Can you dig it?

You know the best way to derail a quick walk to get Momma some 7-Up to settle her stomach? A giant hole in the street being filled by gravel dumped from a big loud truck and patted by the scoop of a backhoe.

I tried, but not very hard, to push past it and tell D- we'd check it out after our errand, but I knew before I said anything that this was a lost cause. It's like telling Ponce De Leon to make a mental note to further inspect that mysteriously glowing pond at a more convenient time.

So we stood and watched.

And watched.

And watched some more.

For some reason, several people walking by and looked at us like maybe somehow there was something more sinister at work than a 3-year-old boy's transfixion with his favorite toys wrought larger than life. People are weird sometimes.

He didn't get to operate any of the machinery this time, like he did this summer after we watched a crane replace the HVAC unit on the roof of a hardware store, but he was still pretty satisfied. Plus, one of the workers waved to us, which helps reaffirm D-'s carefully cultivated belief in the general politeness of people. Boy, is he in for a rude awakening at some point.

Till then, he's as pure as the new-fallen snow that's kept J- home from work (as a special ed teacher) for the past two days. Once life got word of this windfall, of course, it made sure to leave her deathly ill for the entire time. I guess on the bright side, that's two sick days she can use later.