Okay. So is it murder or justifiable homicide if I run down one of my neighbors with the lawnmower? (This is assuming I could catch them with the push model.) Alright, alright. It’s bad form. But what if they provoked me by saying that my “man should out there taking care of the yard work?”  The “man” in this case is a nine-year-old black labrador who was, at that moment, sitting in the backyard either: A) licking himself, or B) eating grass in preparation for the 2 AM living room barf-a-thon he had planned.

I’m not kidding, this happens to me regularly – strangers walk past my house and make this comment while I’m working in the yard. It floors me every single time and I still have no appropriate response to such an inappropriate statement.

What’s wrong with me doing my yard work? I happen to like it – well, now that I’m not 100 pounds overweight and subject to heat stroke at any second during the process.

It’s great exercise and a wonderful way to use the sun to boost mood. As a Reluctant Vampire, I see the sun only a few hours during the week and usually only one day during the weekend. Yesterday, I spent nearly all the daylight hours outside and it was fantastic!

In recent months, in addition to neglecting much of my housework, my blog, my correspondence, etc., I have neglected my yard, making my home look more deserted than not. Last weekend found me cleaning out the flower beds, the gutters and the roof. This weekend found me clearing up debris and completing an annual chore I dread – mowing down the Fairy Ring.

Long before I bought this house, there was a large tree in the middle of the yard surrounded by grape hyacinths. While the tree is long gone, every year, this ring of tiny, purple flowers appears and I am enchanted. They remind me of A Day in Fairyland, one of my favorite childhood books; so, although I know that real fairy rings are made of mushrooms, I always think of this dainty, purple circle as one. Sue me. Anyway, I just love them and hate to mow them down. Still, rumor has it that I’m an adult; so, I must take care of my responsibilities as I can. That means mowing the yard when I have the opportunity, which was yesterday – before the flowers were finished blooming.

I finished the front yard, but not the side or back yards. Exhausted, I called it a day.

Show of hands: who all thought that being a grown-up would be all about eating whatever you wanted and staying up as late as you wanted? Yup. Me, too. This whole adult thing has turned out to be nothing like it looked in the brochure. The list of things needing attention always seems to be more extensive than either the time or the energy available to address it. The list of bills always seems to outstrip the funds handy to settle it. Things never seem to get to a point where I can really relax and say truthfully, “Everything is done.”

Everything is never done.

So, I suppose that being an adult is less about bedtimes and more about pacing – knowing how to prioritize, how to reprioritize and when to call it a day.