I fought the lawn..mower....

And it totally kicked my butt.

I tried to be such a nice almost-wife last week, and mow the front yard. I enjoy mowing the grass, especially if I had my ipod (which I didn't because I was listening out for crazy child on the front porch, which is 20 feet high so she is protected). The owners of the house were nice enough to leave us a lawnmower, which is a little broken. Meaning, the self-propulsion is non functioning. Which I didn't think was that big of a deal. WRONG! Our front yard is a little pitched, not close to as steep as the back. I thought the lawnmower was trying to kill me! I literally had to push against a tree and the steps to get the thing to go up the hills. It was so hard to turn, I was doing a 20 point turn. It kept getting it's wheels stuck in chipmunk holes, and a few times I thought I might have to abandon ship.

I sure was glad I wore my workout clothes, because it was the hardest workout I've had in a while, and that's saying a lot because Nick kicks butt in writing up nasty workouts for me to do.

Luckily halfway through the side yard, it started sputtering. And I had noticed earlier, when I was wheeling the devil machine out of the garage, that our gas cans are empty. I willed the thing to quit. But that mower was bound and determined to sap every last energy reserve I had. About the time when I was going to throw up, it finally gave up the fight. Yes, I still had half the side yard to mow. And I had mowed the first part in a weird shape, trying to figure out how I could constantly be mowing downhill (didn't work). Did I throw my child in the car, run to fill up the gas tank, and come back and finish the last little bit? No! I can only push my self so far, and that thing quit first. I am very competitive, like if I have someone running with me I could run miles and miles farther than if I ran by myself. When running by myself, I give myself little goals to reach. 'OK Jenn, just make it to that mailbox.' Even though it's 3 feet from me, I feel a little boost as I reach it. I typically, by myself, would quit running before I got home, because I promised myself if I just made it to that tree, I could quit. But I was not quitting before that mower.

So I did what any woman would do: I pushed the mower back into the garage, leaving it catty-cornered so no regular sized car could park in the garage,(well, most women would leave the mower in the yard, at least I made it in the garage) went in the house, grabbed a water, called Lacey inside, stripped naked, and layed my stinky, sweaty self on the cool hardwood floors, trying not to throw up. And called everyone I knew to brag about my accomplishment. And when Nick got home, you better believe he heard about my achievement. Yes, a small piece of the yard was unmowed. But do you KNOW how HARD the REST of the yard was?!?! And that the lawnmower tried to KILL me? And I am only alive at this moment because by the grace of God noone had left any gas in the garage? Because by God, if there had been any gas, I would have felt the compulsion to actually finish?! And, that I almost threw up. And, that I have decided to chuck the lawnmower, before subjecting you to it, and get one that works? I mean how nice is that? I suffer, and try to save him from suffering. Instead of doing the normal thing and stating that "I am NEVER mowing the grass again. That's a man's job, I'll do the inside work"

Because really, I do like to mow the yard. But in my original statement, I forgot to add the "on a riding lawnmower" part. With a fan, and sunshade, and a margarita in the cupholder.

And exactly a week later, the side yard remains unmowed, the back yard is a jungle, and our excuse is that the grass was wet whenever we had time to mow.