You know the old nursery rhyme about the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker?
Mine goes a little differently.
The Woosher, the Mower, and the Lovely Ring Maker.
It sounds like the setup for a terrible joke.
Instead…
It was just a couple of weekdays.
I’ve reached the stage of adulthood where, in less than forty-eight hours, I had meaningful conversations with a jeweler, a realtor, a handyman, and the mower repair shop…
…where I’m apparently known as The Woosher.
I’ll explain.
Over the years, Marc repaired our mowers…a lot.
Like…a lot.
So much so that, unbeknownst to me, I had apparently become a bit of a celebrity at the local mower repair shop.
You see, when I mow…
I. MOW.
I’m focused on my lines, jamming to yacht rock, with absolutely zero concern for anything that isn’t directly in my line of sight.
I take no prisoners.
If you’re a dog toy, a clump of dirt, a hose, a ghost…if you’re not directly in my line of sight, you’re getting run over.
And if you don’t shoot out the side of the mower in a glorious puff of what looks like snow, I’ll casually cruise over to the driveway and “whoosh” you out.
Occasionally, whooshing doesn’t work.
So much so that Marc bought one of those fancy mower jacks that you simply drive up onto so he could pull out…or cut out…or, on particularly memorable occasions, grind out…the non-whooshables.
Needless to say, Marc had MANY conversations with the guys at the mower repair shop.
I just didn’t know I was one of the regular topics.
That all changed two months ago when I took the mower in for repairs.
I gave the guy the name on the account.
Then the address.
He stopped typing.
Leaned around the monitor.
Squinted at me for a second.
Then said…
“YOU’RE THE WOOSHER!”
I nearly died.
In the best possible way.
I laughed so hard I could barely breathe.
Apparently I’d earned a nickname without ever knowing it.
Brace yourselves, though.
Because that’s just the setup for the next phase of the chaos.
Because that’s how my life works.
It all started a week ago Sunday.
It was approximately one zillion degrees outside, and I was convinced I could figure out how to turn the sprinklers back on by myself.
I mean…
How hard could it be?
Two hours later, after what can only be described as an insulation shower, losing approximately ten pounds through sweat alone, and having several conversations with myself that would have earned me a whopper of a talking to from my Uncle Tom…
…I had accomplished exactly one thing.
The sprinklers still didn’t work.
Well…
Two things.
The sprinklers didn’t work.
And I was PISSED.
Then Wednesday rolled around.
That’s when the mower and I officially declared war on one another.
At one point I found myself standing in the backyard crying while holding a multimeter and diagnosing a zero-turn mower.
Let me repeat that.
I wasn’t just holding a multimeter.
I knew how to use it.
I was checking battery voltage.
Listening for the solenoid.
Confirming the flywheel wasn’t seized.
Testing everything I could think of.
Who even am I?
If you’d told me five years ago that I’d someday know the difference between a bad battery, a bad starter, and a seized engine, I would’ve assumed you had me confused with someone else.
And yet…
There I was.
With my multimeter.
I was one YouTube video away from becoming a certified small-engine mechanic.
Which feels like a strange career pivot for a corporate executive.
Eventually, I admitted defeat.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I’d run out of things to troubleshoot.
I hate that red SOB.
It mocks me.
Regularly.
At one point I seriously considered listing it on Facebook Marketplace under the category:
Possessed.
So, since this was officially war, I called in the big guns.
The mower repair shop.
This time there was no chuckling on the other end of the phone.
I’d already confirmed the battery held a charge.
I’d confirmed the solenoid clicked.
Officially.
Through sound and feel.
I’d confirmed the flywheel wasn’t seized.
BAM.
Apparently I’d graduated from “that lady with mower problems” to earning that damned nickname like it was some sort of twisted badge of honor.
The Woosher.
THE Woosher.
Which, if I’m being honest…
…I now kind of love.
The poor mower never stood a chance.
The next day I hired a handyman to help update a few things around the house before I list it.
Could I replace light fixtures?
Yep.
I’ve done it before.
Could I install a bathroom floor?
Definitely.
Did I want to?
Absolutely not.
Somewhere over the past year I’ve learned something I wish I’d understood a long time ago.
There’s a difference between being capable of doing something and having the capacity to do it.
Just because I can doesn’t mean I have to.
That realization has been strangely freeing.
Then my phone rang.
It was my jeweler.
“Your ring will be ready by mid-August.”
And just like that…
Everything else disappeared for a minute.
One phone call was about a broken mower.
Another was about a ring that carries decades of love into its next chapter.
Life is funny and amazing like that.
I’ve learned that adulthood isn’t one story at a time.
It’s all of them at once.
One minute you’re discussing bathroom flooring and light fixtures.
The next you find out you’re famous at the mower repair shop because of your long and distinguished history of whooshing over things that should not, in fact, be whooshed.
Then you’re quietly tearing up because the ring that symbolizes your beautiful marriage has almost finished its metamorphosis. 🦋
Somewhere in there I also discovered under-eye cream so effective I’m considering writing it into my will…for reals.
Most people would say none of those things belong together.
Except in my life, they do.
Because this is what life actually looks like.
Beautiful.
Frustrating.
Ridiculous.
Heartbreaking.
Sometimes all before lunch.
So that’s the latest installment from the adventures of The Woosher, the Mower, and the Lovely Ring Maker.
It’s a strange little nursery rhyme.
One full of laughter…
Broken lawn equipment…
Remarkable people…
And a whole lot of rebuilding.
But for now…
It’s mine.
Oh and I’m happy to report, the sprinklers are working!
I called them too…they were here today.
I never turned on the water line to them. 🫥😑😬🫣🫠
