Yesterday just wasn’t my day.
After coming home from J’s doctor appointment, I had full intentions on not doing much at all. I’d done a ton of housework over the weekend (mopping the floors, vacuuming, putting things away, etc.), and I had done a few loads of laundry anyhow. For some reason, I don’t really count laundry as “doing something.” It just doesn’t seem right to say I’m doing housework when all I’ve done is throw clothes and laundry detergent into a machine that does all the work. Folding the laundry isn’t any big deal (except for Grace’s things because I fold almost everything, and the clothes are so small!) because I hang nearly everything up.
All I wanted to do was sit on the couch, catch up on newspapers, and clear out the DVR a bit as I stitched.
Caroline had called me to check up on me at one point, and we got to chatting. But then my eyelids kept drooping; I could barely stay awake. Once I laid down, though, there was no snoozing. For some reason, I kept thinking, “I’ve got to mow the lawn! I’ve got to mow the lawn!”
Yes, my lawn was getting very long and very shaggy, but though we have homeowner’s rules about such things, they’re not enforced. You should see the back end of my neighborhood! I call it the “sketchy end” because it’s full of people who don’t care about their houses, their lawns, their neighborhoods. Kind of reminds me of KitchenLogic’s neighbors…
I finally gave up and hauled my butt outside to mow the lawn. I got the patch of grass next to the driveway done, although the mower didn’t sound quite right. Then I did one stripe down the area between the street and my bushes, from my driveway to the cluster of mailboxes.
The mower died.
I started it up again, and it just didn’t sound right. So I cut the motor and turned it over. The damn bolt holding the blade onto the mower had snapped.
It’s an easy fix, requiring a trip to the hardware store just to buy a new bolt, but when you’re motivated to do something, and the necessary equipment breaks, it’s just frustrating! Plus I had just started. I hadn’t even gotten to my front lawn, let alone the side or back yards.
I ended up borrowing J’s lawn mower to finish the lawn. Her husband mows every Wednesday and Saturday, trimming just the barest amount of grass off the top. I wish I had the kind of time to do that kind of thing, but the area I have to mow is probably four times bigger than theirs. Plus I don’t believe in watering my lawn and throwing a ton of chemicals on it to keep the weeds away. At any rate, her husband hates it when people borrow the mower and then change the settings. Invariably they’ll forget to raise the mower back up, and he ends up scalping his lawn.
Hence I mowed my lawn at the very highest setting yesterday.
At least now the weeds are much shorter. The lawn does look nicely mowed, but I’m afraid I might have to mow one more time before Kurt gets home. I’m debating whether I should mow one last time and show him a gorgeous, pristine yard, or whether I will let it grow and make him mow the lawn as soon as he walks in the door.
When you’re on a steel ship for six months, it’s good for you to get back in contact with nature, wouldn’t you say??
After the mower decided to break, I figured that was the end of my bad luck for the day. Unfortunately, I was proven wrong.
Dinner last night was leftovers. I tend to make something one day and eat it two, maybe three, nights in a row. It just doesn’t seem right to make fresh dinners every single night of the week when it’s just Grace and me. She doesn’t care about leftovers, and neither do I. When Kurt’s home, we don’t get a whole lot of leftovers because he eats them!
I wanted a salad to go with dinner, though. I poured my mixed greens into my bowl and grabbed my huge Costco container of feta cheese out of the fridge. I tend to shake the container every time I use it because feta gets compacted, and you end up with the ketchup-in-a-glass-bottle syndrome — you try to pour just a little bit, but you end up having to get somewhat violent with the bottle, and a ton of ketchup ends up drowning your burger. Same with feta cheese.
As I prepared to shake the container, I thought to myself, “I don’t think this lid is on properly.” Almost in slow motion, I saw the lid go flying off and chunks of feta cheese spray out in an arc all over the kitchen.
I was more upset to lose all that feta than I was to make the mess. Feta is good!!
But I do have to say I’m getting much better at containing my temper. I come from a household of fairly angry folk, and had that happened to any one of them, I’m sure a string of foul language wouldn’t have been far behind. (Hey, I come from a Navy family. We all cuss like sailors.)
I’ve decided not to be so angry all the time. It’s very exhausting to be angry. Kurt’s a fairly mellow person, and he’s done so much to mellow me out as well. So yeah, I was irritated that I had a mess to clean up and that I had wasted so much of my precious feta, but I felt it wasn’t enough of a big deal to rant and rave about.
Besides, Gracie was standing right there. My little tape recorder. Anything you say, you will hear back at you later, which is a huge motivator to keep your mouth shut!!!
So I said to Grace, “Uh oh!! Mommy made a mess!!” I grabbed up my broom, swept most of it up, let the dog eat some of it (hey, it was on the floor; how would I have kept him out of it?), and finished getting dinner together.
Gracie says to me as I cleaned up, “Good job, Mommy!!!”
It’s pretty funny to be kept in line by a two-year-old.