Grass and Guilt

We, and when I say we I mean I, decided to take a break from the rigors of math and grammar the other day and replace it with some good 'ol manual labour. It was a lovely autumn day and I felt it would be a waste to spend it entirely indoors. I am a firm believer that children should be involved with the maintenance of their home. It teaches responsibility and appreciation for what's been given them.....ah, who am I kidding?! It's free help. The first task I assigned was to pick up anything in the yard that wasn't grass so I could mow the lawn. I thought the broad generalization would keep questions to a minimum. I was wrong. I was asked if the mower would cut everything from freezie wrappers to tennis balls. Once the lawn looked mostly green I backed the riding mower out of the shed. This is one of my husband's prized possessions and he is usually the one to do the mowing. He has recently started a new rotation at work and hasn't the time or energy as of late for yard work. I like to cut the grass and he appreciates when I do it for him but I had to promise to take the utmost care when using his lawn tractor before he would "allow" me to.  Since we bought the mower last spring it has been through three blades (none of which I damaged) so we learned to do a preliminary yard sweep before mowing.

It takes a significant amount of time to mow our large lot so the children usually occupy themselves by pretending the rows of newly cut grass are race tracks and they are stock cars. It's a thrilling race until the lawn tractor pace car gets in the way. Once I ruined their fun with my blue hair driving they moved on to "Butterfly Field". My in-laws purchased the vacant lot behind us and it has affectionately become known as Butterfly Field. This lot has become a place of retreat for my children, a source of inspiration for many of the bedtime tales I have crafted, and a doggie toilet for our neighbors. We have many-a-time lost sight of a Buddy among the tall grasses and weeds so the children decided it made a perfect venue for Hide and Seek.

I was marvelling at the unusual ease of my task at hand. Normally, I would have to stop the mower five or six times to pick up stray toys or sports equipment but the children seemed to have done a decent job for once! Looking over my shoulder to make sure each little head was still visible in the field, I headed to the front yard to finish up my chore. The front yard is small and only takes a few minutes of driving in circles. Being that the backyard was so effortless, I became complacent and just took for granted that the front yard would mimic it.  As I made my third turn it seemed as if something in the belly of the machine exploded and I was jostled about both in body and in spirit! My stomach sank as I realized the fourth blade was no longer operative. I pictured my husband's reaction to yet another injury to his precious piece of equipment. I swallowed the lump trying to rise in my throat, lifted the blade, and drove back to the shed.

I trudged back to the front yard because I needed to know what it was that ruined not only the mower but also my day. In my mind, I was preparing a fitting punishment for whichever child that had left whatever toy it was in the grass but when I saw the offending object I had to change my plan of attack. Resting a few feet from where the blade had originally caught it was a long, rusted, and now tangled iron bar. A few weeks before my husband had fixed our van in the driveway. While I am thankful for a husband who has the ability to fix our vehicles I am not thankful for the mess of foreign objects he leaves behind. My mood began to brighten as I came to a revelation. Although it wasn't my husband who had left the metal "thingy" buried in the grass, it was undeniably his fault that it was there! With my guilt relieved and my children in the relative clear I sauntered back to the house and awaited my husband's arrival so I could tell him HE broke another lawnmower blade.