Mowing Match
Mood:
cheeky
Topic: hodge podge
Recently during a phone conversation with a girlfriend, I was enlightened by the notion that other wives leave the yard mowing to the husband. In fact, a casual poll among other wives revealed that some actually preferred, if not depended on husbands to assume the roll of established, resident Yard Mower. This baffles me. While I understand that oftentimes the housekeeping is rendered the Girl Work and yardkeeping is viewed as the Boy Work, that these two worlds have remained virtually intact for the last half-century (at least, within the circles I questioned) not only defies the gender-role blending of the 21st century but staggers my personal logic.
Dear Readers, let me tell you how we regard Yard Mowing in the Blond Kid household: actively coveted. Wives who passively accept their niche as non-Yard Mower don't understand what they've been missing, clearly. That Jason could hold any outdoor project as definitively masculine is his own problem; I've crossed the line into Yard Mower, and I'm not going back.
It's simple: The non-Yard Mower answers to the children, acknowledging the constant interruption to whatever non-Yard Mowing project in which he/she might be involved, and vulnerable to the probability that his/her non-Yard Mowing project will be reversed in the course of roughly a half-hour. For example, doing the dishes: Moments after my unloading the dishwasher and walking away, someone will invariably come along and prepare himself, say, a hot fudge sundae, leaving the ice cream scoop dripping a sticky spot onto the counter. In addition to the empty bowl and spoon of the original sundae eater there will undoubtedly be a second or third bowl/spoon combination as others walk by and are lured to the concept of eating their own hot fudge sundaes. Let's not forget the goopy mess on the table, chair, and floor. During the time it takes one to discover the dishes and finish the clean-up, someone will have moved on to, say, anything with multiple packaging and lots of crumbs. Toy picking-up is another fine example. Laundry is the ultimate example. But there are many, many others.
Meanwhile, the Yard Mower has spent this entire scenario blissfully riding the little tractor around in concentric circles, unable to answer requests due to the loud hum of the machine (and sometimes, earplugs which in theory are for tuning out only the machine). All this while probably getting a tan. Not to mention our mower includes a drink holder. (Bloody Marys, anyone?) And (this is the important part), no one is undoing the mowing. It is physically impossible for the kids to come along behind and lengthen the grass blades; it takes a minimum of 72 hours for nature to recreate the uneven yard. Notice I said nature; this, then, is part of the natural order of things. It's terribly satisfying, from the perspective of the keeper of three young children and the house in which we all live, to look behind the mower and find neat, tidy stripes of yard in my wake.
That I've discovered this is of no consolation to my husband. He views himself the rightful heir, by gender, of Yard Mowing priveleges. Being the modern guy that he is, he is not free to admit this. I take shameless advantage of this. Which means we both stealthily jockey for the Yard Mowing position. We might not openly confess our competition for Yard Mower, but it is undoubtedly present - and during June, July, and August, it is nearly constant.
It will start with a nervous glance toward the building in which our mower is kept. Neither hopes the other will notice said glance, but the other will always manage to jolt alert with a sudden "What are you planning to do?" To which the other will give a lame excuse along the lines of "I thought I'd go for a stroll through the yard and see if anyone accidentally left their hot fudge sundae dishes outside." (Notice the feigned good will, the transparent illogic.) To which the other might respond, "Oh, well, I already got the sundae dishes from outside." (Touche!) Counter response, thus, "Maybe I'll just go...uh...water the trees." (Oh no!) "Didn't it just rain?" (Ha!) "Not since yesterday morning. Which means the grass...probably needs...mowing." (Egads! Walked right into that one!) Such would be followed by a quick bang of the door as the winner races out to claim his/her prize: Yard Mowing.
There have been instances when the yard was undeniably too wet with rain to warrant a good mow. Mattered not. Relinquishing any opportunity to Yard Mow is tantamount to accepting defeat. Just mowed yesterday? Mow an area of the property previously never mown. This is how our lawn came to be over two acres in size; in the interest of more mowing, we've shaved into the supposed hay field enough times to make a sizable lawn. Like we mind. ("How long does it take to mow this yard of yours?" our friends ask. "Oh, by the time we finish it's about time to start over again!" we answer, vainly trying to conceal our glee.)
And it is imperative that once we've claimed the mower, we'd better not get up. Many a return from the bathroom has resulted in an insulting discovery that the Yard Mowing has been thieved away, forcing the empty-bladdered loser to run behind yelling "Hey! I was only taking a quick break!" while the winning Yard Mower pretends not to be able to hear.
Ah yes, it is marital trickery at its best, this Yard Mowing. But now I have to go, Dear Readers. My husband just walked in smelling suspiciously of freshly-cut grass, and I do believe I heard the toilet flush...
Posted by Amy
at 2:34 PM CDT
Updated: 13 May 2007 6:17 PM CDT
incredulous
lazy
quizzical
rushed
energetic
a-ok
chillin'