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    I have discovered the answer to the crop circle mystery…

    June 14, 2009

    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).


    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.

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    I had complete and utter faith that this man can care for my children while I’m gone

    July 15, 2008

    Then I went to mow the lawn last night.

    Kristen, why were you mowing the lawn last night?

    Because, Internet, this man will not stop until I sweat blood before I get on the Virgin flight on Thursday morning at oh-dark-thirty. He knows I owe him for those four days of freedom, also known as Blogher. But the man is going to make me pay until the bitter end. Do NOT be surprised if you see pictures of me rerunning the brake lines on his truck before Thursday.

    At least he’s subtle about it.

    “Hey, Baby, we are going camping.”


    So after YESTERDAY, I went outside and mowed the lawn when my husband got home from work. He said he would, and I quote, “watch the kids.” Pretty easy to do if one is in a backpack, right?

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    He thinks my tractor’s sexy

    May 22, 2008

    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.

    The Baby Crying

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    Why wait for their first crappy rock concert to ruin their hearing?

    May 5, 2008

    The Boys

    And eye protection?  We spit on eye protection.

    Another possible caption:  first and probably last time I will ever find The Husband mowing the lawn.

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    He thinks my tractor’s sexy

    October 29, 2007

    Recap of the party:  there was a moon bounce.  Need I say more?  Mommy loves her a moon bounce.  The food was not so bad and I forgot to put out the spoons but WOOHOO to all you people who either ate the chili or butternut squash soup with your hands or who went rummaging in my drawers.  It’s been a while since I’ve had a party so I was slightly off my game.  But who can argue with a party that ends with balancing 15 pound pumpkins on your head or screen printing t-shirts in the basement.  Now THAT is a good time.

    Which led us to yesterday.  We are the only people I know that someone thinks it’s a good idea to cut down all the branches on all the trees in our own personal forest and then leave them on the only part of our property that is lawn.

    We are also surrounded by people who moved to the forest to then care meticulously for the forest.  All 9,000 trees on every piece of property are products of loving care.  Every leaf–picked up and recycled in a quiet ceremony.

    Hello, People.  Why in the HELL would you move to a treed lot if your purpose wasn’t to never do one bit of yard work again?  Apparently we didn’t get that memo when we moved.  And then we decided to compound it by having a family member who loves to trim but hates to police up the branches.  OK, there are two of us in this family but one of us was smart enough to realize that those branches aren’t picking themselves up so I say, “let ’em all grow whichever way works for them.”  I say, “let the trees be trees.”

    So after The Great Deforestation of 2007, our guests were able to appreciate that our property has more sunlight AND we could have about 30 bonfires with all the piles littering the lawn.

    I found out that one of our neighbors that we love had expressed a little concern with the condition of our yard.

    So few people like us.  Why do we have to torture them too?  I dragged the fam into the yard yesterday after our last guests left and we spent 5 hours picking up branches and having them magically disappear in a manner which I’m sure meets county code regulations.  Actually I spent 5 hours loading up the tractor and bringing piles to my husband while he occasionally complained that I wasn’t bringing the piles close enough to him and he was having to do more work by walking an extra 2 feet to get the branches.

    My husband, however, is the king of multi-tasking.  He completed this feat while balancing a glass of beer in his hand.

    Now how is that for talent?

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