I don’t think it’s fair, but for reasons that are obvious to everyone but me, I’m not allowed to use power tools.
I’m also not allowed to use anything with a sharp blade, the staple gun, the glue gun, blenders or mixers, or basically anything fun that makes a challenging task easier.
So many rules.
Like this one time, I picked up the weed whacker and my husband, the Carpenter, yelped from across the yard, “don’t even think about it.”
Apparently, it was his new gas-powered tool. He didn’t want me to break it. Or injure myself. And also maybe didn’t trust me not to chop the heads off his precious flowers. As if. Sheesh.
I think we have some trust issues in our relationship, because cutting the grass is also off limits for me. So much for being helpful. I probably shouldn’t have asked why the lawn had to be cut in strips of diagonal lines, back and forth, in a perfect pattern. I was just curious.
Who made the lawn care rules? What if we went rogue and just cut the grass to make a happy face, but left the longer grass at the top of the eyes a little longer, so it had eyebrows. Lawn art. Fun, right?
There was a punishment for that suggestion: weeding the garden, which I apparently don’t do fast enough because I start collecting the pretty rocks I find, make friends with the bugs and relocate them for safety, and I ask a lot of questions.
All of which, can I just say, makes me question why people find gardening so calm, because after about 10 minutes of gardening with me, the Carpenter is not calm. Giggle.
Now that we have a lot of projects on the go around the property we care for, I feel as if I’m always asking for my husband’s help.
I don’t like it. I want to be self-sufficient. Also, I really don’t like to wait. I’m more of a “I have an idea and I would like it executed now. Like right now,” type of person.
And if you’ve read this column for any length of time, you’ll know that my beloved Carpenter likes to make me wait. And wait. And just keep on waiting. We’re talking years, people, not days.
So, when I had to sweep a large area of dirt and mulch on our property, he handed me a broom and sarcastically said, “good luck.” He’s charming like that.
But I gave him my tiny evil eye Kelly glare, which suggested I was going to make this day a very long and arduous one. For him. Not for me. You get that, right?
So, that’s when he brought out the black and yellow battery-powered Dewalt Leaf Blower.
I kid you not, the clouds in the sky separated to make way for the sun to shine a giant beam of light down on this big power tool. I am sure I heard angels singing too. This was a real moment. He trusted me.
Wait, no. He didn’t. I got the safety talk. There is always a safety talk. Wear goggles. Don’t blow it at the gravel driveway near the vehicles, windows or near people.
And no, Kelly, you cannot blow it at your face to make your hair fly up like a supermodel. Don’t chase the squirrels, either.
So many rules. Whatever.
I’m powerful now.
This is just the beginning.
