All these answers and more I know because of one afternoon's up close and personal experience with said backyard.
It all started with burnt cookies and a visit from the fire department. I work in a house with a smoke detector that is advanced enough to call the fire department but not advanced enough to tell the difference between over done oatmeal cookies and an actual Fire. The kids heard the alarm and thundered down the stairs to the front room, bouncing on the couch in eager anticipation of Engine No. 12. Sure enough-just as I was forcing the last of the super burnt Klingon cookies off the now warped metal baking sheet and into the large trash can out back the firemen lumbered up the front walk and the kids ran to the door to let them in. They know this family by name now, as they have to make regular appearances at the residence on West Street. And its not because they have a bad cook for a nanny...its because they have a hyper sensitive smoke detector and a stove with Nuclear capabilities...that thing goes from stone cold to meltdown in 2.5 seconds. Did I mention they also have seven children and that my friends can get distracting. Someone's always trying to tie something (the dog) or someone (the three year old) to the ceiling fan. Its always like Ringling Brothers meets Dr. Doolittle meets the dark black vortex of Chaos...with a pinch of danger thrown in. (that comes from the machete story...that one is for another day)
So I'm there chattin up Tom, the head fireman for today's call, sadly I inform him there are no more cookies-they all perished in the quasi blaze. He recommends (for the 37th time) that I make the children play outside in the backyard, lock the backdoor, and tell them they can only come inside if they're bleeding or on fire. I laugh...realize he isn't kidding...them stammer something unintelligible about bathroom breaks. He tells me they can dig a latrine with a spoon. He rounds up his men and they trundle back on to the truck and the children give them a standing o from the front porch.
Latrines with spoons eh? Well it would keep them busy.
I hunted through the kitchen junk drawers for random utensils that were dig worthy. I came up with two old dingy metal camping spoons, four sporks, an old plastic spatula, and a beat up measuring cup with an eagle etched into the bottom. (the eagle reminded me of the stylized eagle the Nazis stamped their china with...in retrospect I should have listened to the silent screaming omen of death...and just locked the kids in the basement) I threw in a bowl of old tuperware containers for good measure-and sent all seven of them packing. "Outside!" I said. "Outside and dig to China!!"
Again...in retrospect...that was not a good idea to place in their heads. Heaven knows what would have happened if I actually told them to dig latrines.
I did not lock the door-but I did use the firefighter's line "Unless you are bleeding or on fire" and then with them playing in the backyard I began to clean up the war zone currently called "kitchen/breakfast nook" and attack the pile of laundry that could double as a jump ramp at the X Games. I glanced outside to count heads often.
Not often enough though to note the ferocity at which the digging was being accomplished. At first it was merely a shallow hole...maybe a foot deep...then it gradually became deeper...two feet...now two and 1/2. I hesitated. Should I stop them? They were all working together so wonderfully...from the 11 year old to the 3 year old-every last boy and girl-scooping and running here and there to spill the removed dirt on this flower or that plant. They were like little busy ants. And no one was bleeding, screaming, or crying. No one had gotten bitten, smacked, or punched in the back of the head. There was no way in hell I was going to tell them to stop digging.
Again...in retrospect...I was stupid to underestimate them. Things went south when one of the triplets was lowered into the (now) vertical tunnel. It came up to his shoulders. He had on a red plastic fireman hat (courtesy of that mornings visit). Philip began to bounce. I didn't realize dirt was so sproingy. He was bracing himself on the hard earth around the hole and Really bouncing up and down. Perhaps, (foolishly) I thought, they've found a root and they can't get past it. Suddenly-Philip and the red plastic hat disappeared from sight. Plooop. As if the ground just swallowed him up. Then mesmerized the others stared into the hole. Two little hands began to wave frantically from the hole. The 11 year olds face was all I needed to see. At first I thought-crap-they've found the mother load of snakes or giant worms or something creepy crawly that lives in the ground. But then I realized the boys weren't smiling near enough for that-and the girls weren't screaming loud enough...I raced across the backyard...closer and closer-finally I leaned over the side to see Philip at the bottom of a hole with his foot stuck in a section of PVC pipe...and Water pouring everywhere.
Shit. They had managed to dig far enough to hit the irrigation system and subsequently break it.
Oh god China---why do you have to be so far away and hard to dig to???
I pulled Philip out of the hole...the water was filling up the hole at an alarming rate. It hadn't rained in weeks and the ground was hard. It was like our own little mini well.
And unless that water was going to turn to wine-I was about to have a very bad afternoon.
Thanks to the worm-washing machine incident of May the previous year I knew how to cut the water to the laundry room, and thanks to the little people incidents of March, June, August, September, and "two-time-tober" I knew how to cut the water to all four bathrooms...But the water to outside?? I had No Clue.
I herded the children inside to the magic box-turned on a movie and said "move and you'll be in time out for a month" then drug the 11 year old outside to hunt for the water cut off while I frantically tried to phone the parents. I called the ER first...no dice. He had just coded a patient and was not available. I left a message with the charge nurse asking about the water cut off. Called the Neuro wing to get the mom...strike two. She was in a consult. The water was beginning to spill out of the hole. I called the ER for two hours, every 20 minutes. Finally the charge nurse said he'd gone out to lunch. HOW HOW HOW do you miss 16 calls from your Nanny??????? (In his defense often times the children would highjack the phone and call the ER. After the 9th call for Dr. Dad, the nurses run out of patience.)
I heard the gravel crunching on the driveway. God Bless the Buddha! He came home for lunch! Seven kids, a terrified nanny, and a very excited dog mobbed him at the top of the drive way. In ten minutes the water was off and the engineers of the dig were in various rooms contemplating their various punishments. Turns out Philip was encouraged to jump on the pipe-those "encouragers" received polish pot duty for a month. The other diggers got puppy potty clean up for a week. And I got a valium and went home early.
It cost $3,000 dollars to dig up the back yard, replace the pipes, and re-sow the Giant mud puddle that formed as a result of the dig.
If only they had found a dinosaur.
