Inside, I'm going on eight, not twenty-eight.

The county's been doing some serious work on our street lately. Something to do with sewer and water lines (and massive tree removal).

I'm not sure why (it could be because our house is in the middle of the block), but our house seems to be the central parking station for any kind of equipment or materials that the county is using. That's meant, depending on the phase of the project, giant green pipes, humongous square concrete things, humongous round concrete things, gravel, asphalt, and tractors. This morning it meant a yawning chasm about ten feet deep between the sidewalk and the street (over which, for the record, I performed my most impressive driving maneuver to date [although Jamie can also attest to my incredible parallel parking skills, in case anyone is wondering]).

Yesterday I got home from school and saw this really big tractor in front of the house and knew that I had to get my picture with it.

At first, Natty was the only person with the same idea (our original agreement was to go out and take pictures of each other). But eventually other members of the family decided to participate.

(And, yes, true to my legal roots, as we were climbing all over the thing I was thinking "torts hypo . . . torts hypo . . .")