Dirt

We're in a construction zone. Well, we were. Now we have grass seed covered with a biodegradable blanket. But for a solid two weeks we had a giant hole and an large dirt pile at the edge of our yard. A gas line needed to be replaced.


Here's where I feel really lucky I don't own this place. If we owned this property, I'd probably be pretty frustrated by them killing all that grass and making a ruckus. I'd be trying to put things back in place every time the construction workers turned their backs, like my next door neighbor did daily.


But as renters, all I think is "free entertainment!" My kids were drawn to that mound all day, every day.


Not to mention the construction itself. I was worried there might be some nap-disruption happenings. But nay!


All the digging and pushing and general construction truck activity was a show unto itself.


Now, I DO wish the dirt pile wasn't so close to the road. Because you KNOW they'd run out there when I was cooking or using the washroom or changing Grey's diaper.


Nor did I enjoy the plethora of unearthed rocks.


I tried to limit them to throwing into the pile rather than all over the grass or in the street or, you know, at each other.


But jumping... jumping I can get behind.


And so can Grey, even if his "jumping" means going on tip-toes then scooting down the hill on his rear.

So long, dirt pile, we salute you.