Of course by assumed the worst, I don't mean that questioned the motives of my little man. I questioned his butt. As in, I thought "just how stinking far is his 8 pound, 6 ounce caboose gonna be able to push a lawn-mower in 95 degree heat with his spindly arms and his get-that-kid-a-sandwich frame?" as I pictured myself mowing the other 98% of my lawn after his stamina gave out. As they almost always are, my instincts were total crap.
|The whole thing was a much sweatier affair than this picture makes it appear.|
So I guess, in the end, the gift wasn't so much the lesson. Or the lawn. Or all of the future lawns (which is AWESOME!). I think the real gift was watching my oldest just impress the living bejeezus out of me by doing way more than I expected he would be able to as a gift to me.
Happy Father's Day.