This weekend we were granted a tiny respite between downpours. In between soccer games I frantically mowed and edged and pruned and weeded and raked. It was more like hacking back the encroaching primeval forest than gardening. Gardening implies fun: planting things and picking flowers while wearing a sundress and straw hat. This was groundskeeping: I got blisters and splinters despite my burly new gloves. I got sweaty and filthy. I touched worms and slugs (eeuw). There may still be twigs and leaves in my hair. I filled up two yard debris bins. Boy do I hate blackberries and morning glory.
BUT! I made a discovery which may or may not influence our thinking about our hooligan predecessors. I may be touted as the famous groundskeeper/archeologist. Behold!
These artifacts indicate that my backyard has been home to hooligan barbarian tribes in the distant (last summer!) past.
WWMBD? That stands for What Would Mrs. Brady Do? Throw it all away? Make the Hooligans wash it off and put it away? Donate all their toys to charity? Perhaps I will impose sanctions. They are old enough to wrangle the push mower.
Mrs. Brady would have made Alice deal with it.
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