Okay….so it seems that everyone in the blogging hemisphere is following a TV show called LOST. What’s it about? couldn’t tell ya. Who stars in it? don’t know that either. But I aim to find out. Why? Because I’m tired of feeling like a trapped tourist in a hotel lobby during a Star Trek convention where everyone is speaking Klingon!!!!
AWWAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Categories: Uncategorized
Can housewives collect workman’s comp? Do we sue our husbands for it?
Today’s chore list was relatively short. All I had on it was to cut the grass. Sounds simple enough, right? I thought so too. Everything was going great until I decided to cut under/around the swing set. Normally, I would stop the riding mower, move the swings up and out of the way, then hop back on and mow underneath them. For some reason I chose not to do that today.
The first pass went uneventful–no bells or whistles. On the second pass, however, as I put the mower into low gear and creped forward I didn’t notice that the belly pan handle ( the thingy that lowers the pan down to cut the grass) had gotten caught on the swing next to me. I was so engrossed in making sure the see-saw horse on the other side of the swing didn’t get wedged in front of the mower that everything else took a backseat.
Only by the grace of God did I hear the ‘creak’ noise over the roar of the mower. When I turned around to see from where the sound was coming from, the swing set had already passed the halfway point and was on its way down.
I had a choice to make: 1) let the VERY LARGE, VERY WOODEN, set hit me in the back of the head, killing me instantly, 2) let the set hit me in the back of the neck, severing my spinal cord into two and killing me instantly (hopefully), 3) let it hit me in the back, pinning me against the mower, knocking the wind me, and rendering me unconscious for who knows how long, or 4) turn and let it hit me on the shoulder where less damage would occur.
It was a tough decision between three and four. But I figured if i chose number three, It would be hours before my kids came looking for me. They only seek me out when they’re hungry and seeing as how we just had breakfast…. So number four was chosen.
It hurt; I won’t lie. And even though it is not of my nature to cuss, it was to my great surprise that I didn’t create a ‘few new words’ for the English language at this point. Not a word left my lips. I just grunted under the weight and somehow managed to maneuver the lawnmower and me out from underneath the wreckage.
The whole thing gave me a scare. I called my husband to tell him what had happened. This was his reply to hearing that his wife had just gotten crushed by the swing set — did I mention that it was a very large, very wooden, and very heavy swing set?
“Oh..”
“That’s It? Just ‘Oh’?”
“Well I figured that if you were hurt, you wouldn’t be calling me. You’d be calling for help.”
“I messed up the belly pan handle too… It won’t go down and my shoulder hurts.”
“I’ll deal with it when I get home… I gotta go.”
I’m sorry, but when your wife or spouse calls you at work and tells you that they’ve just gotten hurt, don’t answer them with ‘Oh’. Where’s the love? I’ve given this man the best years of my life and five kids to boot. The least he could have given me was an ‘are you alright?’ I didn’t even get that.
Needless to say, his lack of response to my near death experience made me very angry. Angry enough to take the swing set apart into two pieces and stand them back up and put it back together without his stinking help—right after I found out where the socket wrench was hiding. Not to mention I beat the belly pan handle back into submission with a hammer and finished mowing the yard too.
I’m now sitting here on the front porch, nursing my black and blue shoulder with a frozen Popsicle. Seems my brood loaned out all our ice packs to the neighborhood kids. The only choice I had left was the Popsicle or a frozen pack of breakfast sausages.
The Moral of the story: Stay away from swing sets when cutting the grass.
Now if you will please excuse me, I need to go and shrink my husband’s favorite pair of bluejeans in the washer….and maybe wash all his underwear with some red socks.
Categories: family · fitness · humor · kids · life
Tagged: grass cutting, lawn mowers, swing sets of death
