It's Sunday night! It's mongo night!

Sundays are the best days of the week, in my book, anyway.

I am well aware that there are thousands of school-aged children, currently, in mass unison, rolling their eyes at me, or giving me a collective dirty look when I say this. Alas, they don't understand, or appreciate the benefits of Sunday night in my neighborhood. Sunday night is mongo night!

Sunday starts off obscurely enough with the ordinary rituals and activities of the day. As the day wears on though, I become more distracted as residents begin hauling their mongo to the curb in anticipation for Monday's city-scheduled pick-up.

By mid-afternoon, just as the week's baking is coming out of the oven, I watch as other adventuring families casually stroll the streets. I carefully look them over and am able to quickly discern whether their true motivation is to take their children to the park, or if that is really just a cover to check out the goods before someone else gets to them.

I don't know if my covert past time is a usual family activity. Like most people, this activity is one secret that is hidden in a deep dark closet away from the scrutiny of social perception. Like most families, my nearest and dearest draw the line at a casual yard sale stop. So, if they ever found out my real identity, I could be shunned.

That being said, a recent anecdote from a summer family reunion went something like this:

"Wow great stroller you have here", said Aunt Lee. "Where'd pick that up?"

Ha, ha, I think to myself, "pick-up" is the right word. "Oh, got that on Richmond Street."

This afternoon as a child-unit and the DH went to the park, child-unit A asked, with a bit too much enthusiasm "Momma, do you need anything from the trash?"

I think I'm going to have to work on his choice of words.