Last week we had our house re sided. One plus of that is we had a huge dumpster come to our lawn. I was able to throw all kinds of trash in it. I tossed broken toys, busted bikes, lots and lots of yard trash and anything really my little heart desired. I thought I had thrown everything I could possible throw away into that dumpster when I realized, no. I had forgotten about the heaps of trash and broken toys located in the playhouse. Damn. I tried to open the lid but I just couldn't. So, I was left with a shovel.
I found this shovel in my entryway. I believe it was my mothers and the tip was broken off so it was trash. I decided this was the impetus I needed to get the playhouse cleaned out before the dumpster was removed. Since I couldn't lift the lid, I couldn't complete my potential job. I instead shoved that shovel as far into the dumpster and it lid as I could possibly cram it. I thought it was pretty secure.
Later that day I left to pick up the kids from school. On our way home, a hundred or so feet from the neighborhood entrance I saw what I thought was a shovel, the shovel, in the road. I thought it couldn't be. I had shoved that thing in as far and hard as I could. I was telling the kids about it. They started to ask a barage of questions about it. Will asked me how sure was I it was the shovel. I told him 90% sure. Then I hear Keely tell me "Mom, you ought to be ashamed of yourself." That did it. I told her she was right. I turned the car around, drove back to the shovel, waited until it was safe and retrieved that damn shovel. Now I still have it somewhere in my car and I live with the haunting memory of her telling me I ought to be ashamed of myself.
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