I stooped to a new level of low last Friday. I called my lawnmover “sexist.”

The accusation wasn’t without merit entirely. Several weeks prior I tried in vain to get it running and the darn thing wouldn’t start. Lo and behold, my father showed up and got the motor purring in no time. So last Friday I began the lawnmowing chore with a chip on my shoulder. And when I couldn’t get the mower going I pitched a girl-fit. Nothing frustrates me more than not being able to do a MAN’s job because I’m a GIRL. Stinkin’ sexist lawnmower!

In the middle of my rage, and my second attempt to get the mower running, my husband shouted out a new instruction and while my mouth blabbed on about how that wouldn’t work, the motor started. What in the world…? I instantly felt ashamed of my bad attitude and my negative lawnmover feelings and then I noticed a new problem. Somehow our duel speed, self-propelled mower turned into a push mower. Grrrr. I began internally lamenting arthritis woes and imagining the pain my elbows would be feeling the next day. After pausing to empty the mulch bag my dear husband again gave instruction. What’s that…? I wasn’t pulling the gear drive? So our mower is still self-propelled and I was pushing it just because I’m stupid? Yup. Lovely.

Turns out my lawnmower isn’t sexist. Turns out it isn’t in the habit of causing undue pain either. Turns out I need a few lessons in anger management and mechanics. Sigh. When will I ever learn?

The good thing is that I love to mow our little lawn. God gave us the perfect sized yard for us to tend and we really enjoy working on it. I mowed while Jeremy and Livia played on the steps. Jeremy then swept the walks and I deadheaded the old tulip and daffodil blooms while Livia tossed Cheerios around the front porch. Soon we’ll be putzing around a little vegetable patch, pulling weeds and examining the plants daily. And next time the yard needs to be mowed, I’ll be ready.