The next time I decide on a neat little home improvement project for my 1950's era house, please, please remind me to just leave well enough alone.
After being gifted some beautiful free grass from Jessica, we decided to reclaim some of the over-sized planter space once occupied by huge juniper bushes on behalf of our lawn. All it would require, I naively assumed, was tearing up some cement curbing and laying the pretty new sod.
And thus was discovered the seemingly thin slice of cement determined to remain in place in our front yard until the end of time.
I'm not exaggerating. Paddy, Brian,and Kimmi attacked the curbing with sledge hammers, shovels, pick axes, and pent up fury for several hours. Little Floyd-child prevents me from swinging a sledge hammer or moving sod, to my chagrin/relief.
(Let's be honest. I couldn't swing a sledge hammer effectively before Floyd, either.)
The occasional chunk flew off and hit one of us in the eye, but other than that...
The hammers swung down and the blisters rose up, and the cement in the ground stood still.
Basically, we only succeeded in making it too ugly to leave it this way. Our new goal is to simply keep the new grass alive somehow until Papanwa, a.k.a Man-of-Many-Muscles-and-Ridiculous-Brute-Strength, returns from his Alaskan cruise to solve all of our problems. Unless, of course, any of you are eager to come smash some un-smashable concrete. Seriously.