Happy Mudder's Day To Me

It was Mother's Day weekend and all the kids and grands were coming over on Saturday to celebrate. Incidentally, that was the same day we were having concrete laid in front of our new outbuilding beside the pool. The concrete was being laid at 8am. The kids were coming over at 2. 

Charlie the concrete pro mentioned doing a broom finish, but we said no because we didn't want a broom finish around the pool. We wanted it smooth. So he instructed us to stay off the concrete for 24 hours and he left.

Quick backstory. The last time Charlie told us to stay off the concrete for 24 hours, he returned to find we'd carved our names into it. Alllll 17 of us, including 4 dogs and 1 boyfriend who's now committed to marrying our daughter because it's concrete official. I don't make the rules here Trevor.

But speaking of the dogs, that's where our Mudder's Day story begins...

This is Emma, nicknamed Menard, because on Black Friday 2019, Ron was at Menards browsing through the box of dog sweaters, as you do, when a lady approached him about a dog who desperately needed a home and voila. Home comes this gentle giant, with hypochondriac tendencies, who sheds clumps of back hair, fakes ear infections for attention, complains of hip pain to get massaged, and prefers laying down to eat when at all possible. 

Good lord, Ron found his canine twin at Menards. 

She gets her perpetual state of worry face from my side of the family.

Where were we? Ahh. Yes. Concrete.

We did a really good job of keeping the dogs inside until the kids arrived. It had been 6 hours since the concrete had been laid, which in dog hours is practically like 24, and they have a huge yard so it's not like they're just gonna be drawn like magnets to the one strip of fresh concrete, right?

Yeah. About that.

By around 6pm, we'd eaten our 30 inch pizza, opened all the Mother's Day gifts, and things were winding down. The girls headed out to sit in the hot tub when someone mentioned seeing foot prints in the concrete.

That's not possible because Concrete Charlie told us not to do that and we can be trusted. Sometimes.

But to our shock and dismay, deeply embedded into the hardened concrete, were prints from a giant animal who'd very obviously and methodically paced back and forth across the concrete in every direction, and from the size of the prints we could narrow it down to either a full grown polar bear or more likely, Menard. 

I desperately tried to rub them away with my hands, but they were already dried.

What now?

Plan A:  Text Concrete Charlie and admit what happened.

Don't be stupid.

New plan A: an electric sander. That's right. I took an electric sander to our fresh concrete and you're in no position to judge me until you've walked a mile in Menard's crater prints. But it didn't work and I was as surprised about that as you are right now.

Plan B: Text Concrete Charlie and admit what happened.

I'm not gonna tell you again.

Another plan B: Suggest we hose down the concrete while everybody stares at me like I just said something stupid. 

Noooo. Stupid is suggesting we drag Concrete Charlie into this.

The new plan B: Panic uselessly while my son in law Nick runs to his house to get some old concrete tools he's never used before, my husband leaves for Lowe's to buy a trowel, and then I'll burst into tears when Zac tells me that Concrete Charlie has been texted and he said there's nothing that can be done because it's completely ruined. 

And then he tells me he's just kidding.

If your kid doesn't try to make you cry on Mother's Day for no reason, does it even count?

When Nick returned, the tedious process began. I'd squeeze a sponge full of water into each paw print and then Nick would scrape over it with his concrete floater tool while I furiously wondered what in the crap was taking Ron so long at Lowe's.

But miracle of all miracles, it was working...with a few minor glitches of running out of daylight and having to work by way of Kearstin's phone flashlight while Zac, Aubrey, and Caymen ran amok looking for our outdoor work lights, leaving new dents in the concrete with the plywood Nick was kneeling on, and the frustration of turning around to discover all the dogs back on the concrete every time the grand babies would let them out of the house again. But it was working!

We were almost completely done by the time Ron arrived back home with a new bucket, a lid for the bucket, and a super comfy knee pad. 

Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize I sent you to Lowe's for SAND TOYS!!!

For our finale, we wetted down the entire surface and our daughter in law Barbara went over it with a giant push broom. Then she turned around, accidentally knocked me in the back with the broom handle, and my life flashed before my eyes as I barely escaped falling into our pool. And I do mean barely. 

Party's over, everybody. 

The next morning, I forced myself to go look at the concrete in the light of day and I've gotta tell ya, I was pleasantly surprised at our job well done.

That broom finish around the pool is just what it needed. Glad we thought of it.