You guys REALLY loved my post about mowing my grandmother’s yard.
Luckily for you, and unfortunately for me, THE SAGA CONTINUES.
Slight spoiler: It ended in a meltdown (my mother can confirm) and Soul Sister J ordering Dt. Dr. Pepper and chocolate for me.
All I’m trying to do is be helpful. But the universe decides, “OH LET’S TEACH HER A LOT OF THINGS AND TEST HER ALREADY LIMITED PATIENCE WHEN IT COMES TO PRACTICAL THINGS SHE SHOULD KNOW”.
…I seriously have to watch how I phrase my words. Specifically when I say I love to learn and want to know how to do all kinds of strong, independent woman things.
BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT I GET!
Monday. I head over to Grandma’s for another round of mowing because step-father texted to let me know the mower was up and going.
I wasn’t incredibly motivated to begin with. Between a socially heavy weekend (gasp!), and a headache that caused me to cancel lunch the day before, I was burnt out.
Did I have fun?! OF COURSE I DID! But my already limited capacity for socializing has noticeably decreased.
But I showed up because the job must be done.
I felt tad more confident after having used Dad’s mower. I could figure out how to run Grandpa’s- no big deal. BECAUSE I HAVE THE KNOWLEDGE!
Just had to put some fuel in it.
Mom and my aunt were there when I arrived, filling me in on the latest development: Grandma had come back from the doctor and needs to have ear drops twice a day for two weeks.
To which I will add that she has been frighteningly compliant.
Anyways, after some chit chat, I grabbed the keys and made my way to the shed.
The plan was to get in, add some fuel because we still have the full gas can from the first round, and get the job done.
As I was starting to get things together, Mom came out to join me.
The shed is small, so as I was maneuvering my way around it to pick up the gas can, everything was poking me or I was bumping into it.
Did not help my already exhausted disposition.
I unscrewed the fuel cap on the lawn mower or whatever it’s called. Went to pour gas in and the only fuel that came out was from the bottom where the nozzles screws on.
And this is the pivotal moment where I began to unravel.
Mom had come out to see if I would be able to dispense Grandma’s ear drops a couple of mornings this past week.
But she was hesitating because I was now grumbling out of frustration, and mental exhaustion.
I said maybe it would be better for Grandma to hire someone BECAUSE JESUS CREPES, IT ALWAYS SOMETHING WHEN I COME OVER TO MOW!
WHY COULDN’T I SIMPLY COME OVER AND IT GO SMOOTHLY, FFS?!
I just want Grandma’s yard to look nice. And to do something for her because frankly, I am kind of awful about getting stuck my bubble.
Between not knowing how to use the gas can, and having everything poking me in my ass, I was over it.
…the yard did not get mowed that day. However, I did tell Mom I could help with drop duties.
Between snow and rain this week, I hadn’t been able to go back over to Grandma’s, with my son, to have him show me how I needed to make the gas can work.
WHY DID MANUFACTURERS THINK IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO MAKE GAS CANS EXTRA WORK?!
Fortunately, I spoke with my stepfather last night who told me the trick is to have pressure on the little red thermometer looking doodad so the fuel will be released.
I can now save a small amount of face by not having to bring my son along, who would just give me a look and a know it all attitude due to my lack of seemingly practical knowledge.
So today is the day I will try, AGAIN, to get Grandma’s yard taken care of.
THREE HOURS LATER…
I am convinced this is personal now.
Remember how I JUST SAID I need to be mindful of what I say? I went to Grandma’s, thinking, “Can I at least get fuel in the stupid lawnmower?!”.
By we, I am referring to my father who had to come over and help me because I couldn’t get the stupid safety gas can to do what it was supposed to do.
FOUND OUT I MANAGED TO BUY THE ONE WITH A JACKED UP NOZZLE.
I felt much less inept seeing my father struggle. However briefly.
With fuel in the lawnmower, I started it.
And it ran….until I moved the arms up. At that point, it died.
Every. Single. Time.
At this point, Dad said he would see if he could fix his lawnmower that I MAY have temporarily broken. By broken, I mean I hit a bump in the backyard which threw the belt off.
I went to close the shed and the lock wasn’t working.
…and of course, Dad had just left. I was not calling him back to close a padlock.
After struggling with it (not the first time I’ve had a tango or two with this stupid lock), and Grandma even gave it a try, it turned into going to Orscheln’s to buy a new one.
But only after Grandma yelled at me for the first time in my life ever.
Because I wasn’t going to let her pay for the padlock. Why would I?! However, after my sweet little grandma very firmly told me, “NO!”, I took her cash and headed to buy a new lock.
…I think my eyes were pretty wide after hearing her shout. I admit, I was a little terrified for a few minutes. She may be in her 80’s but she’s spunky.
I half expected her to wallop me.
AND OF COURSE WHEN I WENT TO ORSCHELN’S THE PEDDLERS WERE BACK.
I slipped in quietly, thank god. I wasn’t as lucky on the way back.
I took this as sign to stop shopping there. Yes, I WILL drive an extra 30 minutes to an hour to avoid people hassling me to buy things I do not want, however skillfully made.
I’m sure their doodads are wonderful. But I like to shop in peace and avoid as much human interaction as possible with individuals I do not know.
Fortunately, I made it back to Grandma’s safe and sound. AND the new lock works perfectly.
Right as I finished up with the lock, Dad called. The lawnmower was ready.
The Teenager drove it down the few blocks to Grandma’s. I offered to take him home because I assumed he wouldn’t want to hang around until I was finished mowing.
Sure, he could mow, too, but I really enjoy doing it. For whatever reason. Maybe because I enjoy going super fast like a mad woman through the yard.
But my son said he would stick around. Which was a great decision on his part because not even 10 minutes later, he was lifting the front end of the lawnmower out of the curb gutter.
I don’t think he ratted me out to his grandfather, who, fortunately, never reads this. Doesn’t even know it exists.
The rest of the time went fairly well aside from the mower randomly dying on me at one point.
…however, I found out later that the problem with Grandpa’s mower not starting could be due to a parking brake being left on.
Or my grandfather has seen me mow wherever he may be in the afterlife and doesn’t want me using his mower because I take after my grandmother.
Who he didn’t want using the mower, either.
Whatever the reason for the mower to be a continuous pain in my ass, Grandma’s yard was taken care of. But lord help me when it needs mowed again.
More posts to come.