I now have a lawn mowing guy and a snow plow guy, and I feel spoiled

For 30 years, I cut my own grass and shoveled the snow out of my driveway. Neither of these things is my favorite chore, but it was a point of pride that I did them myself.

Now someone else does them, and I'm not sure what to think.

It started last November when I was out shoveling the aftermath of the first snowstorm of the season. A guy drove up in a plow truck and asked if I wanted to hire him to clear our driveway for the winter.

His name was (and still is, for that matter) Jason. I asked how much he charged. He asked what I thought was fair. It turns out he normally does only commercial snow removal, but he was going to be in the neighborhood regularly to clear his mom's driveway anyway and could do mine whenever needed.

I told him he had a deal and I would get back to him on the going rate for residential driveways our size.

It was one of those mild winters where the plow guy comes out way ahead financially vs. the number of times he actually needs to clear the snow, but I didn't care. Jason is reliable and does a thorough job. I'm willing to pay a premium for that kind of service.

Yet...each time he came, there was a part of me that would watch him through the living room window and think, "What am I, 90 years old? I should be out there doing that myself. I don't need a plow guy."

Which I realize is dumb, but I was so used to me and/or the kids shoveling the snow that having a non-family member do it seemed strange.

Now fast forward to this past spring. I had some extra money from my PA announcing work. I knew my least favorite part of the time period from, say, April through October was cutting the grass. I saw a few landscapers advertising on our local community Faecbook page, so I reached out to one who had good reviews.

His name is Nick. He came over and assessed our yard and told me he could cut the grass, edge/trim and clean everything up once a week for $50 a pop. It takes me a little more than an hour of concerted effort to mow our half-acre lot, so this felt like a pretty good deal.

Now Nick comes every Monday to take care of my grass. I see him out there doing a nice job and I think to myself, "This is great! I love not having to worry about it anymore. I should have done this years ago. Of course, the fact that I've given it up also makes me a wuss."

I cannot escape this way of thinking. This idea that asking for help – even hiring help – is some sign of weakness. It makes no sense, but then many things that run through my brain these days make no sense.

Speaking of which, Terry and I have a strange mental block when it comes to remembering Nick's name. At various times (this is true), we have referred to him as Jason, Josh, Ryan and Kyle, in addition to this actual name.

Maybe I really am 90 years old.