It's 11 o'clock on a Sunday evening. A light breeze is coming through the windows. Pookie is sound asleep. Rob is checking Facebook and I am getting caught up on Battlestar Galactica. Life is good.
All of a sudden I hear a ruckus. People yelling. Followed by what sounds like a parade, drum line included going through our backyard. I get Rob's attention and try to figure out what in god's green earth is going on. Rob thinks that it is coming from one direction and I think it is coming from the back of the house. I head to the back porch and low and behold, not only can I hear this ruckus, I can see the flashing lights of police cars. (As a side note, our house is backed up to a piece of city owned property, and behind that is a small dead-end side street. At the end of the street is an ice rink and storage units. We have quiet neighbors.) My ever nosy husband decides that he needs to investigate. So he hops in his truck and away he goes. Luckily he came across some very nice police officers that were willing to share some information. Apparently Burlington managed to claim the Division 1 title (Burlington is the next town over), and the buses decided that the ice rink parking lot was an ideal place to park themselves.
Well, I'm glad they were able to win a game. However, if they wake up my sleeping child, heads are going to roll. Soon after Rob came back from his scouting mission, everything quieted down. I learned two things this evening.
1. My husband is so nosy that he is willing to leave the house to go investigate, regardless of the time.
2. We have officially become old farts. When 11pm is officially "too late" and we will do ANYTHING to ensure that Pookie is not woken up from a sound sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment