WEEK 29

I’m reporting live from our front lawn. It’s 1:30 in the morning, and Matt and I have just been awakened by what he thought was a tree falling down and what I thought was the world’s largest ice maker just doing its job.

Turns out Matt was right. An enormous old sugar maple in front of our house dropped its largest limb on top of both our cars. This might be understandable if there were gale force winds ripping through the city, but no. There isn’t even a whisper of a breeze. That jerk tree just decided “Hey, I got nothing better to do–why don’t I drop dead on these two cars here and see if I can send that pregnant lady into labor.”

Well, you lose, tree. Me and my iron-clad cervix (sorry, I know I keep finding ways to talk about it) are not so easily rattled. In fact, this is the third time a huge maple limb has crushed some part of our property since we moved in three years ago. It is like “The Happening” over here. We’ve grown used to hostile trees trying to kill us.

Matt and I walk outside to survey the damage. The Subaru has escaped unscathed, but the RAV4 is hidden underneath a million branches so we can’t really see what the situation is. Out on our lawn, a small crowd of neighbors, firemen, and policemen have gathered. There’s also one random drunk guy with his sweater on backwards who staggers around the group dispensing his incredible wisdom to anyone who will listen. “That’s crazy man,” he slurs. “Just goes to show …”

My mom was supposed to come help me with some yard maintenance today, but I think this may be more than she signed up for. I call her up and tell her to save herself.

It’s scary how quickly things can go bad. In a matter of seconds that tree limb went from being on our tree to being on top of our cars. Yesterday afternoon we had friends parked right there, with their two small children. And if it had happened a day later, it could have been Matt arriving home from work.

I’m pretty annoyed when I hear that the tree had been marked for removal by the city a few years ago, but a group of neighbors had gone to bat for it and the city had backed off. I mean, it’s easy for those neighbors to sit back at a safe distance and advocate on behalf of a leafy assassin, but we have to live right under it. I feel like waddling past each house (dressed in rags, for effect), and saying loudly enough for them to hear, “I SURE AM GLAD I’M NOT DEAD!” Or maybe, “GOSH, IT’S HARD TO WALK TO THE GROCERY STORE WHILE 29 WEEKS PREGNANT WITH TRIPLETS, BUT I’M HAPPY MY CAR COULD CUSHION THE FALL FOR THAT POOR TREE CARCASS.”

Tree huggers, man.

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