MSG: Open Letters re: Curbing Debacle

Dear Neighbor:

It has come to my attention (repeatedly) that perhaps my dog's occasional bark is upsetting to you. It's true; she does bark from time to time when the Arby's dumpster behind our house is emptied. You'll remember, of course, that she is a dog and that the dumpster is full of roast beef.

But, no matter. By way of masking the offending noise, you'll note that Daddy

and Paddy

will be making use of a jack hammer. During a thunderstorm.

Best regards,

The (rather noisy) person who lives next door to you.

Dear Former Owners of our Home:

Were you aware that decorative yard curbing is not, in fact, part of the weight-bearing foundation for the Empire State Building? Though I am admittedly not a construction worker, I hardly feel an 18 inch footing of solid concrete was necessary.

In addition, had you considered that even if you had planned on adding the Empire State building to the foundation, perhaps random scrap metal need not have been used as an anchor?

What's done is done, however, and you'll be happy to note that we safely recovered the following from their concrete tombs in our front yard:

Bent metal pieces

A small saw bladeA large saw blade

Metal tool handlesRailroad spikes
PVC pipe circa Korean War era
A crowbar


Somewhat more concerningly, a stripper pole
(or fence post)

You're welcome.

With deepest gratitude,

The New Homeowners-turned-excavators

P.S. Many thanks to Husband, Papanwa, and MJ for completing the historic dig.

And in a monsoon, no less! Bravo!

Dear Pregnant Ladies everywhere,

Eat your red meat. I know, I know- the thought of swallowing one more bite of hamburger makes you want to die a little. Your stomach is rolling around just thinking about it, and not because of the fetus in there. Trust me, I know.

But guess what. Iron supplements are WORSE.

Best wishes,
Floyd's mama

The wise man built his house upon a rock.

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.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached a verdict.

Two legs! Two arms! Two kidneys! We are so blessed.


Maybe we should stop referring to our daughter as 'Floyd' now...

any suggestions?

Family anxiety party

Floyd's big photo shoot day is here.

Paddy is nervous. I am nervous. Floyd and Lupe seem fine, but if they had more advanced cerebral cortex development, they'd be nervous, too.

I can't help it. I'm envisioning every tiny, sick little baby I've ever cared for in the NICU or read about in medical ethics case studies. There are wonderful things about being a medical social worker. Listening to every heart breaking story told in staff meeting by tearful coworkers who need to decompress within the safe boundaries of HIPAA laws is not wonderful.

There is no reason for me to be scared. So far, we have been gifted a perfectly calm, uneventful pregnancy, with no hint of cause for concern. Blessed are we.

I'm still nervous.

Alice summed it up best:

Please bless two arms, two legs, two kidneys, four chambers. Gooey innards inside where they are supposed to be, and everything else is gravy.

Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming

If flopping around in utero is a sign of pleasure, then it seems Floyd likes the cool creaminess of mint chip ice cream.

Unfortunately, Floyd seems to enjoy the acidic bubbliness of heartburn even more.

I looked out the window and what did I see?

Yep. Our dog is pretty much a genius.

Anyone know where we can find fruit snack flavored dog bones?