I have a bunch of other posts lined up, one about the carriage horses in NYC, one about how various Pink songs have sustained me, and another one about how awesome my super hero/bad guy kid is (answer: Super Number One Awesome, as he told me tonight). But as I was sweating, muttering, and beating my way through my adult chores today, I came up with the idea of Jamé guides: How to mostly get shit done, but a bit backwards, cause that's how I roll. And Kade is learning this valuable trait!
Without further ado, How to Mow a Lawn:
Step one: See at lunch time that the weather is absolutely, without flaw, perfection. This is why people flock to the Pacific Northwest. Weather does not get better than this, period. Realize that you cannot avoid mowing the lawn any longer if you want to plant a garden, set up Kade's toys, pool, hammock, and lawn table, and avoid being given a frowny face by your rental company. Also you are having guests over shortly.
Step two: Once home with offspring, promptly waste a good half hour of gorgeous weather and daylight by watching old Scooby Doo cartoons with said offspring. Remember that you are leaving town on Thursday for the weekend and force self to change clothes.
Step three: Drag free hand-me-down electric mower and extension cords up from basement. Realize that you had so neatly hung up the cords that it takes ten minutes to undo the snarl. Start cursing quietly. Take breaks to supply offspring with apple juice, grapes, and assist with wiping butt.
Step four: Wander through backyard, picking up leftover foster dog poo, leftover chew toys, random Thomas trains, and trash. Finally start mower. Mower makes ominous noise but technically cuts grass. Curse slightly louder, look around guiltily for offspring. Grab tool kit, try to tighten various things to stop ominous banging.
Step five: Not successful. Curse longer, attempt to start mowing. Grit teeth and ignore banging.
Step six: Have heart attack when offspring jumps in front of moving mower, which you couldn't hear due to banging and unhappy snarling of mower.
Step seven: Snap at offspring for giving you a heart attack. Spend an undisclosed length of time soothing hurt offspring's feelings and relocating offspring to safer perch. (How dare I stop him from trying to amputate limbs).
Step eight: Resume mowing. Feel pretty good, now you are actually getting stuff done! Look at that grass get cut! Keep wary eye out for helpful offspring.
Step nine: Curse when step eight only lasts a few minutes when mower makes a coughing, dying elephant noise...and dies.
Step ten: Try to restart mower, several times. Realize mower is electric and fight spiders to the breaker, randomly flipping all but one house breaker to see if that fix it.
Step eleven: Congratulations! Your mower is now completely non-functional, and you only got a quarter of your lawn mowed! Give up on mowing, put hammock together, spend half hour rocking with recovered, still fully limbed offspring, while he congratulates you for being the best mommy and best teammate ever.
Bonus step: Realize it's past time for bed due to watching old Top Gear episodes (thank you Netflix) and the mower is still sitting in the backyard, neglected. It doesn't know it's being punished, it's a machine. Wish desperately for either a functional weed whacker or yard boy to do this shit for you.