All day at work today, it’s been in the back of my mind – the grass at home needs to be cut. Tonight. It should have been cut last night, but I had a Sketch22 rehearsal. A long busy day does not end with work today at 5pm. Nope, the toil moves from the mental to the physical this evening.
Yes, my son (purely from the economic advantages it affords him) has taken on more and more of the task, but it’s still my least favourite part of home-ownership.
Today, I implore you all, instead of your usual prayers for the orphans, the impoverished, the sick and infrim, pray for me. Pray for me and my suburban woes.
Got home from work today, and the lawn was mown! My son and his friend did it all themselves. Yay, them! Yay, me!
Thanks for your prayers.
My dad would not let us mow the lawn as kids. The cows would get out and make the terrain rough. Dad felt this was too dangerous for our telicate little feet. Despite my insistance that I would be careful and do a good job I was never allowed. Perhaps you could make it seem like a joyous task and I would do it.