I fought the lawn ...
I was reduced to tears by a lawn mower today. Pathetic, huh?
This being Georgia, the weather is warming up and the grass (well, mainly the weeds, really, but those compose much of my lawn) is beginning to shoot up. That combined with a notice from The Powers That Be telling me that "Lawn mowing begins March 1," and warning that violators would be cited, led me to drag the lawn mower out of the shed this afternoon.
The first thing I noticed about the lawnmower was that it was heavy ... because the bag was still stuffed completely full with grass clippings from the last time it had been used, months ago. After spending a fair amount of time transferring the enormous amount of grass from the bag into a trash bag, I set about the business of starting the lawn mower.
I pressed the primer button three times, just like the instructions said, and started pulling on the starter cord. I pulled and pulled and pulled again, with absolutely no result. Not even a hint at a sputter. I checked the gas, there was plenty, pushed the primer button a few more times, and pulled some more, and then pulled again, and again, and well, you get the point.
By this point I was utterly frustrated. I decided I'd better just swallow my pride and go ask for help. Only problem is there is only ONE house nearby where the man of the house isn't deployed. I went over there, knocked on the door, and got no answer. I know they were home, I could hear talking inside. But either they didn't hear me, or they just didn't feel like answering the door, so I went back and tried to start the mower again, and got the same result as before.
This is the part where I cried. It didn't last long, but I felt very sorry for myself for a few minutes. Here I was, trying to be self-reliant, doing things that needed to be done, things I would normally rely on Jesse for. And failing miserably at it. And what did I have to look forward to, but 10 more months of trying to start lawn mowers alone? Stupid mower!
After my little pity-party, I went back outside, punched the primer a few more times, pulled until my arm hurt, and finally got the lawn mower started. And mowed the whole lawn. And I felt pretty good when I finished--it's funny how the things frustrate me the most often end up being the things I feel proudest about accomplishing. Guess I should remember that, huh?
This being Georgia, the weather is warming up and the grass (well, mainly the weeds, really, but those compose much of my lawn) is beginning to shoot up. That combined with a notice from The Powers That Be telling me that "Lawn mowing begins March 1," and warning that violators would be cited, led me to drag the lawn mower out of the shed this afternoon.
The first thing I noticed about the lawnmower was that it was heavy ... because the bag was still stuffed completely full with grass clippings from the last time it had been used, months ago. After spending a fair amount of time transferring the enormous amount of grass from the bag into a trash bag, I set about the business of starting the lawn mower.
I pressed the primer button three times, just like the instructions said, and started pulling on the starter cord. I pulled and pulled and pulled again, with absolutely no result. Not even a hint at a sputter. I checked the gas, there was plenty, pushed the primer button a few more times, and pulled some more, and then pulled again, and again, and well, you get the point.
By this point I was utterly frustrated. I decided I'd better just swallow my pride and go ask for help. Only problem is there is only ONE house nearby where the man of the house isn't deployed. I went over there, knocked on the door, and got no answer. I know they were home, I could hear talking inside. But either they didn't hear me, or they just didn't feel like answering the door, so I went back and tried to start the mower again, and got the same result as before.
This is the part where I cried. It didn't last long, but I felt very sorry for myself for a few minutes. Here I was, trying to be self-reliant, doing things that needed to be done, things I would normally rely on Jesse for. And failing miserably at it. And what did I have to look forward to, but 10 more months of trying to start lawn mowers alone? Stupid mower!
After my little pity-party, I went back outside, punched the primer a few more times, pulled until my arm hurt, and finally got the lawn mower started. And mowed the whole lawn. And I felt pretty good when I finished--it's funny how the things frustrate me the most often end up being the things I feel proudest about accomplishing. Guess I should remember that, huh?
posted by Rebekah at 10:53 PM
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