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Perspective.

7

September 1, 2014 by Dadinator

We’ve had a pile of wood sitting in the back yard for months waiting for us to do something with it. We planned to burn it at one stage, but decided to mulch it up instead and spread tanbark/mulch over part of our lawn to turn it into a native garden.

This was really the only weekend to get it done. I was unwell. The Mamanator was unwell. The kids were unwell. But we had reinforcements, my mum was up to help look after our spawn so we could get work done. We hired a mulcher for the day and we got cracking. Mulchy mulchy mulch we went. We did it in shifts. It was a big mulcher, it could mulch and it could chip wood, handling branches up to 9cm in diameter. It was a chunky beast.

It is an impressive machine. And bloody loud.

It is an impressive machine. And bloody loud.

We made it through the day and managed to get ripping along nicely. Later in the afternoon mum had to go. It was about 3:30pm and somehow she had watched the kids and swept and mopped the house. Meanwhile we’d done most of the work we wanted to do today.

I was driving mum back to the station when I got a call. It was The Mamanator. There was a problem, and that’s when our bad luck started.

The mulcher had seized up somehow. It was busted. I mean it was stuffed. From The Mamanator’s explanation on the phone I thought maybe a nut had come off somewhere and it had fallen over. But when I got home I saw it was far worse than that. Bits of twisted metal inside it, steel plates punctured like they were play dough…. It was bad. Also somehow the wheel brackets sheared off the machine, it couldn’t even stand. It was dead.

It was an ex-mulcher. Crap. We were going to have to explain to the hire company and probably pay them a lot of money. Money that would be better spent on food, the mortgage and all those selfish things. Crap. Still we had to settle down and make the best of it. The Mamanator was distraught, so I did what I could to calm her and reassure her. I probably didn’t do enough. Sick kids, sick me and my own angst meant I wasn’t as good a husband as I should have been.

I went out later and managed, somehow, to move the thing onto the trailer. At least we would be able to take it back to the hire place, and we’d learn the damage from there.

And then Sunday came. I was mowing the lawn. I had gone past the back of the house and turned up the side when The Mamanator came out screaming for me to stop. I couldn’t hear her above the sound of Murray the mower. I turned it off and she stared at me with panic in her eyes. “Didn’t you see the back door?”.

Not good....

Not good….

Then I saw the back door. Well S**t…. two in a weekend. As if one busted thing wasn’t enough. We called a glazier. We called the insurance company. We got it sorted, after another hit to the wallet. Our gardening projects were getting expensive.

I spent what remained of Sunday bemoaning our bad luck….

But…

I was thinking about this today, and wanted to rewrite some of this post here’s the re-write:

I was driving mum back to the station when I got a call. It was the Mamanator. There was a problem. That’s when I realised how lucky we were.

The Mamanator was fine. You see, the mulcher had seized up somehow. There were bits of twisted metal inside it, plates punctured like they were play dough…. It was bad. Any one of those sharp little bits could have lodged in The Mamanator’s arms, legs, skull, eye… I shudder to think about it now. Worse than that the whole thing had come off its wheels and keeled over somehow. It almost fell on her, motor roaring and all. Someone was watching out for her that afternoon.

Sure it was an ex-mulcher. We were going to have to explain to the hire company and probably pay them a lot of money. But what’s money compared to an eye or an arm or worse…. I had more important things to worry about. The Mamanator was distraught, so I did what I could to calm her and reassure her. I probably didn’t do enough. Sick kids, sick me and my own angst meant I wasn’t as good a husband as I should have been.

I went out later and managed, somehow, to force the thing up onto the trailer (no mean feat, it was heavy and awkward). At least we would be able to take it back to the hire place, so they could look at it and tell us what we needed to do.

And then Sunday came. I was mowing the lawn. I had gone past the back of the house and turned up the side when The Mamanator came out screaming for me to stop. I couldn’t hear her above the sound of Murray the mower. I turned it off and she stared at me with panic in her eyes. “Didn’t you see the back door?”.

Then I saw the back door. The Lad had been standing right behind it when the lawn mower had picked up a rock and flung it at him at a million miles an hour. The thin pane of glass had stopped it, shattering as it did so. Thank god the door was there. Otherwise… well… let’s just not think about that too hard.

We called a glazier. We called the insurance company. The door was fixed that night. All was well.

I spent Monday thankful that we’d been so lucky.

It’s all a matter of perspective.

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7 thoughts on “Perspective.

  1. Love it. Sometimes it’s only after we have a moment to breathe that we realise how lucky we are. Glad everyone was/is OK. Hope your next weekend is a little better, though!

  2. Rory Mouttet says:

    Well I was totally cracking up at the start of this and quite sober by the end of it. You are right what a great lesson and great way of putting it.

  3. adrie82 says:

    thank you very much I really love the whole story and as always you been a teacher comes through going nuts then logically with the real life things 🙂

  4. mikecbay says:

    Perspective indeed. Thanks for the reminder Seamus. Glad to know you are all well!

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