The kids are on Fall break, and were off of school last week, they will be off this week, they don't go back to school until next Wednesday.
It seems a little silly to call it 'Fall' break, in light of our non-fall weather, but I figure if it's less than 100 degrees, and it gets dark at by 6:30, then 'Fall' will have to do.
We've been lounging around, for the most part. One day I suggested to them that they scoop up the dog poop in the backyard. You'd have thought I'd asked them to patch up the side of a nuclear reactor with Scotch tape and bubble gum, with the reaction I got, so I sic'd their Dad on them.
After he gave the order, he told me to go get a new rake, as ours was about to crumble into dust. Oh, goody. A trip to Home Depot? Sign me up. I don't fear the orange aprons. I welcome them. "Rakes in the garden dept?" I asked the first one I saw as I walked in. "Yup." As I headed toward the garden dept, I had to stop and stare.
At the reindeer. And the lights.
It's Christmas in this little corner of Home Depot. (And it's been Christmas in Costco since mid-September.) I'm convinced that if we didn't have the back-to-school season in the middle, it would be Christmas right after the Fourth of July. Momentarily, I was dazzled and started envisioning sugarplum vistas and light displays in my front yard--I had to shake the ideas out of my head so I could go get what I needed and only what I needed. (My ankle bracelet goes off if I am anywhere near the paint section.)
The long story short is I bought the wrong rakes. How is that even possible? The kids used them, and I saw my error, even though I'd rolled my eyes when Mr W pointed it out initially: "Isn't your lunchtime over?" Later that day, I took them back and exchanged them for the right ones, to Mr W's horror. "You took back used rakes??" "I had a receipt. They were the wrong ones. They weren't damaged. Big deal."
That is the true sign of a man, is it not? A man will cut off a limb before he returns anything, receipt or not. If he only knew of the women I know who will not cut tags off of things, wear them to their event, and return them afterwards. I, personally, have never done this, but ladies, you know who you are.
The bottom line is that the poop got scooped. And like most things that get dirty the second you clean them....they will have to get back out there again. (I'm sure the extra large bag of MilkBones I picked up has nothing to do with this.)
At this rate, they will be begging to go back to school.