I don't recall when it happened - when the idea was born. I seem to recall it was some time when the weather was still blustery and the ground was too frozen to begin to peel away its layers. The man of our house decided to build himself a patio.
We've lived here for 8 years. I've been talking about how we ought to have something other than grass to rest a table on one of these days. Not only did he decide the time was now, he decided he was the one to do it. He bought books. He bought magazines. He picked up catalogs of stones. He read web sites. He began buying tools of all sorts months before he could even break ground.
The project, which involves a large 8 inch deep pit in our yard, a lot of gravel, sand and paver stones, was to begin a few weeks ago. I was none to thrilled with the plan. If the grand pit was not completely morphed into a patio on June 29th, we'd have had Logan's birthday party in a yard full of patio building paraphernalia.
Reality began to sink shortly before commencement of the pit digging. He placed a phone call to the paver people and post-poned the order's delivery. It is to arrive, instead, a week from today. Which means the grand excavation begins now.
Had you happened into our yard today you might have seen the Pied piper himself urging his father on with loud blasts from his plastic flute-thinga-ma-gigger. You may have seen a certain red-headed gal, retrieving small piles of fine white sand from her sandbox which she would proceed to dump into the freshly broken earth. You might even have seen a baseball capped me pause in my own digging to take a few photos.
Hey, we all have our own strengths - mine, clearly not hauling dirt filled wheelbarrows very far. Times like this I like to blame my lack of upper body strentgh on my genetics. I can't help it. I'm a girl.