The Riding Mower

We've been blessed with an early spring, despite a few throwback Thursdays into winter every now and then. The neighbors across the street from us have won Lawn of the Year award from me, who made up the award and now it's embarrassing living by them so we've had to take extra good care of our lawn this year.

There's an old fable that goes something like this: Laura breaks machines and Laura isn't allowed to operate heavy machinery. 

It's true, actually. I've broken our old lawn mower, the four-wheeler, our first leaf blower, and it wouldn't surprise me if our kitchen appliances have had shorter life spans due to just being around me. I don't think I do anything wrong with them; they just don't like me and so they break. The first lawn mower we had broke when I was using it in a responsible and correct fashion. It just shut off mid-mow. Like, boom. And it never worked the same afterwards. It had to be started with a power drill, no joke. 

We got a riding mower a few years ago and I haven't been allowed to even be in the same room as it. I was forbidden from making eye contact with it's headlights and I certainly was not allowed to use it. Under no circumstances whatsoever. 

But something changed this year. I don't know what it was. Perhaps now that I'm in my thirties, my better half sees me as more mature, more able, more responsible. Because a few weeks ago, he drove up to the front yard on the mower, turned it off, hopped off and motioned for me to come hither. I looked around me, wondering who else he could be talking to. There wasn't anyone else there. Just me. 

"Hop on." he said. 

"B-b-but it's me. It's Laura. I'm supposed to tell you I'm not allowed to do these things." I pleaded.

"It's okay. You got this." he comforted me. 

He showed me how to start it up, how to shift, how to turn on the blades, how to adjust the settings. This machine is a little tricky to start. It's old, it isn't perfect and sometimes it needs a little extra nudge.  I was shocked that he was letting me do this. It's been in the shop a few times now and it's a delicate machine. But after a few times of running through it, he waved at me and stepped away. I was off and running. I mowed that entire lawn. 

A few days later, I noticed the grass was about a centimeter higher than the perfect lawn across the street, so I revved up the engines again on the mower and went to town. Not actual town, because I'm still not allowed to drive the mower down the road. Maybe he'll let me do that next year. Maybe I could drive it to the gas station for candy?

Mowing is my new happy place. The roar of the engines drowns out the kids' fighting and I can have roaring silence for at least a half hour. It's the best thing ever. Every mom needs to try it. 

After a week of rain, I was really starting to get nervous about how long the grass was getting. I looked out at the neighbor's lawn and it was like their grass hadn't grown a millimeter! It was as green and lush and perfect as ever. And ours was starting to look like an abandoned lot. At the first hint of sunshine, I put on my mowing clothes and grabbed the key. 

Chet was eating his breakfast when I announced I was going out to mow. 

"Oh, you need me to start it up for you I suppose." he said, as he started to get up from the table.

"Are you kidding me?" I asked, shocked that he would even think an expert like me would need his help. "I do not need no man showing me how to start it or run it. I got this." 

I hopped on the mower, started it up on the first try, pumped my fist in victory, put it in reverse (extra credit!) and backed it out of it's parking place. I drove it up the hill and into the front yard. I noticed it starting to sputter here and there. Me, being the new expert machinist that I am, adjusted the lever on the side that has the turtle and the rabbit thingy on it and the sputtering stopped. Another fist pump. 

Then it started sputtering again. The turtle rabbit lever was useless this time and did nothing. I started getting mad. I knew we should have gotten a better quality mower. If this thing was starting to break down on me, I was going to be furious. As I came around a corner, it died. I could have wept. 

What a pile of junk. I did everything right and I still broke the machine. But it's not me, it's the machine. It's because we are cheap Finns and we buy everything free or almost free. That's why things break. Not because of me. 

I took the key out of the mower and stormed into the house. I held up the mower key and told Chet, "It's all yours." 

"Are you serious?" he asked, mid bite of egg. "Did you break it?"

"It shut off on me mid-mow. This is why I wanted to buy a quality mower. This thing is not quality." 

I set the key down on the counter and went back out the door. I paced back and forth, watching our grass continue to grow at a rapid rate. I did what anyone would do and grabbed the push mower. If I was going to be a machine breaker, I may as well do a complete job of it and break all the machines. 

While I pushed it around the yard, Chet came out of the house. I followed him over to the resting place of the riding mower. He opened up the hood. 

"It's out of gas." he said. 

(Internally screaming out of mortification. I'll never be considered an expert machinist if I make this big of a mistake!)

"Well, I feel stupid." I said. 

"Don't. The gas light on this thing doesn't work." he said, as he went to grab a jug of gas. 

"Perhaps I overreacted." I said. 

He started it up for me and I hopped on and mowed the rest of that lawn. He sipped his coffee, watching me from the house, I'm sure grinning to himself that he doesn't have to mow another day in his life. 

Wait. 

It's because I'm more mature, responsible and able. Right? 

Right?