Color Me 50 Shades of Surprised, In Katie's Green Room!
It's Official, Mom's a Dorkfish!

Hey You Guys, Get Off My Kids' Lawn!

I remember walking home from school with my brother (uphill, both ways, bare feet, in the snow, etc...) and both of us running past the abattoir (exotic-like name for slaughter house) as if being chased by zombies.

Living around the corner from a slaught..I mean...abattoir was scary enough (and downright disgusting, in the middle of August, enough said) however, I can't begin to describe the old lady who lived next door without feeling as if I need to get up and run away, real fast, right now, because LOOKOUT!!! SHE'S COMING!!!

Thinking back on on her blood-stained apron and pack of hell hounds (some sort of beagle mix, from hell) I'm guessing she worked next door at the abattoir, at least I hope she did, because the alternative explanation of someone walking around wearing a bloody apron...well...LOOKOUT!!!  SHE'S COMING!!!

We were upsetting her dogs, you see (more likely, walking to close to where the dead bodies were hidden) either way, I hated walking home from school and often times remind my kids about how lucky they are to have their own personal car service (that would be me!) not to mention, NOT having to live around the corner from an abattoir.

Day 1 of Heavy Machinery on My Lawn
Well, good morning sunshine(s)!

According to Melisa, I should have been all...WHAT THE?!?...and, considering we've had plumbing problems since the beginning of summer and they've been ripping up our street consistently for the last two weeks, I was sort of...MEH, WHATEVER!...about it.

Until the kids started waking up:

  • What are those guys doing on our lawn?
  • OMG, can't they fix it right the first time?
  • Hey, they're ripping up the flower bed!
  • We worked TOO HARD for them to mess it up!

It took me a few minutes to calm them all down -- seriously, ALL four of them were ready to go outside (in their pajamas and everything) to holler at the poor guys who, really, were just doing there jobs and, honestly, probably don't give a fig about peonies.

"Don't worry, I'm going to write a letter to the water company and the town."

My 13 year-old son continued to stare out the dining room window for about...oh, I don't know...however long it took me to drain the rest of my coffee mug.

"Nope, I'mma get my baseball bat!"

SNORT!  Talk about role-reversal, seriously, and I couldn't help but imagine my kids wearing bloody aprons.

Doofus-Dawg, however, would make a terrible hell hound -- although, he WOULD lick them to death.

They did eventually put my peonies back, however, the shock of being ripped out of the ground by a bulldozer, I swear I can STILL hear them screaming.  The peonies.  Not the workmen, who were unusually quiet, btw.

Their heavy machinery, not so much.

They DID, however, move their heavy machinery to make way for my kids' car service (me, remember?) and yes there ARE perfectly nice people here in Jersey...dammit!

Day 2 of Heavy Machinery on My Lawn
They're baaaa-aaaack!


Aaaaaand, I'm hiding the baseball bats, just in case (you're welcome).

Stupid plumbing.  Dumbass heavy machinery.

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