The other day, my husband walked into the kitchen where I was sitting, doing I-forget-what, and announced he was going to go mow the lawn. I don’t completely understand what happened next (I must have blacked out or something), but before I knew it, I was saying, “I’ll help…I can mow while you edge!”
I know! Weird, right?
I’m not a natural yard person. I like to think I am sometimes, especially when I get the urge to buy flowers and plant them in the concrete planters I bought several years ago during another, particularly expensive bout of self-delusion. My husband would vouch for this, and agree I’m long on ideas and short on follow-through. He knows exactly what I mean when I say, “you know what we ought to do?” He braces himself against his chair, and waits for the blow to fall.
“You know what we ought to do? We ought to dig a flower bed over there between the pool and the fence…wouldn’t that look really cool?
‘And,” I usually continue, “you know what else we could do? We could lay a stone walkway that runs from the back porch to a small stone patio where we can put a gazebo with a hot tub!”
I repeat, I’m not a natural yard person. I have to work at it. So, anyway, I get about three-quarters of the backyard done when my sister shows up for a surprise visit. I shut the mower down, and leave it where it sits. Hubby gets done edging and takes up the mowing where I left off. I’m half-watching him from the kitchen window and half-listening to what my sister is saying, when I see him look around at what I’ve done, shake his head slowly from side-to-side, and throw up his hand in resignation.
I cannot believe my eyes! And I cannot believe he has no idea whatsoever of what all I go through to mow HIS lawn. If I’m not battling heat stroke, I’m battling boredom. As a result, I like to just wander where the mower takes me. I am careful, though, to keep the rows straight (or sorta-straight, since I am not—contrary to what he may have told you—completely ignorant of the finer points of lawn care), but sometimes the yard ends up looking like a maze right out of Alice in Wonderland. (I can’t remember if there was a maze in Alice in Wonderland…it just seems like the kind of story that ought to have one.)
Apparently, I am, deep down, a free spirit. And, apparently, deep down, he’s not.
So, perhaps next time, he’ll think twice about accepting my offer to help, and perhaps, next time, I’ll think twice about offering it. Either way, I think we’ll both be better off. I know the lawn will.