Occasional Scribbles

The ‘Other’ is threatening to exchange his sick bed for the flower beds.  He thinks he can manage to sit astride the mower and tackle the grass.  He has been thinking this for a few days though so it may not happen.  It is of course better than allowing the Teen to ‘mow the grass’ for this is a euphemism for race around the garden at full speed, crunching through the gears and circling the flower beds and trees on two wheels in a fashion more suited to Brands Hatch.  The tractor mower practically groans and begs for mercy when the Terrible Teen puts it through it’s paces.  It is after all, ten years old now, it’s blades thin, it’s joints creaky, it’s lights a little short sighted and batteries in need of a recharge.

But all this does not deter the Teen.  As he helpfully offers to take over from his father, I shout the usual instructions of use, my voice drowned by the sound of high revs and protesting gears and watch as he disappears around the corner, just missing a chicken diving for the safety of the green house. I sigh to myself.  I notice that despite warnings not to attempt to mow the tiny strip of grass that lies between the pond and the hedge at the back of the garden, he, knowing best of course, inches his way through none the less.  I wince as I see one back wheel sinking into the soft marshey edge of the water, the mower leaning at a precarious angle and exhale in relief when he guns the throttle and tears out of danger.  Luck really does favour the brave or the downright stupid.

The Other, seeing his half hearted attempts to be useful are no longer necessary, takes himself back to bed leaving me to oversee the activity.  “Tell him not to go too near the edge over by the ‘heap’, there are stones there that fly up and damage the blades” he tells me, knowing full well that we have said this before and that the Teen has a mind of his own.  “You tell him – firmly, for a change” I say, knowing this is also a waste of breath.  Firm has never been much of a feature of this particular father.  I know it, the Teen knows it.  We are lucky, that on the whole, the Teen is good natured and not usually out to cause trouble.

“I’ve done it” the Teen tells me later on, “not a bad job is it”?

I survey the garden with a critical eye.

“6/10 – could do better,” I say mimicking his teachers.

“Muuuum”’!