Me vs. The Lawn Mower

I was determined to mow the lawn.  The problem is that I pretty much had never even touched a lawn mower in my 34 years on this earth.  I wasn't allowed to touch the 'monster' my stepdad used to mow with because my parents were afraid it would literally pull me all over the neighborhood.  Then I married at 21 and only 'owned' a yard for about one year until I turned 32.  Once we inherited this lawn, I was pregnant and couldn't mow anyway.  Well, the time had come.  I needed to help out my husband by mowing the lawn.  It was my idea, and Alan, though he didn't have much choice in the matter, reluctantly agreed that I should mow the lawn.

With rain in the forecast for the coming week, I put Preston down for a nap and got Lydia some toys for the porch, and dragged the lawn mower out of the garage.  This isn't just any lawn mower.  It is one of those lawn mowers you have to turn on by yanking the pully cord a bunch of times to rev up the engine.  And it looks like a transformer.  I half expect it to turn into Bumblebee at any given moment.

'How hard can this possibly be?' I thought as I dragged Bumblebee to the bottom of the drive way.  I unhooked the cord from its holder on the side of the handle, held down the black bar and pulled on the pully cord three times.  Nothing.  I pulled again about five or six more times.  It made sounds, but never actually turned on.  Thoughts raced through my head....'what if I am too short and small to mow a lawn, how ridiculous would that be?'.  I became angry.  'It can't possibly be this hard, what is wrong with me?'  I tried again, and again, and again.  Then I did what any reasonable, level-headed mother of three would do.  I started to cry and stomp around the yard muttering to myself for the whole neighborhood to see.  And then I called my husband.  Crying into the phone, I explained that I was failing at mowing the lawn.  Alan offered to come home and start it for me, but I was too proud.  So he told me to open the flaps and try cleaning it out first instead.  So, tears streaming down my cheeks, I stomped back over to Bumblebee and cleaned a giant bag full of mud and wet grass out.  Ha!!  This is it.  It was clogged!  Victory!

I pulled again about a dozen times with no luck.  Back to the crying, the stomping and calling Alan.  I am sure by this point I looked absolutely sane to all of the neighbors (sense the sarcasm here).  My pride diminished, Alan came home to help me start the lawn mower.  First, I should never have taken the cord out of its 'holder'.   I was trying to yank it up too far.  But that didn't help.  I still couldn't start it.  I was shaking with rage and crying, and poor Alan I am sure was trying not to laugh at me.  He got it started for me and I pushed it for about ten feet, feeling calm again, and then it died.  I am now starting to really hate Bumblbee for no good reason.

Finally, we realized we could adjust the handle to lower it so it wasn't up so high for me.  And lo and behold, the clouds parted and the Lord had favor upon me and my lawn mower.  Seriously.  I didn't deserve God's mercy at this point.  But now I could not only start the mower myself, but keep it going.  Alan went back to work and I mowed the lawn.

The moral of this story is.....lawn mowers that look like Bumblebee are not bad.  After all, he is a good guy.   They just need a little adjusting.