Yardwork

Although our backyard features a fantastic playground for the kids, the front yard leaves something to be desired. The neighbors' seemingly countless clotheslines look pretty ghetto, but we can deal with that. Unacceptable, however, was the "grass" surrounding our doorstep. It looked like a little tornado-torn mobile community with fallen trees and bits of trailer trash.

Of course we've got the broken bicycle pedal and taxidermied rodent.

Then we have the Pièce de résistance, that quintessential piece of detritus, the broken, rusty razor blade. Seriously nasty. It was hinted that someone would be around to clean up the mess, but I could only wait a day before I threw on some leather gloves and tossed the mess myself. Emily was sad to see her playthings gone.
Once, when my brother came to visit, he said that he was pretty sure he'd seen our place on the TV show "Cops". While I was ferrying all of our inherited filth to the dumpster, I had "Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?" echoing through my thoughts.