I grew up in a rather industrialized area of Northern New Jersey - I know, try not to act so surprised - but, beyond the garden gate, lay a tiny oasis of perhaps the brightest hues and most abundant shades of green in the entire neighborhood.

If it weren't for the smells - at the time, drifting over from the fully-functional dumps of Staten Island - you'd think we lived in the English countryside.

Throughout my elementary school years, my father worked for a landscaping company and - though, people in the business would say that a landscaper's grass is seldom green - he spent a lot of his off-hours outdoors and would bring home the occasional stray shrub, or saved many sickly trees from the dumpster and transformed our backyard into one giant nursery, literally.

No matter how pitiful and droopy a plant looked, he just didn't have the heart to throw anything away.

Me?

Well, there's some sort of tree and weird type of bush - growing behind the pool and blocking out some of the much needed sun's rays - I'd sooner take a chainsaw to...aaaaaand...then, whack the sucker...DEAD...aaaaand...only then, would I mow it down to the ground...into tiny bits of...well, much more manageable pieces of mulch.

But, I can't.

Not that I am unable to - my husband has a chainsaw and I do know how to use it - it's just that, well, my husband simply won't allow it.

"You're dangerous with power tools - you must know that, by now - just wait until I get home!"

Yes, I know - I am my father's daughter - unfortunately, time waits for no mommy and I have been known to, you know,
break the rules of suburban living - yes, I cut, weed whack AND edge my own lawn - and take advantage of every opportunity, where I can unleash my...um...more feral side!

So, yesterday morning, after I watered the front, the back and walked the cat - yes, the poor Old Man has been reduced to enduring the balance of his years spent outdoors, wearing a leash - having declared war against the wild rabbits, I decided to screen the fencing around my vegetable garden.

Using my husband's high-pressured and totally cherry staple gun!

WHAP!

"Are you coming into the pool?

WHAP!

"Yep, as soon as momma finishes this project and it's going pretty fast, thanks to daddy's coolest power tool, ever!"

WHAP!

I swear, I zipped through the first panel - made up of several remnant laths and framed by some leftover 2 x 4 - in no time flat and was nearly done with the second.

WHAP...MMMZAP...POW!

When I found myself knocked backwards and flat on my ass!

"Oh...my...gawd...MOMMMMMEEEEE!"

What happened?

Well, suffice it to say that - in the never ending battle of mom vs. wild accusations of poolside martinis and drinking play dates - I'd consider myself lucky enough to make it through the summer...ALIVE!

Aaaaand...just what did we learn from all this?

Well, that metal screening and electric do NOT mix, of course...um...aaaaand that my kids can't be trusted to NOT tell daddy...just what did happen to his power tool...lying on top of the garbage...exactly!

Next week: Further discussion on the joys of living an Amish life and how to survive motherhood, without the aid of power tools, or having to throw up a lung, in Jersey.

After I walk the cat, of course - stupid leash!