Dear Man with the Mower,
I know that you work hard everyday providing for your family. 6:30am starts, rush hour traffic, shovelling down a quick lunch in order to get through the workload and then home at 6pm to see what the evening holds. You may find the winter a little boring, sitting in the dark watching rerun’s of The Soprano’s cradling your luke warm cup of tea in you arms whilst at the same time trying not to allow your Digestive biscuit to over-soak, break off and meet an untimely end at end of your cup.
But in the summer you emerge from your cocoon, dust off those bleary eyelids, whack on some shorts circa 1982 and crack open your shed. Oh yes baby….. it’s time to sort out the garden! I am a man and here are my machines!!!
I’d be fairly creative….but I must say I struggled to find anything photo wise to put his this post….so daisies…..the aul’ reliable ….any reason to lie down too.
Around that same time, I’m sitting there, muslin in one hand, over active 8 month old in the other, sweat pouring off me having wrangled the 2 year old into his toddler bed, (from which he hops back out of whenever he fancies for no apparent reason other than to quench the last morsel of living hope from my soul). My 4 & 6 year olds are re-enacting a life scene from some parallel universe that involves dinosaurs, unicorns and an aptly named, traditionally dressed, doll from Dubai called Nuala. But life outside that bedroom is forgotten for the day so I’m happy to with it. There will be furniture moved and probably a chorus to rival that of the closing curtain scene of a West End musical …… but they’ll be in their bedrooms and I’ll be left alone.
It’s quite warm these nights so the windows are open. A welcome move by the majority of sleep loving adults. However a move met with trepidation by parents of young children all over the world. Why I hear you ponder, my neighbour friend as you slot the keys of the shed into the padlock with great excitement. Cos they may fall out?
No, No these day’s we have to have clasps on the windows to keep them safe.
Because my friend, when you have drained your post dinner cup of tea, stacked your dishes into the dishwasher and decided it’s too late for the gym, you’ll go out to your shed and PULL OUT YOUR DAMN LAWNMOWER. It will now be 8:15pm.
And I will start crying into my reheated, but now cold again, limp stir-fry.
Oh I forgot a something. You will be
I’ll have come down from spending 40 minutes lulling 4th born into a semiconscious state – you know the place where you can lie them down and tip toe out the door satisfied that they are not sound asleep enough to wake up bawling on discovering they are not in your arms anyone but sleepy enough to not care. A delicate operation requiring prowess usually only possessed by an Olympic Athlete and Mum’s the world over.
Obligatory shot of my much loved….wear with everything… Stan Smith- yes I am a living cliché. But I”m goin’a own it.
And so at 8.16pm, the 2 year old will bolt upright from his bed, clamber across his floor, swing open his door with such force that and shout from the landing “Mama!!!! Mama!! Law-mow-r, Law-mow-r….I go outside…I see it…I see it” His shouting will wake the 8 month old who will proceed to scream like the devils cat.
And then Julia Roberts Jnr will emerge from Narnia with a unicorn and Shirey Temple in tow – they will want to know if they can dance in the garden whilst combing each others hair with golden forks whilst the noise of the mower is keeping them awake.
And you will wipe the bead of sweat from your brown, congratulate yourself on a job well done……and go to retrieve the strimmer.
Tomorrow morning my children will be like Satan’s spawn. I will silently curse you once more for luck. Safe in the knowledge that there is another you, just willing the daisy’s up so he can massacre them. He’ll probably do that at 8.20pm tonight.
Your’s, currently searching amazon for toddler earplugs and fans,