We dropped Mike off for surgery on Tuesday morning. Since that time, I’ve done things I would have never even considered before now (like taking a 3yo and 4yo to Chuck E. Cheese alone and taking those same two on a shopping trip to Wal-Mart). And you know what? I survived. They survived. I might even do it again.
For Mike, I’m certain the past five days have been in super slow motion. And I hate that for him. But for me, I can’t slow the clock down enough. In trying to plan my days for all the little things, I find myself desperately wishing time would slow down (more so this week than normal). I want to do quality things with my kids. I want to spend quality time with Mike while he’s recovering at the hospital. I want to work on schoolwork for myself. I must work (again, thank goodness working remotely is an option when necessary). I want to get the house in order before Mike gets home (honey, just remember I love you). There are probably another dozen or so things I can’t think of right now, but you get the idea.
One slow moment of the week…the lawn tractor. The tractor is Mike’s “toy.” I have used it exactly one time before to mow the backyard. I was trying to help…but Mike politely thanked me and begged me to never mow the lawn again. (I didn’t hurt the tractor, but my lines weren’t quite as puuuurdy as the MLB outfields you see on TV.) However, it was understood that I would, in fact, need to mow at some point this week, as well as every 4-5 days until Mike has recovered. I don’t think it was a fact he particularly liked, but it is what it is.
Wednesday night, I got home from the hospital, ate a fast dinner and headed out to mow. After refilling the tractor with gas, which, for the record, I did NOT spill, even though the gas can spout is a piece of crap AND Mike never actually showed me where the gas is in the mower. Ahem. Anyway, I started it up and got to mowing. After two passes around the front, the blades stopped turning. *sigh* Ok, what did I do? Nothing. I know nothing about tractors. Nada. Zip. [walk across the street to ask neighbors to help] Of course, as this goes down, the kids decide they don’t want to play in the backyard any longer, the dog starts going crazy…and my sweet neighbors put the belt back on the tractor that had slipped off track. Sweet!
I resume mowing and finish the entire front yard. Y’all, it ain’t pretty, but it’s mowed. Am I right? Now, on to the side yard. I get about 1/3 of the way through the side yard and I start smelling a melting or burning of plastic. STOP THE TRACTOR! ‘Cause yeah, I’m not trying to break the darn thing and I’m 100% certain that burning plastic is not supposed to happen when cutting the grass. Ever. And I see it. The belt. The one that slipped off earlier. That sucker appears to be nearly melted apart/disintegrated. Seriously? Is this some kind of slow suffering hell for the city girl who maybe have mowed a patch of grass 4 feet by 4 feet decades ago with a push mower while she “helped” her daddy with yard work?
I was spent at this point. The sun was going down (and I had already been using the headlights on the tractor). I gave up. Right there. All I could think: Fabulous! Just great! I broke the f’ing tractor. I have no clue how much this is going to cost. I’m gonna need to find the manual and figure out what belt this is. Crap! How am I going to finish the rest of the yard? I wonder if I can get this fixed before Mike gets home from the hospital. Yeah, right!
Defeated, I pulled into the shed, lowered the door, locked everything up and walked slowly back to the house. #uncle
Thankfully, our landlords have raised some really sweet boys. One of them willingly stopped by yesterday afternoon to finish my mowing debacle. And, I had to break the tractor news to Mike yesterday evening. He was either overly medicated or being incredibly gracious…because he just said, “eh, it was old and needed to be replaced anyway.”
Today will likely go by incredibly fast, as we wait to hear for Mike’s release time (maybe even this afternoon) and I try to put the house in some kind of order before he gets home. Wish me luck!