Fencing

Last week, my Dad built a fence in my backyard. I helped. And, by helped I mean I followed him around tidying up obsessively and sorting his ratchet-wrench-thingy attachments into size order. Oh, and holding stuff. I was awesome at that.

As previously mentioned, having your parents staying with you can make you regress slightly... During the fence making, I became my 12 year old self, who loved it when Dad would say "Good tackle! Go yourself!!!" when he watched me playing Touch Football. He is an accomplished sportsman. I played Touch Football and Hockey with moderate success until I was about 13. Then I discovered boys. And sulking.

 But last week I wanted him to say, "Good fence holding! Good drill passing!!" Ridiculous.

The fence was a necessity that we have been wanting to make happen for a while now. It was becoming increasingly nerve wracking when the boys played in the yard, as there was nothing separating them from the drive, or a clear run to the road.


 As we have all seen on the news, accidents in driveways happen constantly and needlessly. It breaks my heart. Our family has such a tragedy in it's past, and it was often on my mind. I would text the Lovely Husband almost every afternoon, saying "We are outside, come down the drive slowly!!" I was in a state of cat-like readiness at all time, ready to leap up and grab the boys if a car came down that driveway.

So, I am now incredibly relieved that our little boys are contained and safe. Thanks Dad.

x Gillian