We're in the homestretch of the road project in front of our house. At least I hope we are. I've been telling myself that for the last 3 weeks. Our sidewalk and driveway are finally done, and the road is supposed to be tarred on Tuesday (although I won't really believe that until I see it).
It's been long enough now that all of the construction guys know Charlie by name. He takes his little chair and frequently watches them work, talks with them when they are between tasks, and dreams about which job he would most like to do when he grows up. (He has decided on being the guy in boots who gets to walk through the fresh cement, smoothing it out as he goes). The excavators have lost their appeal for Charlie, but I fully expect the tarring process to be exciting enough to hold his attention once again. We might have to watch that one from inside, though.
One of the guys, thinking for a minute that I lived in the house next door to ours, commented that our "neighbors to the south" have quite the singer on their hands. Confused, I said there was no house to the south of us. When he realized that we lived in that house, he pointed at Charlie and said, "Oh! Is he the singer? We heard someone belting from two blocks away and said, 'Sounds like there's the next American Idol.'" It could have very easily been either Charlie or Elena. When I told the kids about it, both of them said, "That was me."
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| Shooting the breeze |
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