Thursday, April 28, 2011

Mountains Out of Mole Hills

Morning Readers,

     They'd been going all morning, but, like any other mom completely immersed in Yo Gabba Gabba   doing housework, I'd blocked out the beeps, metallic grinding and sounds of other men grunting at each other. It wasn't until I casually glanced out the window that I was prompted to send Husband this text message:

"Soo..it took me all morning to acknowledge the construction sounds next door. Turns out the entire right side of the yard is gone..hmm. " (I think the "Hmm" part of it may have been the trigger, but, like the Tootsie Pop, the world may never know.


"Our yard?" He replied.

"If the grass on the right side is ours..then yes."

"Are you being funny? Is it our yard or not?"

     Things had turned sassy all of the sudden, and not the "wink at you and you buy me a drink" kinda sassy. Sassy as in I felt the vibes of a man who wanted his wife to scoot over there and investigate. So, I investigated.
     Wrapped in a black sweater, bun slightly off-center, I took a deep breath and marched across the driveway, past the curious looks of the rest of the crew, and up to the one that seemed to be in charge.
 "Excuse me. Do you mind if I ask you what you're doing?" I tried to keep a serious face.
      Caught off guard, it took him a second to size me up, determine that I wasn't crazy, and haltingly explain that he was just doing his job, but yes, my neighbor, his employer, had decided to fix the basement. Unfortunately, he hadn't asked my permission before attempting to dig his way to China. I was assured that everything would be put back except the grass. I was satisfied. More texts and a call to Husband.

"He said that everything would be put back except the grass."

"What do you mean they're not putting back the grass? You just march right back over there and tell them to put the grass back."

"But they won't even be done until Friday. I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Not fine. Take the phone, march straight back over there and I'll tell them to put our grass back."

"I'm not doing that!" I screamed, like a five-year-old child and hung up the phone.

     I felt bad for yelling, but the thought was too much. Missing grass, that I could deal with. Plucking up enough courage to stomp my little flats down the sidewalk and order a man as old as my father to put my grass back this instant, was an entirely different issue.
     In the end, I managed to get a hold of my neighbor, who apologized for turning our property into a prison yard and promised to put everything back the way it was. As it stands this morning, the equipment sits quietly on the side of the house, no one running it, no one filling in holes or replacing grass, dirt mounds as high as the Himalayas blocking out the sun and valuable vitamin D that my children need to grow. So we'll wait and see...

Until Next Time Readers!