I helped Hubby with the yard work this weekend by helping to mow the lawn and I’m paying for it now. I haven’t mowed a lawn in 20 years and I’m really, really out of shape. It’s two days later and my hands still hurt. The last time I mowed the lawn, I sheared a pin and broke the lawn mower to the point that it wouldn’t run. It wasn’t hard or expensive to fix the mower, but ever since that incident in 1987, Hubby has decreed that I am not allowed to touch the lawn mower or any other item he uses for yard work. Fine with me! I had enough of cutting the grass when I was a kid living at home and I was more than happy to play the Good Wife and bring beverages to Hubby while he did the yard work.
All that changed Sunday afternoon when Hubby very innocently asked me what I had planned for the afternoon. I replied that the only thing on my agenda was to start supper a little later. When he asked me if I would help him mow the yard, you could have knocked me over with a feather. I asked if he was running a fever or if I needed to call an ambulance because if I remembered right, I’m still banned for life from ever touching the lawn mower. That’s when Hubby explained that the arthritis in his right had has been acting up lately and he didn’t think he would be able to do the yard by himself. Wow, how do you say "no" to something like that?
Like I said, I haven’t pushed a lawn mower in, oh, 20 years, but it’s like riding a bike, right? Once you learn, you never forget. The only thing I forgot was that I’m 20 years older now (and a few pounds heavier) and it’s hard work to push a lawn mower. All I can say is thank heaven for self-propelled lawn mowers. The person who invented such a wonderful thing should be a saint.
It’s not a big yard – only 40′ by 150′ – but by the time I got done pushing that mower, I thought I was going to die. There was sweat running off of me in places that I didn’t even knew produced sweat. My feet hurt. My hands hurt. My arms are sore. My legs felt like cooked spaghetti. Hubby does this every week from early spring until late fall – and he’s 9½ years older than me with a bad back! I’m not worthy!
The really amazing (stupid) part is that I told Hubby that I would be willing to do it again this weekend if he still needed my help.
What was I thinkin’?