Wednesday, June 2, 2010


Yesterday I lost my mind. Not because of anything huge. With huge stuff, I'm okay. My coping mechanism kicks on and I do what needs to be done. Yesterday, though, yesterday just generally sucked. All the way around. If something could go wrong it did.

And Chris was in bed sick.

And I had just gotten over being sick.

And I was out of Thyroid Meds. And out of refills.

And it was the final tball game of the year. In the rain. And I was snack mom.

And kids needed to be picked up here and dropped off there and then get to that place across town...etc...

My favorite part of the day o' craptasticness? Let me tell you what it was. It was pretty awesome.

I was up to my elbows in sugar cookie dough. Dough that required me running to the store with toddlers to buy flour, because this recipe calls for 6 cups of flour and I had...oh...none. The dough was coming along well. I didn't even have kids "helping" me. They were outside playing in the rain. The rain that hasn't stopped since October. At all. Not helping the mood, Mr. Weatherman.

While I was rolling out dough, they came tramping in. Covered with mud, but, hey, what's a little mud going to hurt? Is it going to mess up my house? Hahaha. No. It's fine. But, wait. That doesn't smell like mud. That smells like somebody managed to find that magical spot in the forest that Max goes to to poop (thank you again, Maxy Waxy, for not pooping in our grass. you are a magical beast of love and you are my favorite, but don't tell the children. oh, wait, they know). Investigation revealed that Grant had a definite poop smear up the leg of his dressy-casual Adidas swishy pants that match his beautiful blue eyes just right.

Cleaning up dog poop is so much less appealing when you're in the middle of making adorable baseball sugar cookies for the final T-Ball game of the season. Cookies that OTHER PEOPLE'S CHILDREN will be eating. Dog poop didn't seem like something that should be added to the 6 cups of flour.


Now I started wondering how he managed to get dog poop on his pants, but not on his shoes. That's weird. Not on his shoes, but ALL IN HIS UNDER WEAR. Nice. That's not even dog poop. That's your own poop. Where, son? Where did you take a dump? Oh, don't worry, mom, it's somewhere that nobody will ever ever find it. Really? That's great news, son. Now, how about we NEVER DO THAT AGAIN.

Looking back on it, I should have known right away that it wasn't from the dog. Why? Because I only wrinkled up my nose and cringed when I smelled it. Dog poop, on the other hand, dog poop will make me immediately projectile vomit every time. The slightest hint of that smell and I'm a puking machine. I find that it adds such a nice scent sensation for those present to be able to enjoy, not only the dog feces odor, but my vomit as well. Did I mention that this was a huge factor in us getting rid of Sadie Dog so quickly? The fact that she pooped outside of our bedroom door every morning and then I opened the door, smelled it, and threw up all over the house. Eventually, I learned to hold my shirt up and throw up IN MY SHIRT to save Chris from cleaning up both.

On that happy note, y'all have a great day. Mine is bound to be better than yesterday. I have my pills refilled, no games, no carpools, no cookies. All is well.