There’s nothing quite like the reaction of a teenager when you tell them it’s time to do yard work. You’d think I had just asked them to climb Mount Everest barefoot while carrying a lawnmower on their back.
First, there’s the bargaining phase.
“Can I do it later?”
“How much are you paying me?”
“What if I just manifest the grass to cut itself?”
Then comes the dramatic preparation. This involves finding “work clothes,” which apparently means wearing the oldest, most mismatched outfit possible, as if they’re about to embark on a survival reality show. Then they must locate their earbuds, sunglasses, and an emotional support water bottle before even touching a rake.
Finally, the actual yard work begins. And by “begins,” I mean one leaf is moved, followed by a 10-minute break. Every movement is exaggerated, every task is completed at the speed of a sloth, and every five minutes, I hear, “Are we done yet?”
The leaf blower is their favorite tool not because it helps but because they can use it to blow each other’s hair back like they’re in a slow-motion action movie. Meanwhile, the lawnmower remains an unsolvable mystery requiring a full investigation into how to start it every single time.
After what feels like an eternity, they declare the job “done.” I inspect their work, only to find the grass is still uneven, the weeds are untouched, and somehow all the leaves have just been relocated to a different part of the yard.
But hey, at least they tried. And at least I got 20 minutes of free labor before they “needed a break.”
I’ll call it a win.