I can feel my frustration building…
Here comes a wasted Saturday afternoon. After finally getting the energy up to mow my lawn, then dragging the mower out of a storage shed and getting fuel, I found the mower’s rip cord was jammed and wouldn’t loosen even a little bit.
I go inside complaining…
Should I repair it? Can I repair it? Maybe just get a new one? Hearing me, my 16 year old said, “You should get a push mower–the kind with no engine–and I’ll mow the yard this summer.” What?
I flip on the internet fantasizing…
He’s going to mow the yard this summer! I found one he could handle on the Home Depot website. Durable, low-maintenance, fairly light-weight. The order went through without a problem.
I assemble the mower last night wondering…
Will he really do this? He’s exercised his capacity a lot since right before his birthday. Less anger, quicker recoveries, more ability to handle “reasonable” requests, able to follow through with chores without complaining.
I mention yard mowing hoping…
Maybe the extra allowance will encourage him. “Yeah, I’ll do it. I really need that ten dollars.” I went outside with my laptop to start writing a totally different blog post on prenatal alcohol exposure. I waited and tried to fake that I wasn’t hoping.
I catch myself cringing…
He’s really doing this. He’d come outside and gotten the lawnmower without a comment, listening to his mp3 player. He started mowing the first small section of our yard. “Michael, I need you to pick up the twigs before I get to them so it doesn’t jam.”
I notice my breathing…
What is really important here? A sudden flash of irritability was my reminder to ask that. He’s doing what I asked him to do, to the best of his capacity, without a complaint, and he’s asking for help before getting angry.
I look at the pile of sticks building…
This seems like possibly some teamwork between us. He mows in patterns that look erratic to me but make perfect sense to him. He stops about every 30 seconds and texts a friend or skips to a new song. I’m a little surprised at how relaxed I am watching all this.
I observe myself agreeing…
He’s worked up to his capacity, if not his ability. “I’m finished now,” he says. I just know he can do “better,” but I accept this outcome as a gift. No complaining, no moaning, no whining, no demanding.
Just a shaggy-looking yard, ten dollars leaving my pocket, and a little more hope in my heart for his future.
For these, I am grateful.
He mows in patterns that look erratic to me but make perfect sense to him. Nevertheless, I am grateful.