Country Wheelbarrow

Attempting yard work and can't even locate a wheelbarrow, yet only a Little Tike's wagon hooked to a peddle tractor. Operated on five packs of smarties and the Popsicle power of my two year-old beast. Slouched to push in the rear of the wagon, I don't dare in assisting in the steering process, for fear of losing an arm or teeth marks to my knuckles. I allow the S-curves, figure 8's, and detouring to each and every mud hole as part of our coarse.  Completing this journey of hauling sticks and muck, which realistically is only 20 yards away, by swagging, hunched over and nauseous for miles around the lawn. 

Desperate motherly "BRRRRRRRRR!" sounds fill the neighborhood, and to my liking, has yet to give me a headache, but surely is magnifying my exhaustion and serving good causes of cotton-mouth and numbing lips. As my gasps for air silence the "BRRRRR" for too long my chief operator demands, "Mom, can't hear tractor!" and I continue chugging. Sure, my pudding ass could use a good trot around 90% of my lawn, alright the entire lawn, and my 13 neighbors' lawns as well, but... I'm tired!

With each swerving load,  I'm starting to believe this process of spring cleaning  would have been faster by tucking sticks into my back pockets and carrying all the stones and leaves by heaping sandbox shovels or teaspoons directly to the dumping grounds.

His boots on the wrong feet, surely intentional planning, are allowing better clearance when frantically peddling, and enhance (hp) or toddler power, and at this rate we'll be completed just in time for fall's leaves to drop once again.  Pleased with October's decision; to rake leaves in heaps for my children's jumping and scattering pleasures, then leaving, and somewhere along the way they covered in snow.  Naturally, I assumed they had vanished... Fool! Only things ever vanishing are my husband's paychecks, an open box of cereal, and the gum from my purse. Now left with the shocking notion, all of fall's chores did not melt away with the snow.. what the hell? A nice mixture of now wet, smelly worm-covered leaves, combined with heaps of firewood bark and driveway stones, instead.

Perhaps, I could simply label "organic composting" excusing it until next spring... surely by then,  my husband  will have discovered such brilliance as buying me the shiniest damn, double-wheeled, super capacity wheelbarrow on the market to give as my Christmas gift!    "Now you fill that sucker with diamonds and then we'll talk Merry Christmas!"

I'm running out of daylight and deodorant, in seek of paramedics for lack of oxygen and a spinal transfusion from testing every vertebrate in my back. My patience were dumped over with a 4th wagon load of debris (after dangerous curves uprooted its wheels) and then we traveled endlessly with an empty wagon...however, not empty-handed; I filled those pockets and fistfuls this time to ensure some kind of satisfaction when we finally reached a destination. Plugging right along...

I look as if I've been run over by a tractor, been beat with a stick, and rolled in the worms,  ah! ... because I have... and all at the demands of a very terrifying two year-old! My yard still looks like crap (and we won't discuss inside) and I'm sure my husband will ask, "what the hell I've done all day?" and if I dare to ask for a back rub to my curving spine, he'll insist it is a invitation to sex...and who the hell wants that? ...that my friend, is how a fourth child comes about! "Hell no! Don't touch me, I'll be out collecting sticks!"