Live: From the Linoleum !

Life is all about carpe diem.

The older I get, the more I appreciate the joie de vivre of “why not?”  In my children this was never fun as it involved a Vesuvius-sized mess, blood or other bodily fluid, or one of those infamous “Mrs. Bowen?” phone calls.  Let’s call it a crapshoot and move on, shall we?

Yesterday I decided that the yard needed mowing.  Our yard dude, Matt, an eclectic juxtaposition of redneck and surfer with a farmer’s tan, moved to Florida and no male in my house mows because allergies.  Mowing is no big deal and I find I rather enjoy it especially if I’m peeved.  There’s nothing quite as cathartic as symbolically decapitating someone while chop-chop-chopping down blades of grass and weeds.  Or is that just me?  Don’t answer that.

The weather was gorgeous…around 84 degrees with a nice breeze.  Piece o’cake!

All together now…!


Suffice to say, it turned out hotter than I thought and our yard is huge.  It’s a push mower and paying someone to do the yard work has made me into, well…a pansy.  

I staggered through the back door as His Awesomeness rounded the corner from the hall, his arms outstretched, ready for a hug.

Don’t touch me!  I’m sweating like a hooker at a Friday night tent revival.

My firstborn shot me a look and quickly hied over to the fridge to pour me a glass of water.  I’d like to say he did it because he’s thoughtful but I’m pretty sure it had more to do with the fact that I grunted like a camel headed for an oasis.  It couldn’t have been pretty.

By now, I was wishing I was home alone, free to unleash The Girls like twin swords of Damocles from the confines of my sweat-soaked brassiere, but it wasn’t meant to be.  I gingerly lowered myself to the kitchen floor, prostrating myself across the cool linoleum, His Awesomeness looking on like she’s finally lost her shit but saying Mom, what in the hell are you doing?

No talking; just lower the water down here and back away.  I’m having the mother of all hot flashes.  Being smart and conscious of the fact that Mom exhibited all the signs of a woman on the edge, he handed down the glass and vacated the premises.

I lay there, beached like Shamu on the coastline of kitchen lino trying to understand why I do these things to myself.  My thoughts, like those of Kid Rock in his northern Michigan youth, were short.  I stared, chest heaving, under-boob sweat cascading down my sides, at the kitchen ceiling.  When had that stain appeared?  Tiny specks of dark red dotted the area over the sink.  Sibling bloodletting?  Ritual sacrifice?  Ah, bingo!, splattered marinara from when I’d dropped the pan into the sink.  

The popcorn of said ceiling has never been my favorite feature mostly for the fact that dust loves ceiling popcorn, mocking me and my lack of domestic cleaning skills.  As do spider webs.  And there, hanging like a macabre sticky chandelier, was the web of a daddy long legs.  I watched him, her, it.  I couldn’t tell from way down on the floor and, as I hate arachnids, I wasn’t getting close enough to inspect the bits.

All of a sudden it occurred to me that I lay flat on my back under the habitat of a creature that scares the bejeebers out of me.  What if it landed on me?  Simple: I’d die of a heart attack.  Then from somewhere deep in my subconscious, I heard my mother’s voice.  What if the paramedics come and find you on the floor?  You’re not wearing your good underpants.  What if, in their earnestness to save you, they have to cut off your clothes?  What then?  You want them to see your ratty granny panties?

Merciful heavens!  Not only do I have to concern myself with being attired in my bestest underpants for a potential car wreck, as per my mother’s admonitions, I can’t even have an in-home run in with wildlife for fear of needing to be ready at any hour of the day or night to entertain the presence of rescue personnel, the media and maybe Geraldo in the midst of my plight.

Nuh-uh.  No way.

Tomorrow I’m hiring a new lawn guy!


  1. Every time I see a post from you, I get happy. You are such a good writer! If it wouldn’t stress you too much, you should write a book. In fact, a compilation of your blog posts would be awesome!

  2. Perhaps you would enjoy a spin on a riding mower?
    Perhaps the male contingent could take allergy shots?

    • I’d kill for a riding mower, but given their aversion to my driving, I have a hard time seeing my family actually letting me on one. One half of the male contingent is taking shots and the other is seriously considering them. Me, I pop a Benadryl and wear a mask. Thanks for stopping by!

  3. You’re funny! Love that. Popcorn ceiling in the kitchen sounds as bad as carpeting in a kitchen. Must have been a man’s idea! Hope you got a nice cool shower when you recovered from the mowing. I’ve never mowed in my life and intend never to do so! Thanks for the laughs.

    • Back when Himself and I were Spring chickens, we toured a house that had industrial carpet in the kitchen. Weird! And our bathrooms each have carpeting. Who does THAT?! And yes, I got a nice shower after I peeled myself off the lino.

      Thanks for stopping by and commenting. And thanks for the compliment…glad you got a laugh! Come back soon 😊

  4. Only way that would be worth doing would be if you IMMEDIATELY went out and spent the equivalent of the yard guy’s fee on ICE CREAM and at it ALL yourself!

    • When I realized I wasn’t cut out for life as an international spy, I figured out it’s all about finding excitement in the little stuff. 🛰🔍🕷

  5. You are a wonderful writer and the things you write about are all the things wifes/mothers think about, however, sometimes I think that you are watching (spying?) on me as I live my life!!!

    • Thanks for the compliment, Gay! I got really tired of reading articles about what makes a mom great and what we ‘should’ do versus what we actually do when we aren’t physically and mentally wiped out. And if blogging has taught me ANYTHING, it’s that the things that we think make our life experiences unique, really aren’t. Not that we aren’t all special snowflakes, just that despite what the media would have us believe, we’re all more alike than we are different. Have a great week (I swear I’m not spying on you!).

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