It seemed like a cute idea to nickname the backyard project the "Big Dig". Like a little fun project we were viewing without too much trepidation, and a sense of humor. We are now weighing in on the "does the name make the person" debate, and we argue that, at the very least, the name makes the project. We are waiting for the fiasco to be profiled on NPR as a copycat to the Boston Big Dig, filled with cost overruns, missed deadlines, and an unfixable huge mess. And the back yard has definitely been dealt a fatal blow. At last count, the backhoe has taken out the swingset, the sprinkler system's main and electrical systems, and has covered the area with mounds of mud begging for clean little kid clothes. We're just hoping for no falling concrete in our new tunnels.

Right at this moment Mike is in the backyard fighting the clay with a big backhoe. It is so hard, that after he finally pounded through it with the bucket, the sides of the trench are smooth and glossy, like maybe we should fire it in an oven and enjoy the natural beauty.

I actually didn't know Mike was getting a backhoe; he had been promised the perfect trencher. But when he was dubiously looking at the blade, he found the manager to ask a question. Would they refund the hundreds of dollars for the rental if this didn't do what they said it would? Immediate back pedaling. Driving back home from a kid dropoff I saw some chump chugging along Orchard Ave in a slow backhoe. I stopped chuckling when I recognized the hairstyle.

I was perusing a copy of the Grinch That Stole Christmas in the library yesterday. I suddenly realized that my nose and the Grinch's heart share something: they have both grown 3 sizes, and he even sometimes looks like he shares the same root cause.

Just read a great new book! Austenland by Shannon Hale, a total tongue-in-cheek laugh with everyone addicted to Austen novels and DVDs, especially compulsive Firth-watchers on the P&P DVD.