Just thought I’d let you know that as a Stay-at-Home Executive I don’t sit around eating bonbons all day. Even in the summertime. Even with three kids underfoot 24×7. I can prove it, really.
We’d been deliberating for months about what to do with this dead space in our yard (if you don’t remember how it started out, here’s a refresher). I find it amusing that somewhere in that post I commented: “Don’t worry, I didn’t even THREATEN to DIY the playground.” Foot in mouth. Because my friend texted me last month. Her friend was moving and needed a new home for their wooden swing set. It cost me a bottle of wine to show my appreciation to the bequeathing owners (their handy-dude even delivered it [in about twelve, heavy parts, of course] to my backyard). Bingo. But all we had was a dusty, uneven mound of dirt on which to put it.
And so the free swing set kicked off the “Project”. I thought it would take all summer. But I tossed those bonbons aside, buckled down and got to work. I’m sure that by doing this all myself (with the exception of about an hour’s worth of work from my two, eldest kids) leaves my husband feeling somewhat devitalized. But really, the way I look at it, that guy pours his heart, mind and soul into his career (and into all of us… he does double-time) so that I can stay home to raise our children. The least I can do is earn my keep in the form of NOT giving money to someone else to complete a simple project and reserving (most of) his at-home time to enjoy his own special moments with the family.
The kids were gung-ho from the beginning, “Yah! Let’s help mom trench out the mound of dirt! (Notice swim goggles and safety glasses to keep spewing dust out of eyes [their idea]). See the small pile of dirt behind them? Cool!” But “cool” only lasted a very short spell. (Also notice the “slow” sign. Kind of applies when you’re working with two, young kids.)
I trudged ahead, long after my crew had abandoned me and continued to trench out a few inches from the entire 10′ x 15′ space. (Note that pile of dirt slightly increased in size.) It took some serious brawn – lots of pick-axing, shoveling, raking, wheelbarrowing and dumping. Day over. Hungry mouths await my alternative skill set.
Yeah, that’s a lot of dirt. Fortunately, I’d just come off of a long training program for a half-marathon, so I never felt so much as a single strain in my body after hours of labor. Exercise works, folks.
Day two (some two weeks later). Husband helped me assemble I helped husband assemble the heavy swing set in an afternoon (that thing is a monster) by which point, we’d decided to invest in some ground cover. The pile to the left is a stack of 24 40-lb bags of rubber mulch – a lot cleaner and safer than your standard tanbark, but significantly cheaper than a poured foam!
You thought I could just toss that mulch in and call it (another) day? No way. I had to lay baseboards in order to prevent disintegration of the trench. Unfortunately, I hadn’t dug deep enough in Round 1. The baseboards weren’t even close to flush with the concrete. Dig in, girl.
I wish I’d gotten a picture of the rototiller I (wo)man-handled in Round 2. My dad picked one up for me one night on the fly but was in dress clothes, unaware of the “Project” and couldn’t help me. I had exactly an hour before AAA-Rents shut down for the night. I drove that thing till my hands were ringing (and my protective ear gear started to feel moot) through another three inches of rock-solid dirt. I also managed to rake it up and propel it all into that growing pile of earth in the same evening. Then I went on to cook dinner for my wryly amused husband (just returning from his own, long day), dad and kids.
Naptime on Day 3. I’m in the final stretch, I can feel it. (Please sleep, little 2-year old). Using the straight edge of the shovel, I chiseled out all the walls of the trench so I could lay the board. I measured and leveled and dug and back-filled and drilled and screwed till the stakes were submerged and the board was flush and tight.
Look at that. Those stakes are like, two feet long. Pound, pound, pound.
My 8-year old finally re-emerged to help me tuck the WeedBlock under the swing while I lifted it. (I should note that we’d put the swing in place long before, not realizing the need for more digging. It was so heavy to move over that dirt pile that it seemed easier to leave it rest and work around it – my dad’s idea.)
I am relishing this extended naptime. Keep going… 89-degree heat will not stop me. Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. Load 24 40-lb bags from fence line into trench. Did I mention that marathon and interval training REALLY pays off? However, tools baking in the hot sun WILL end up blistering your hands and no amount of training will prevent it.
Daughter doing a quality assurance check. Inspection passed.
Proud husband came home and helped me move the swing back into place that night and the kids had a Popsicle play date the very next day. I slurped on one of those fruity treasures, too, to celebrate my efforts (and total lack of sore muscles). And the pizza man even came with dinner. Success.
