A four-year-old on a riding lawn mower did it.
Do you have any idea what is more annoying than a four-year-old going “momomomomomomomomomomom?” A four-year-old bopping his head to the music pumped in his headphones yelling “momomomomomomomomomomomomom” over the roar of the riding lawn mower to his mother who doesn’t have headphones because someone took all the padding out of the other pair of headphones and lost one of the ears.
As an aside, do you know how difficult it is to lose an ear to a headphone that could cover Dumbo’s lefty? I’m guessing it will turn up sometime during the winter as a sled.
I let The Boy mow the lawn today. Before you get your panties in a wad about safety, he was on my lap. Of course I would have let him do it himself if that mower didn’t have that silly sensor in the seat that requires like 80 pounds on it or the motor conks out. Don’t think I didn’t think about loading up that bad boy with cement blocks but even as country as we are here, you really can’t let your four-year-old mow the lawn if he is riding around on a tractor with a Japanese motor. Thus the parental involvement.
Usually I let him sit on my lap and then I steer but since he brought me a Sierra Nevada and put the bottle in the bottle holder because “that’s what the holder is for, Mom, beer,” I have increased his privileges.
So I put the blade down to 4 and I let him mow. This pisses off my husband because mowing on “4” is pretty much the equivalent to making the yard look like a big mound of dirt. He would prefer that I mow on “6,” which means I would get to mow again in about 3 hours. No, thank you.
The Boy mowed in circles. Lots and lots and lots of circles. They were perfect. I was physically nauseated. Then I saw the copperhead and I started to scream manically like a seven-year-old who just found out she got front row tickets to Hannah Montana and she gets to have pizza for dinner. I used to be a bad-ass. I remember those days. Now I’m yelling like a lunatic about a foot-long poisonous snake that is, follow this, slithering AWAY from me. And I’m on a riding lawn mower. My husband ran around the corner of the house. He looked at me. He looked at the snake. The snake looked at him. He looked at me.
D: You should probably just kill it by chopping its head off with a shovel.
K: BUT I DON’T HAVE A SHOVEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
D: There’s one right there (pointing to the shovel a foot away from me).
K: I DON’T SEE A SHOVEL WHERE’S THE SHOVEL HAS ANYONE SEEN THE SHOVEL?
D: Right there (with that look on his face like, “I-thought-this-one-was-a-step-up-from-the-last-wife-who-was-a-lesbian-but-maybe-I-was-wrong” face).
I picked up the shovel and killed that copperhead like the warrior goddess princess that I am.
And went back to riding around on my mower in circles.