Oh the joys of trash day. It's exciting stuff. We love the men we see every Monday and Thursday morning. They do little dances, throw lids in the air, and honk loudly. They're our buddies. It's a real show and it's free. Monday is actually perferable to Thursday. There is more variety. It really gets us through the aweful weekends. Looking forward to Monday...it's trash day! Who doesn't love Mondays? Three different trucks find their way to our home. Regular trash, recycling, and yard waste. No yard waste this week? Let's chop down a tree. Low on recycling...gotta fill up those bins so the guys have something to flip. Start chugging the milk kids. Right from the jug is fine. Just empty it.
The kids line up at the front glass door. Usually half dressed, drooling in anticipation. Finn even gets in on it. She stands right behind them. This past week I was hiding behind the door asking Lil, "Did they take it? Are they taking it? Did they take it?"
She jumps up and down, "They're taking it! they're taking it!"
You see this was a super special trash day. We had tile floors installed in our kitchen and bathroom and had loads of old laminate to get rid of. It was too cumbersome to manuever into the van so I piled it out by the mailbox. That morning when I heard the familiar rumble I strategically placed all the kids in front of the door and told them to smile big and wave like they've never waved before. I had spent weeks teaching Dempsey to wave just for this purpose. Too embarrassed to show my face, that's when I hid. And waited. I asked Lil for the play by play. It worked! They took it! I won, I won! I do feel a tiny bit bad for using my kids for my own trash pickup enjoyment purposes, but hey, we didn't make cute kids for nothing.
I love to throw stuff out. It may be one of my favorite pastimes. The summer after Lillian turned one, we took a trip to the dump almost every day. I would sing her my made up song on the way. It goes to the tune of the Lone Ranger theme song. To the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, dump. To the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, dump. To the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, duuump. To the duuump, to the dump, dump, dump. There's nothing quite like backing your truck or van up to the giant concrete wall and heaving your crap over, falling hundreds of feet into a pile of other people's crap. I decided long ago that Sean would be a hoarder if it weren't for me. He tries to save everything. He's so lucky he married me. The first home that we owned did not have a lot of storage space. I would wait until he left for work, then load up all the stuff I considered dump worthy, and take it to its demise. When Sean would ask me where something was I would have to pretend I had no idea. Sometimes I'd even help him look for it. Bad wifey. Bad, bad wifey. I didn't want to tell him that it was currently buried beneath a cracked toilet and broken car parts at the local landfill. I started out putting small things with the regular trash. In the black yard bags so he couldn't see in. He caught onto that one real fast. He'd go out and dig through the garbage the night before pickup and reclaim his belongings. Then I'd have to start all over again. A year ago our television passed away. Sean was hoarding it in the office with the hopes of trying to salvage it. I was giddy over the idea of taking that huge monstrosity to the dump, all thirty eight inches of it. I got so excited in fact the I didn't realize the hundred dollar wall mount was still attached. So, you guessed it, that got dumped too. Not a proud dumping moment. Bad wifey.
I didn't let our trash men have all the fun however. I made sure to save myself a couple of buckets of broken tiles for my own dumping pleasure. To the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, dump. To the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, dump. To the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, duuump. To the duuump, to the dump, dump, dump.