Anyone that knows me knows that I do not mow lawns. It has nothing to do with getting dirty or physical labor- I just DON'T mow lawns. It's a man's thing. No one knows this more than my mother-in-law, Linda. When we were in California visiting her and Steve last year, we would look at houses together. If we saw a house with a big yard, she'd say, "Remember, you don't want a yard that's too big. If Kent's too busy, you'll have to mow it." I'd kindly explain to her that I simply don't mow lawns. That's a man's job. And if Kent was gone, then I'd hire some young entrepreneur to do it.
Well, the missionaries in our ward live in a house rather than an apartment. We drive by their house every day because it's on the main road to and from town. And everyday I would think, "Wow, that yard looks awful!" The grass was about a foot high, and there were weeds everywhere. It wasn't necessarily that bad, in hindsight. Keep in mind, however, that by comparison it was pretty bad. People often call DuPont, "Pleasantville" and for good reason- every single yard is manicured. It's a very clean neighborhood. So Kent and I took it upon ourselves to take care of their yard. They have better things to do. So this past Saturday we realized it needed another mow. Kent was tired, and so was I. But I didn't want him to have to mow both lawns, because ours needed mowing, too. So I decided that I'd mow our lawn. It was a big step for me. Understand that I swore off mowing lawns- but I knew Kent was really tired.
Needless to say, the local golf course won't be hiring me as their groundskeeper. There was no discernible pattern, and I had to go around the tree in our front yard about four times. But I thought Linda would be proud of me- she probably knows how much willpower, courage, perserverence, and sweat this took for me. And I did it all in my rockin' pink rain boots.