My enjoyment of lawn mowing goes no further than its being an activity in which I can engage without interruption by my lovelies. I would enjoy it more if I had a very slow riding mower to cut my quarter-acre lot, equipped with shade umbrella and drink holder. Mowing my lawn is a sweaty price to pay for an hour and a half of Daddy Downtime, but I am willing (reluctant, but willing). And, frankly, I don't have a choice since my boy isn't walking yet.
In the meantime, my yard suffers under the tyranny of my procrastination. It groans more deeply and more emphatically, I imagine, than the rest of creation.