Adventures in Mowing the Lawn – Part I
Pull up the handle, pull the cord, sput… sput… sput.
Stand up, wipe the sweat from her forehead, pull up the handle, pull the cord, and sput, sput, sput, sput, sput, sput, whirrrrrrrrr……..we have lift off.
Got half the yard mowed before Michy needed to check on the hamburger patties on the grill. Also, the front yard is separated into two sections by a sidewalk – so she turned the mower off, checked the hamburger patties, flipped and seasoned them, and then moved to the other side of the yard.
Pull up the handle, pull the cord, and the cord makes it about halfway out before it gets stuck and won’t move anymore. Michy is now flailing backward, holding the lawnmower starter cord in her hands, and the lawnmower is lifting up off the ground. Darn.
Get a footing, move the mower to the sidewalk this time, plant foot firmly on the mower, grab the cord and pull….
“Geez!” Michy forgot to pull up the handle. Okay, plant the foot, pull up the handle, and pull on the cord… sput. Again, plant the foot, pull up the handle, and pull on the cord…sput, sput.
AGAIN, plant the foot, pull up the handle, and pull on the cord – cord gets stuck again, and this time, Michy plants her butt firmly on the ground, with the lawnmower threatening to come after her.
Ouch!
Eleven year old boy laughs out loud. Michy gives a look that says he better shut up or risk death, and he says, “It’s not very funny, is it?”
Michy mouths the word, ‘No’ very slowly, and shakes her head. She is beginning to wonder if this boy who calls her mom wasn’t accidentally switched at birth.
“You think you can do it? Go for it.”
Michy throws the cord back toward the ground and it gets sucked back into the machine and now the boy is trying it.
“I got it. I can do it. Rian used to have me do it for him all the time.”
“All right, Mr. Smarty-pants, show me,” Michy says, and plants her sweaty self down on the front steps, thinking she might just spend the night there, not wanting to get up and move ever again.
Only problem is, the wing-span of an eleven year old boy is not quite as long as it needs to be to pull the handle up and the cord at the same time.
“Mom, Rian used to hold the handle up for me when I pulled it,” he tells Michy.
“So?” Michy asks, still considering spending the night on the front porch.
“Well, can you hold it for me?” he questions.
Michy sighs and picks herself up, slowly and begrudgingly, off the front steps and walks over to hold the handle up while the boy pulls the cord. Only thing is, the boy can’t seem to pull the cord more than halfway out before he almost falls over on top of the mower.
Not to be defeated, Michy says she’ll try again. Once again, planting her foot firmly on the mower, she reaches for the cord and pulls, while the boy holds the handle up this time. The cord once again only comes about half way out before it gets stuck, and the entire lawnmower flips itself over, and the handle of the cord is ripped out of her hands.
The palm side of Michy’s fingers are now purple, making it very hard to type, and Michy believes she has rebroken that middle finger she injured awhile back, but she is a stubborn redheaded Texan woman, and she will not be defeated.
She flips the mower back over, determined to start it this time, plants her foot firmly, grabs the cord, yells at the boy to hold on tight, and pull with all her might…sput, sput…sput.
After several more attempts, the final tally seems to be three broken finger nails, one broken toe nail (don’t wear flip flops to mow the yard), a sliced thumb that stings like nobody’s business, and a possible broken finger.
By this point, Michy is in intense pain, her legs will hardly hold her up anymore, and she is about to break down in tears, when the boy, in his infinite wisdom says to her, “You know mama, it was never this hard when Rian mowed the yard.”
“Yeah,” Michy says, taking her cell phone from her back pocket and tossing it to the boy, “then you call him, and you two can do the yard. I quit.”
And with that, Michy walks in a huff into the house and throws herself down on the couch and sobs uncontrollably. Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite uncontrollably, and maybe there weren’t any real tears, but man, oh man, she wasn’t having a good night for lawn mowing.
Lawn Mower, One
Michy, none
The boy child walked in the door, saw the one he calls mother on the couch, opened his mouth to say something, and then, seeing the look on her face, simply put the cell phone down on the arm of the couch and said, “I think I’ll go in the back room.”
Smart boy.
Stay tuned for Adventures in Mowing the Lawn Part II – Will Michy Be Defeated By the Evil Weed King? (coming soon!)
