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A Decision Has Been Made

The other day, Irish Woman and I were discussing our plans for the yard this year. She wants to relocate some blueberry bushes and put in another vegetable bed.

I commented about how the lawn mower needed its annual service, and that we’d probably be doing our first cut of the year by the end of March.

That’s when the… discussion started.

It appears that since we moved to our current house, I have been monopolizing the time spent riding around on the lawn mower. I have, with malice and forethought, given up about 1/4 of my weekend to mow, trim, and clean up our yard.

How awful of me. To go out on a Saturday morning, gas up the John Deere, and spend two hours mowing the lawn. Then, I put a battery in the string trimmer and whack weeds and edge along the driveway and sidewalk. I oppressively make sure the areas around the mailbox, trees, power poles, and the still-unused basketball goal are neat.

And let us not forget the pure ecstasy of using a leaf blower to get all of the clippings and dirt off of the sidewalk and driveway so that they aren’t permanently stained green the next time we drive or walk upon them.

I am robbing, yes robbing my family of the enjoyment of having to take a shower until the water no longer runs green. I am denying them the joy of having a pair of shoes so nasty by July that I have to throw them out in September.

Why, I am even taking away the joy one gets when you are 30 feet away from being done and have the weed whacker run out of string or battery, or both.

To atone for these and other sins, I have made a decision, in keeping with my powers as Pater Familias.

This year, I ain’t mowing a damned thing.

Instead, I shall sit upon my deck, drinking coffee, and watching the grass grow on Saturday mornings. I shall refrain from purchasing lawn mower parts, not even the fuel needed to have the movable feast that is riding a lawn mower through clouds of gnats and straining grass clippings out of a beverage with my teeth.

Instead, I shall leave that pleasure to the ones I love. In fact, I will leave it all to them. Far be it from me to deprive my son of the lesson of getting out of bed at the crack of dawn on a Saturday so that you can start that mower up right at 8 AM.

My wife will know the joy of having to set a calendar event on Friday night to make sure the batteries for the weed whacker and leaf blower are charging before she goes to bed.

I, on the other hand, will know the shame of sitting in their usual spot, watching someone else toil. Perhaps I shall sip coffee, or maybe even iced tea. I shall, on occasion, take a cold beverage out to them, then get pissy when they neither see nor hear me trying to get their attention.

Oh, my family, how I have wronged you. Fear not, for I have recognized my sins, and will endeavor to not repeat them. Enjoy the chlorophyll tattoos on your calves and ankles, the chigger bites, and the sunburns. I shall do my penance by doing things in the air conditioning for a summer.


  1. Dude. You like to live dangerously, don’t you?

    (We’ll be starting the imp on doing the riding mowing in the pasture, this spring. We figure it’ll start with the “teaching him to drive” process since it ain’t a zero turn mower.)


    • The Young Prince has driven the riding lawnmower on a few occasions. He seemed to enjoy it, until he started to sweat.

      And I fear no death. I married an Irish redhead, for Chernobog’s sake!


      • Spray him down with the hose a few times, and he won’t be sweating anymore.


      • Ah, yes, but you have to remember the hierarchy around here. To her, I’m family by marriage, while he’s related by blood.


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