When we moved into this house, The Husband was all, “I’m gonna need a BIG tractor to mow this lawn.”
Little did I know that meant that I was going to need a big tractor to mow the lawn. If you are new to this blog, you haven’t yet experienced my hatred of all things related to outdoor lawn care. My first piece of real estate I purchased was a condo and it was a condo for a reason. A friend asked me why I wasn’t getting a townhouse with a cute little 3 feet by 3 feet front yard and a matching 3 X 3 back yard. Cause, people, I don’t want to mow that. Or in a case of a lawn that big, I don’t want to have to cut it with scissors twice a week in the spring.
My husband? He would be delirious on a hundred acres. Except I missed the point that he just doesn’t want to be able to SEE anyone. It has nothing to do with the sprawling land or rolling hills. If there were some magic potion that would make your neighbor’s house disappear, I think The Husband would live on a 1/5 acre. So here we sit on 3+ acres, 1 of which is cleared with grass. I use the word “grass” loosely because to have grass, you have to get rid of the 2 feet of leaves stifling it from above. This grass? Never gets cut. When we moved in last year, the neighbors used to offer to cut it for us.
I swear to God.
Then we put up a fence and now it looks like we are growing it long for the horses we don’t have. It hit about 14 inches and went to seed. The Husband came home and said, “I think we should cut the grass today.”
Last time I checked, that mower has one seat. We means, “I’ll cut the grass and you can continue to watch these animals everyone else calls ‘children,’ or you can mow the grass.”
I kinda like to mow the grass. Sometimes it takes me hours. It’s either that or watch the kids. That, my friends, is what we like to refer to as a no-brainer. The Husband comes outside with the kids in various restraining devices and moves the lawn furniture around because he knows I’m just gonna run it over. Today he watched in disbelief as I barreled down the hill at about 10 miles a hour. It doesn’t seem that impressive because you haven’t seen the craters that form some sort of underground drainage system in my yard. I hit one and looked over to see the look of disbelief on his face when I got the tractor airborne. It was only for a brief second but I lifted my Sierra Nevada to him in salute and continued to sing along to the Cold Play blaring in my earphones. I whipped around on two wheels and found myself suddenly stuck. BOTH back wheels spinning in the dirt. I began to bounce up and down, trying to get traction and was forced to climb down and push it out of the hole.
The Husband stood at the top of the hill with his mouth wide open. I think I saw a fly go in there. I waved again and I was off in a flash. Sure my days of high speed driving are gone, but every once in a while I can grab a little thrill on the tractor. Which does a great job drowning out the sound of crying kids.