You know those homeless camps that are deep in the woods and usually have like tents and tarps and such? Well I’m worried we’re going to get like a nasty letter from the city about our back yard being one of those. It started off as something sweet he was doing for me, for our date night hubby put up the tent and we roasted veggie hot dogs (yes they have them, they are made of tofu, and why yes I think they taste just like hot dogs what do you care you don’t have to eat them!) Then I studied out there a couple of days, and it was nice having a little quiet haven to go to because I have discovered that coffee shops are awful places to study. The din gets to be deafening and you can only overhear so many: “oh my god I gained five more pounds” (in a valley voice) conversations before you stab out your eye with a fork. I digress.
After it rained he put up a giant tarp over the fire thing and the tent which has sense come loose since the toddler got ahold of it. She’s also partially succeeded at stampeding the tent so now it’s all whompy-jawed. I glanced out from our kitchen and saw this tarp splayed open, a teetering tent and random piles of toys strewn across the yard in a haphazard fashion that could have come from either 1. The toddler of course or 2. Our favorite backyard raccoon came to visit again.
I spent my morning fantasying this conversation:
-Ma’am we had a complaint that a camp is in your back yard we just wanted to make sure you are safe…
-(and here I either choose to A. play ignorant: camp? What camp? Or B. assure the sweet man that everything is just fine and is merely the product of 1. Mommy got a broke foot. 2. Any spare time mommy has is spent studying. 3. Toddler has all but defeated daddy and it is all we can do just to stay alive these next few months.)