Yesterday was my husband’s birthday and he spent pretty much the whole of it driving a Bobcat through an envisioned garden plot at the elementary school. It was hot out; there was a lot of soil to be scraped and rock to be moved, and he just kept chugging from his water jug and carrying on.

 

The girls and I joined him for part of it – they rode their scooters around and around the sidewalks and nobody whistled at them to knock it off. 
There’s something thrilling and mysterious about being at school on a Sunday.

 

By three o’clock, the bed had been laid, and big, red, licheny boulders had been set. 
We were eating sub sandwiches and heading for the swimming pool to cool off.

 

I love the new rocky area that’s like a creek, the girls said.

 

I love driving great big noisy heavy machinery, the husband said.

 

I love a guy who’ll spend his birthday helping to make an eensy teensy corner of the world more beautiful, I said.

 

And you know what ole’ Aesop would say:

 

 Happy Birthday, Honey. And thanks…