The Immovable Object

When I was little, my dad’s mom lived super far away.  I don’t know how many states are big enough to start in the middle, drive six hours in one direction, and not cross any borders or state lines, but this one is.  So about once a year, we would load everyone up in the minivan (Dodge Caravan, represent!) and drive and drive, and drive, to south Texas.  God bless my parents for braving the trip with Sistery and me.  This was in the days before in-car DVD players, so they got to listen to our awesome car songs, interspersed with crying, fighting, whining, “Are we there yet?” and Sistery’s motion sickness.  Somehow, though, we all survived.  I am not looking forward to when D and I have our own kids and it’s time for me to face the karmic payoff for my behavior on those trips!  Ha.

I don’t know what other people’s childhood memories of their grandparents are like, but when I think of my grandma Nanny’s house in Harlingen, three things immediately come to mind: super sugary cereal, chairs on wheels, and the orange tree in the backyard.  All three very awesome things in my elementary school-aged mind.  What has stuck more than anything, though, is that orange tree.

Now that we have a backyard of our own, I decided that I would like to plant an orange tree.  On a recent trip to Home Depot (heretofore known as “the HD” or “the happiest place on earth”), I changed my mind ever so slightly.  I want a lime tree, I decided.  Lime is like orange – they grow similarly, they’re both citrus, etc.  But lime can do something that orange cannot.  Lime can make my tequila taste fabulous and can enhance the flavor of my Mexican beer.  Soooo winner winner, chicken dinner (with limes on the side…?).

While trying to find a place to plant said lime tree, D and I discovered the stump of what we’re pretty sure used to be the third crape myrtle in our backyard.  For whatever reason, D decided that’s where the lime tree needs to go.  RIGHT HERE.  RIGHT where the stump is.  (::wife eye roll::)  In order to do this, of course, the stump would have to be removed.  Ooook, now if you’ve ever removed a stump before, you know that the first advice you would give anyone with a stump to remove is this: Don’t do it.  But D is young and strong and wanted that stump gone.  So whatever.

He started digging at around 2:00pm, after our first trip to the HD.  After hacking away at roots and loosening approximately 1% of the stump, he decided that he needed <Tim “The Toolman” Taylor> MORRRRE POWWWWER! </Tim “The Toolman” Taylor>.  So around 6:00pm, back to the HD.  This time for an ax.  Apparently, we’re firefighters now.

More hacking (this time with a blade) and about 15% of the stump was loosened by the time I pretty much forced D to call it a day.  (Swinging a heavy-ass ax near your legs/ankles/feet in the dark?  Not brilliant, k?)

The next day, I had errands to run elsewhere.  D was digging/hacking/cursing at the stump when I left around 9:00am.  Around noon, I was on my way home when I received the following text: “Ahhhh $#%^& I give up!”


Like a good wife I got D a Coke and met him at the back door.  He then drank it on the porch by the pool while I dug a hole exactly 2 feet from the stump and planted my lime tree.  In about 20 minutes.  D was not amused by any of it.

In other news: I have a lime tree!!  Woo!


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