The Sixty-Ninth Letter: Mow Like a Girl


Dear Daughters,


I’ve always been a little ambivalent about gendered household chores.

What I mean is, part of me kind of resented as a teenager that I was tasked with cleaning the bathroom while my brother was tasked with mowing the lawn at my dad’s house. I’m pretty sure I brought this up with my dad at some point, and he said, “Well, do you want to mow the lawn?”

And the truth was that I didn’t. I had no interest in mowing.

Granted, I didn’t have an interest in cleaning the bathroom either, but it was faster, and in the long run, I’m glad I now have that standard of clean seared into my soul. (I mean, we don’t maintain that standard of clean, but you better believe I will hold you to it when you’re old enough for it to be your job!)

I will say, as a sidenote, that I was pretty awesome at the riding lawnmower at my mom’s house. But that isn’t so important here.

Your dad and I got married the summer after we graduated from college, so I never lived independently and, as a result, never had to handle All the Household Tasks.

Egalitarians that we are, we split most things quite easily: cooking, laundry, washing dishes. But once we bought a house, I left all the “man tasks” to him: fixing stuff, building stuff, mowing the grass. And I used to do a lot more of the cleaning, though I think that was mainly because it bothered me more than it bothered him. And by that I mean I noticed dirt more than he did. (Now that we live in the chaos that is life with small children, he does the lion’s share of the cleaning as well.)

The thing about leaving the “man tasks” to your dad is that I am not helpless. Both of us are aware of this.

I knew how to swing a hammer and use a drill, long before I met your dad. My dad raised me to know these things. Mr. Acri, an art teacher at my high school, was always impressed that I was one of the only girls to help build set during the musical season, and our sets were often pretty extravagant. (Like all those pinball machines frames we built the year we did Tommy? Oy.)

So I knew I could do these things, but your dad did them better. And he still does. He’s got a whole workshop full of electric tools that I have no interest in learning how to do. (Though I’m struck now that I did actually learn to use complicated tools in Industrial Technology class back in high school, as well, so I’m fairly confident that in a pinch, I could figure these things out.)

But, say, the weedwacker? No idea how to use it.

I’m pretty sure that the first time I mowed our grass—and this is embarrassing to admit—was when I was super pregnant with the Goose. That means I was in my thirties. I know I wasn’t mowing the lawn when I was pregnant the first time around because I remember our friends coming over while your dad was out of town and mowing the grass for me. And then they gave me a pedicure. Seriously.

So, I was super pregnant the second time and ready for the baby to arrive, and that’s when I mowed the grass. Was it because I wanted to try to prompt the labor? I honestly don’t remember, but maybe so.

You know how mowing the grass made me feel?

Like I could do anything.

I’m serious. I was like, oh my goodness, I should be on Survivor because I AM AMAZING. I JUST MOWED THE GRASS.

I feel like this occasionally when I do physical labor. It’s probably ridiculous, but it’s true.

Also toward the end of that second pregnancy, I remember wanting to start our garden, so I got out a shovel and began to turn over the dirt in the garden by hand since we don’t have a tiller. I was seriously all I AM SO AMAZING.

And then I got too close to a rabbit’s nest we didn’t’ know was in that section of garden and the baby bunnies jumped up and ran away and I was so overwhelmed with emotion and startled I began to cry. Sigh.

So there’s that.

But still: I AM SO AMAZING.

Now, the thing is, I have plenty of friends who do All The Tasks, and they do them All The Time. These women, in my book, are superwomen. No joke. I am proud of myself to remember to put the trash to the curb on Monday mornings. But some of my friends? SUPERHEROES.

Since the Goose was born, your dad has taken on some additional responsibilities at work, and so his time at home is less flexible than it used to be when he was a regular old professor. To try to make up for this difference in schedule, we have occasionally paid strapping young lads to mow our grass for us, but it just isn’t as convenient to have to plan around that.

Also, exercise. Mowing the lawn is incredible exercise. Especially because our mower is not self-propelled, and it has quite a vibration to it. So it’s an arm and abdominal workout, given the size of our yard, to maneuver that push-mower around.

And so? I do it now.

Not every time, of course. Just sometimes. Last week we split it. But yesterday? All me, girls. I’m feeling it today in my shoulders.

You know what I was thinking about yesterday while I mowed the lawn, while you played in your playhouse and scurried about and complained when I asked you to please pick up sticks?

I was thinking about how I want you to see your momma doing All the Tasks.

I want you to be a woman who knows how to use a lawnmower. Who feels AMAZING because you can do AMAZING things.

Maybe even use a weedwacker?

Well, we’ll see.

I’ll ask your dad.


Your Momma