Today was the day my husband has been anticipating for over a month. He and my mom got into a smack-talking competition about how long it takes to mow the lawn. Birch may not have realized he was talking to the woman who went into labor with me while mowing her lawn in South Florida in the month of July. My mom is made of stuff I can only dream of. I'm pretty sure she's not your average grandma.
We were grieving over wiping lawn service off of our budget and she was not the least bit sympathetic. This is a woman who mows for fun and her pleasure of pushing a vacuum borders on inappropriate. We felt that she had underestimated, forgotten, or just plain unappreciated the size of our yard. So, the gauntlet was thrown down, some challenges made, and today was the first ever (hopefully annual, Mom?) Janet vs. the Jones family lawn. We offered to stop the clock as many times as she would like to rehydrate and cool down (She is, after all 67. Please don't tell her that.) but she mowed the whole entire side lot in one hour and thirty-five minutes. I figure that is maybe one fourth to one third of our yard and Birch's total time is just under five hours.
She plans to finish on Saturday morning, bright and early. (She's taking a break and going to John's to grout his bathroom). Birch and I have called dibs on the front porch rockers to enjoy her strong finish. Lemonade is chilling. Spectators welcome.
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