Absolute exhaustion has settled in after a very busy weekend spent attacking the yard with terrible instruments of destruction. Clouds of dust were raised, a great racket filled the air, and, after many hours of toiling and straining, all could behold a backyard that looked . . . better.
I know they make these great things called “lawn mowers” but I opted to go after our lawn with a string trimmer. See, the problem is our BOBsod – it’s like a big, pillowy mess. The mower just floats on top of it no matter what I do. You’re supposed to de-thatch it every year, but I haven’t done anything to it since we put the sod in several years ago. So there’s about three or four inches of thatched, weaved-together grass junk going on out there, through which all the new growth has to snake, which leads to a really crappy looking lawn. I probably could have paid someone to come in and do this – and I probably should have – but I didn’t. I also probably should have used the proper equipment -but, again, I didn’t. I just go out the trimmer and went at it, and after five or six hours, it looks pretty good. I had to take the lawn mower over the area to suck up what I could, as it was kind of like a gross, pale-yellow snow, but after that, our yard began to have that “intentional” look again. It looked neat, as in “tidy.”
But I’m sore and tired now. Really sore and tired. It doesn’t seem like very much actual work, but it’s just the same thing over and over, stooped over a bit for hours with that trimmer, and it gets old, quick. I went at it armed with hat, sunglasses, earplugs, dust mask, but stupidly no leg protection, so my legs look like an angry cat took out some aggression on them. “It stung” is a mild way to put it.
On top of that, it was my mom’s birthday on Friday (say happy birthday!) and we got together Saturday night for that. In addition, for whatever reason, I got a bug in my brain that I absolutely needed new shoes, so we spent way too much time looking for New Balance shoes to fit my orthotics Friday night and Saturday afternoon, which is when I picked up a necklace for my mom. What I got her was mentioned in passing with Amanda in tow, and at dinner Saturday, my mom asked her what we did. She replied, excitedly, about me getting new shoes . . . “and a necklace!” Oops! We forgot to tell Amanda not to say anything. Must remember – whatever you think the kid’s not going to mention is exactly what’s going to come flying out of her mouth.