When the husband is deployed, even if only for a month-long training, life goes on.
The sugar snap peas grow
The child grows
The grass turns into a Jungle of Amazonian proportions so that indigenous dogs must make pathways through the foliage just to do their business. A Jungle where ladybugs sway on the tops of tall grasses, two feet or more above the ground. A Jungle that rivals the chaos of the tomato garden.
In such a case... where domesticated backyard grows afoul, the temporarily-single, mild-mannered housewife must cry with Lady Macbeth, "Un-sex me!", a cry for the gentle nature of woman to turn hard and masculine in order to complete the work at hand.
(Although, unlike M'lady, I am not going to murder anyone. Just mow the lawn.)
I quoted Mrs. Macbeth as I grunted and sweated, the lawnmower becoming an extension of my arms as I hacked at the overgrown tangle of green. Ladybugs flew away in confusion (Ladybugs, it seems, procrastinate and would not survive any sudden form disaster, as they need the shaking of the grassy stalk they're resting on in order to feel the need to retreat.), weeds screamed as they were mown down, Nate screamed as he sat in his chair, frightened by the roar of the lawnmower (our neighbor came over and rescued him after a bit) (Apparently, temporary men make terrible mothers).
Here is the lawnmower posing with the last of the Jungle, which looks tame compared with the before picture above.
After finally mastering the Jungle, I quickly threw Shakespeare away and turned straight back into a woman, desperate for a shower and some chocolate.
"Woman, King of the Jungle", sponsored by the Navy and coming soon to a deployment near you.