How Many Times?

I'm not sure how many times Richard and I have told the kids to not play ball in the garage. It's really not a safe place to play. The garage is full of tools, power tools, lawn equipment, chemicals, etc.

About 90 minutes ago, Elijah, Mimi and Felicity asked if they could play out back with the dog. Sure. No problem. In fact, it would do me a favor to have fewer children under foot while trying to make dinner with one hand.

Little did I know that the three of them moved their little party to the garage a while ago. Did they ask to play in the garage? No. Did I know they were in the garage? No.

A few minutes ago there was a loud noise that sounded like something had shattered. Gritting my teeth, I followed the sound out to the garage. On the garage floor lay what once was a beautiful slab of granite, now consisting of many chunks.

Not long after we moved into our house, we bought the slabs of granite with the intention of having them installed by a granite contractor. In the meantime, we had changed our minds on the color scheme we wanted in our home and chose a different granite.

So we have been storing the first-purchased slabs of granite in our garage for about three years, planning to sell them with the hopes of recovering some of the $2000 we spent on it.

But that dream, along with the granite, have been shattered. Apparently Richard and I are not allowed to have anything nice.

Whatever.

Cara