Silly daddy

While it's true we've been complaining about something as trivial as the yard when everyone in New Orleans is either dead, fleeing, or "just" homeless and displaced, we are actually mindful of what's happening.

It's hard, in an age of such prevalent and immediate media, to see that and not think, From so far away, what can you do? I sent some money to the Red Cross (who I hear shops in bulk and can make the best use of it), and we will pray for them -- and count our own blessings. But if all we can do from here is to witness, then we will.

Last night I lay awake, wondering how we would have prepared, either with the days of warning they had on the Gulf coast or, worse, on a moment's notice. Sure, a hurricane's storm surge is unlikely to get water as high as our street, but it does bear thinking about. Would we gather diapers & milk? Pack up some clothes? Try to get cash money? Eventually we would miss the scrapbooks that document our lives since marriage, but would we resent carrying them along? How about videotapes?

Should I prepare a box of stuff in the event of a disaster, or would that just scare The Mrs. unnecessarily? Do we need bottled water in the basement? A can of gas in the garage? I got the brochure on emergency preparedness put out by FEMA or Homeland Security or whoever last year, but reading it depressed me. *sigh* Thank God I don't live below sea level. Which reminds me...

*clickety-click* The Weather Underground site lists us at 326 feet above sea level. I live halfway down a hillside, with another neighborhood much farther below us: it would take quite a lot of water to push us up on the roof.

Anyway, God bless those people, and go, Red Cross, go!

First date: we meet the landscaper

I had a (very nice) guy come over and look at my yard to give me an estimate for, you know, repairing what I've done to it. He was very polite and friendly, and let me know that he owns professional tools I will never have -- also, he has guys to do the work for him -- where I have two hands, two wheels-barrows, and no experience. He wins.

Actually, he reminded me of my uncles a lot: easy-going, open, friendly. Or he's a consummate liar, but we'll see.

He suggested that he could level out the yard with less dirt than I would need (seeing as how I don't own a Bobcat), in less time (since I have to work alone, or watch the kids while my Devoted Wife works), and, well, with a higher chance of success (since I really don't know what I'm doing). The most telling sign was when I referred to myself as "an idiot with a shovel" and he just silently let it pass. (Ouch.)

Here's hoping I can scrape up the ready cash for this.

Here's what the oldest looked just before she got on the bus Wednesday:


And here's the boys as they played at home, awaiting her return:

(It looks like the older one is gleefully taking the pink-and-lavender semi-tractor away from the baby when actually he'd been posing magisterially behind it before his little brother bailed out.)

This morning was the first day of school for our oldest. Our first day at the bus stop, our first day saying good-bye, her first day of not looking back.

There were tears on her mom's face, but not too many: the bus was 15 minutes earlier than scheduled, so we missed the time we'd planned to spend taking pictures and sniffling. We were just ready to go out and wait when we looked out the window and saw a crowd of other parents & kids -- and flashing orange lights.

I didn't really take any movie footage because I was busy dragging the boys across the street with me. Fortunately, we got one picture standing in the street, one looking back over her shoulder on the bus steps, and a third one through the bus window. Let's hope they're good enough for the scrapbook because I don't think the bus driver will be too keen on a dramatic re-enactment this afternoon...