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Weather, yardwork, and general lack of coordination OR how I managed to splatterpaint myself with dog poo

May 14, 2009

As far as I know, we live in the South which is very “April showers bring May flowers”. When did it turn into monsoon season? Did our island move? I practically needed a machete, a compass, and a giant bottle of water to get to the car the other day.

Sidenote: when we have random freezing temps this weekend, I apologize in advance. It’s my fault. I donated our old heavy coats to goodwill yesterday so I’m sure since we have nothing to wear, it will snow.

So thanks to the rainy season here and the government, I was forced to cut the grass. I woke up Mother’s day morning and decided to take advantage of the one hour of no rain for the week and handle the unpleasantness. On the one hand, it’s very satisfying. I like tasks where you get instant gratification/immediate results.

Our new yard is large, much larger than I thought. To the point where I feel bad for giving J shit about why it takes so long to cut the grass. But I was huffing and puffing and moving along. It took me over half of the Mamma Mia soundtrack just to cut the front yard. I did earn some applause from my former voice/piano teacher next door for my rendition of Does Your Mother Know. He loved it. I don’t know if he loved it as much as the old man in the gym liked my version of Crazy in Love but it may have been close. Note to self: get tendency to randomly break into song under control.

Since it still wasn’t raining I figured I’d move on to the back 40. Clifford was chasing me around with a nine foot long tree limb and whacking me with it periodically to express his distaste for the lawnmower, but other than that it was okay. Not fun, but okay. Until I got to the tree with the crazy nubby and random roots. Many of you are familiar with this tree as you fell over those same roots to get to the beer and wine at our wedding. Remembering the rock/smoking lawnmower/daddy yelling incident from my teenage years, I was carefully mowing around said roots. Since I’m not allowed to use the weed whacker, it was pretty much my only option. All of a sudden, crazy loud cracking noise and the mower comes to a dead start. It won’t restart. I have broken the lawnmower. As it starts to rain, I wheel it back to the garage and think a riding lawnmower might be a nice addition to our garage.

While I’m over at my parents I’m explaining to my dad about the mower and how I’m not really worried as I’m pretty sure it was a safety catch, that the lawnmower has an automatic stop when you’re in danger of breaking it circuit type thing. Dad just laughs. Abby and I go home and I point out what a lovely job I did mowing the lawn and she agrees that I did, up until the point I broke the lawnmower.

By Tuesday, I am tired of everyone thinking I am an idiot for my mower safety theory. So I try again. I load it up with gas and it starts.  (It had gas before it just wasn’t full, so I was right!) Success! I make a mental note of the inordinate amount of very large piles of Clifford poo in the backyard and decide it’s not an issue. I really just can’t deal with scooping up poop. And since I’m unsuccesful at bribing the kid to do it, I go with a if I can’t see it, it’s not there approach.

As I am mowing random small sticks are being flung at me, leaf cut up bits, etc. Am glad I am wearing pants. I continue, extremely pleased with myself. Somehow, I stumble upon a insanely large and runny pile of 100+ pound rotweiler apparently ate pizza and grass mess. How do I know? Because I ran over it with the mower and covered myself in poo. Remember splatter painting when you were little? Visualize that. But with poo. And on you rather than paper.

Traumatized but determined not to be defeated by the obviously amused lawn gods, I change and continue. And finish. And the yard looks loverly. Except for random three feat high spots that are concealing poo. I learned to cut around it. Think I can make it 3 weeks without having to cut the grass again? Or maybe load the dog up on immodium?

AND to top it all off with a cherry, and I hate cherries, the tennis shoes I had to wear while cutting the grass caused a terrible blister that had ripped skin from the back of one ankle. So the yard has rendered me unable to wear many of my cute shoes until I heal.

April showers bring out another one of my favorite things.  And no, not flowers, crazy-ass neighbors. There is a man in my neighborhood with a cute little old two seater convertible that he drives around parts of the neighborhood while he drinks beer all day. I know, drinking and driving is wrong. But he doesn’t drink and drive!  He drinks and pauses. Every minute or so, he pulls over to the side of the road, takes a sip of his beer, and continues driving. It is without a doubt one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen.

Another one of my faves-the old bearded man that rides his bike with beard and white hair blowing in the wind is back. But he’s cut his hair and beard, gotten a helmet, and replaced his long dress pants with a black nylon biking skirt-thing. I mean, my husband wears kilts and all but not on a bike with leg pumping action and small child exposure risk. Super curious to see how this turns out.

Stay tuned, I’m considering painting the kitchen cabinets while J is gone but trying to figure out a way to do it without removing hardware or doors. I’m banned from power tools. Really. The battery packs are hidden. Don’t understand why? If I can splatter paint myself with dog poo, what kind of damage do you think I could do with a cordless drill? It really doesn’t bear thinking about.

© Amy Lloyd Mayfield and Amy’s Blam, 2009. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Amy Lloyd Mayfield and Amy’s Blam with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
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