Dave and Dad, excellent masons

When we moved into our house, there was a huge drop from our driveway to the gutter below. Pulling into and out of the driveway was not for the faint of heart--or those with weak bladder control. It was pretty much impossible squeal down the driveway and whip around down the road when we were late for church--such a disappointment to dedicated Mormon-standard-timers as Dave and I. It really put a cramp in our style.

I'm not sure why we waited almost 20 months after moving into our home to do something about it, but that's just the way it is. When my parents were here for Christmas, we kept them busy with chores. My dad and Dave mixed up a couple of bags of cement and filled in the crevasse.

There was a bit of worry because one nameless party added a leeetle too much water with the last bag of cement, and we had a couple of very damp days before and after the masonry was installed. However, it set up just fine. We couldn't convince Jed to put his hand in the damp cement for posterity's sake, but we do have a couple of lovely paw prints, courtesy of the roving neighborhood cats.

Thanks again, Dad and Dave, for pouring cement in the dark. I love that I don't have to brace for impact after an impromptu Sonic run--and that we can lounge around for 10 more minutes before church on Sunday. As long as we're there before they stop singing the closing song, right?!