It’s Too Bad I Can’t Mow at Night

Okay, I am too busy to be playing the middle between two lawn junkies. One keeps his at a constant three inches, the other keeps his so short that I’m not certain actual blades of grass are growing. I think he may have literally hit dirt, and one good dust-nado will take out whatever green is left of his lawn.
I like to keep my crop of earth somewhere in the middle of Naked and Manicured, and by middle, I mean: if my grass is around five inches tall, I consider it a win.
This morning, while driving back from dumping Bubs unceremoniously upon his hallowed educational grounds and returning to the house where a hot shower before work and hopefully some magical coffee which someone-other-than-me had procured — and there isn’t such a Someone, but a girl can dream — awaited, I mulled my To Do list.
Crestfallen, I realized the first thing on the list was the lawn.
Thanks to recent rains and a lack of interest on my part, I may have had substantial grassy growth in need of maintenance.
I thunked upon it: “Work all day. Bubs’ tae know do. Work next day. Bubs’ tae kwon do. Work some more. Dishes. Good night, work some more? Really? Then Bubs’ whatever-else-Bubs-has. Oh, and laundry. Crap, and more work! Therefore, I can schedule the lawn for…eleven days from now…or…” I realized, “This morning …meaning, two hours — one-and-a-half if I don’t shower, and oh, that can not happen — in which to mow.”
Recap: before work at 11, I need to have scalped the acreage.
I ran the numbers twice more, looking for a loophole. I had none.
So I did what any good mom does: I panicked, opening the garage to release the Deere and quickly ride the plains. Whew! And an hour to spare!
But in my Atta-Girl moment, I realized I’d forgotten the ditch, the seemingly endless ditch, waving its four foot tall fingers nearly beneath my nose in a taunting gesture. I wanted to return the favor with a digit of my own, but I didn’t.
The ditches require the push mower; therefore, I pushed.
Did I mention the wind? Or the dust? Or the endless stream of truckers doing whatever-they-do-in-the-Out-There during daylight hours honking repeatedly as they passed their gigantic truck tire mere inches from my struggling hide?
Annoying! Weird! Dangerous! But oddly flattering.
But no, no, random honking in the Out There was too strange to be complimentary.
And so I grumbled as I dodged and mowed, finally –finally! — finishing the task.
With the mechanical beasts back in their housing, I darted into the house, ran to the bathroom, started the shower, and just as I was searching for the clock to tell me the time, I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror.
Okay. So that’s why I received random attention from speeding vehicles.
Not complimentary.
And back to weird.
Because in the mirror was a dirty, wild-eyed female Disney villain wearing sleep pants, a questionably presentable t-shirt, and fuzzy dusty green-tinted houseslippers.
And the hair. In art, it might be called something between Medusa and “Foliage Waving from the Ocean Floor.” Hair should not look like that. I was matted.
Needless to say, ego in check, I crawled into the shower, made myself presentable and walked out the front door with my newly coiffed head held high. Because, hey, I may be That Neighbor now, but my ditches look really good.
Plus I got to work five minutes early.
Plus plus…I finally got coffee.

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