Mowing the yard is my absolute favorite household chore. Call me crazy, but give me a mower and an hour without kids asking for snacks every five minutes, and I’m in heaven.
My husband has allergies, so I often jump at the opportunity to make those pristine lines across our lawn. When the job is finished, I walk up the street from our driveway to the mailbox, admiring my work.
Those visible results satisfy a place in my soul that often feels parched.
Like the gold stars my kindergarten teacher used to put on my handwriting homework, the manicured lawn confirms my job is finished.