[Some weeks the blog topics come easy. Other weeks, y’all get a throwback. For your consideration, here is a story about a kerfuffle with 3 little boys and a pile of dirt.]

It was roof-raising day at Grandpa’s. (Gosh, this sounds like the opening line to a chapter in a Laura Ingalls’ Wilder book.) The boys and I were planning to go watch the trusses of Grandpa’s new shop get lifted and placed with a “cherry picker”. My husband called from work and suggested we get there ASAP to watch them put up the walls, too. And, to bring my camera.

So much for a leisurely breakfast of tea and crumpets. (Sorry – more novel references to a life I do not lead.) I urged the boys to finish their Wonder Bread toast, then instructed them to put on their long johns and a couple extra layers for the frosty morning outside.

 We arrived at Grampa’s yard before the first wall went up and though it looked like they were ready, it still took awhile before it actually happened.  While standing around and waiting, that’s when we noticed the mud, or rather clay, that was building up on our boots. And so, a weird competition began, something akin to who could get enough muck on their boots to absolutely prevent mobility. At that moment, I was praying silent thank yous that I had the presence of mind to make them wear their rubber boots. And that’s when it hit me that I had brought them over in our new van, complete with fresh Scotchguard (as if that is any challenge to three boys.) Why, oh why, hadn’t I brought the old truck? I knew then that I would just have to put them in the van shoeless and hose off the boots before we could go home.

By this time the first wall was up and we were watching the second get put into place. Unfortunately the novelty of the frame of a large wall suspended in the air was fleeting. Mud was much more captivating. Before they got completely stuck, I coaxed them to follow me to a grassy area to clean off their boots. Little did I know, there was a big dirt pile nearby. OF COURSE the boys asked if they could “check it out” and I complied with the admonition to “not get dirty”. This was about as effective as handing them a melting ice-cream cone and warning them to only lick it once. It was a slippery slope, both literally and figuratively. The boys progressed from running down the steep side, to sliding on their backsides, to practically wallowing in the holes they had dug with their hands.

Every time I called them over to try to brush them off a bit, dump the dirt out of their boots and watch another wall go up, they complained that they were cold standing there by me, so over and over I sent them back to the dirt pile to warm up with their running, sliding and digging.

Like three gophers, the boys watched from the top of the dirt pile as the roof finally became airbound and then settled on top of the building. With my photography assignment done, we headed to the house to wash up a bit – there was even dirt in their noses. But going inside the house necessitated the removal of their boots. I had them sit on the edge of the deck while I systematically took off each boot and dumped it. By the time I got to Simon, much to our dismay, we discovered that his left boot Would Not Come Off. I tugged to no avail. Gil grabbed him from behind under his arms and held on while I tried again. Simon was stretched out as far as he could go and we all kept descending into giggle fits over the stubborn boot. I told him I would have to dig the dirt out first and headed to the back of the garage where Simon spied Grandpa’s shovel. He screamed. He was then relieved to see me return with a stick. After removing about three pounds of dirt and pausing for more laughter, we were finally ready to clean up. For the two-mile trip home, I stripped the boys down to their long johns, put their jackets on inside out and carried them out one by one to the van.

Every time we drive by Grandpa’s shop, the boys ask when we can revisit the fabulous dirt pile. Maybe as soon as my patent for disposable plastic coveralls comes through, boys. Or, maybe Saturday.