Are those ducks???

Looking out the window, I wouldn't be surprised to see a few paddling around as a portion of grass in our backyard is now a bayou-ish swamp.  After two days of gopher-like tendencies involving shovels, causing gargantuan blisters, and resulting in the relocation of a whole lotta mud, we have yet to pinpoint the cause.  Olivia's playhouse is straight out of the "Wizard of Oz" right now, situated haphazardly on the sidewalk so we could examine the pipes lingering below the surface.  It startles the dogs enough to let out ferocious barks when they come charging around the corner (especially in the darkness of the morning), and every time I make eye contact with it, I expect to see two little feet wearing red, sparkly shoes poking out from underneath!  There are trenches and mounds of wet earth everywhere, which has my husband, who works a million times harder than the paid gardener next door at maintaining and landscaping our yard, to be a bit at odds with the entire romance of owning a home.  But as I straddled a crevasse last night, dirt wedged under my nail beds, scooping out heavy mud with my little, gray garden trowel, I distinctly remember thinking that there was no where else I would rather have been at that moment than right there, peering into the ground at PVC pipes, in the presence of my sweaty, frustrated, dirty husband and my red-cheeked, plastic shovel wielding, earthworm scientist daughter.  Although the task was arduous and the yard now looks like Sonic the Hedgehog came barreling through, it was a testament that even the most mundane of chores can be time well spent if in the company of those that make your heart full.  In spite of a disappointing outcome (WHERE IN THE WORLD IS THE WATER COMING FROM?!), I'm thankful for the opportunity to play in the mud with the two loves of my life. 

 

It's a little funny, though, now in retrospect to ponder how two people who experience the same event can own two, completely diverse perspectives; I'm sure that if you asked my manly love for his version of the story, it'd be entirely contradictory to my peaceful thoughts.  After the fumes emerged from his nostrils, smoke billowed out of his ears, and his eyes began to swirl around, I'm sure he'd give you an earful!