. I mow, I get cheap mulch and a bit of silence, and I tan.