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August 12, 2007

By Tiffany Horvath

I fought the lawn - and the lawn won.

When my husband came home on leave almost a month ago, he fertilized and re-seeded part of our yellowish lawn, assuring me the grass would be beautiful, lush and green very soon.

I have since decided I hate beautiful, lush and green.

A well-fertilized lawn, combined with three weeks of rain and me being out of town, did not make for a good combination.

I decided to mow the lawn on the first semi-sunny day we'd had since my husband left, partly because it was my anniversary and I desperately needed something to occupy my time, but mainly because the grass had grown so tall it was about to be declared a national park.

I convinced the kids to take their naps at the same time and got the lawnmower out of the garage. I swear the darn machine whimpered when it saw what I wanted it to do.

My next-door neighbor, upon seeing my struggles with the lawnmower from Hades, was nice enough to come over and do some magic twist with the little silver knobs beside the wheelie thingies and presto! The mower Hades was mowing the top of the grass.

Did I mention I am not so mechanically inclined?

My neighbor gently explained to me that, due to the height of the forest masquerading as my lawn, I would have to mow the lawn at least twice, once on the highest setting and again on a lower setting, if I wanted to make a difference. Normally, it takes me an hour-and-a-half to mow the lawn and I can do it all on one tank of gas. Fifteen hours, three days, several colorful metaphors, four tanks of gas and a basic understanding that lawnmowers, even those from Hades, need something called No. 30 oil when they started smoking later, my lawn was finished.

And so was I.

I thought I had been doing great about getting all the tasks done that my husband usually does. I would not call my family sexist, but somehow without ever discussing it, we have both ended up doing chores best suited to us.

I love cooking and baking while my husband enjoys eating. Hence, I usually prepare our meals. That, and my husband isn't really sure what the difference between chili powder and cinnamon is.

I also vacuum because, and I am sure there is some psychosis routed in a forgotten child trauma in this, I enjoy emptying the canister into the trash and seeing how much dirt and icky stuff my machine has sucked up.

I also dust the house - at least once a year.

My husband was quite the jock in his high school days and enjoys, for the most part, physical labor. So, he took on the jobs of shoveling the driveway and taking the trash out, raking the leaves and mowing the lawn. I mention this because I now have a whole new appreciation for his lawn-mowing technique. When he was home on leave, our lawn sparkled. If our lawn had a chest, it would have been puffed out in pride. My husband mowed it and used this thing called a weed whacker on the corners and crooned gently to it and eagerly fed it fertilizer and watered it at regular intervals.

Me? I mowed the green thing every 10 days or so while he was gone. I know where the weed whacker is, but I think it's ugly, I'm not real sure how to turn it on and, I'll admit, it kind of intimidates me. Maybe if I painted it pink or something I'd be more comfortable with it.

So, I mowed the lawn this week. And that's pretty much all I did with my week. I felt bad for myself on our anniversary and I mowed the lawn in an expression of pity. Then I got a gorgeous arrangement of flowers from my husband celebrating our day, so I mowed the lawn in giddy enjoyment.

Then the week ended tragically with the news that we lost four soldiers from our brigade and that almost a dozen were wounded. My husband called and softly delivered that news to me, about the same time as Fox News broadcast it in my living room.

So, I ended the week and my mowing with tears running down my cheeks and was left with what turned out to be a fairly decent lawn.

And the memory of four soldiers who will never see their lawns again.

I have never wanted my husband to mow our lawn so badly in my life as I did this week, and I know he wanted to be here as well. I also know that he is proud of what he does, who he does it for and whom he does it with. He is proud to serve as a soldier and admits those around him are proud to be where they are doing what they do as well.

He knows they are making a difference, and he can see it every day. He is surrounded by thousands of American soldiers who can see the difference make each day.

All I can see each day is my lawn, and my accomplishment in mowing it this week is puny in comparison.