To Counteract My Debbie Downer Post…

Yeah, I got a bit emotional in my previous post, but it’s an important issue for me. Just a warning to those who haven’t read it yet and still wish to: it’s definitely not an uplifting Friday kind of post! (Sorry, Tim!) But read it if you dare take a glimpse into my anxiety-driven, empathy-fueled mind! (Scary!)

OK, now for those of you who’d like something a bit more light and humorous on a Friday afternoon, let me tell you about my past 24 hours…

Let’s see. Yesterday, I started out with the usual—kids fighting and calling one another names as we screech into the parking lot at school with one minute to spare. Then on to work, which actually affords me some peace and quiet. Whoops! I forgot that we needed to turn in our flex benefit claims from our last plan year by Sept. 30, so I had to truck it to the post office to get back the money that’s already been taken out of Husband’s paycheck. (Whew!) It’s not like we need it or anything!

Then after work, I go pick up Boy #3 from daycare. It was a good day: no time-outs for saying “butt crack” or “ro-butt”! Next, where I always dream of going after a long day. Yes, that’s right. Wal-Mart! We were looking for Star Wars cupcakes at the bakery for a party we’re having tonight. (More about that later. Just know that I am obviously insane.) As we look through the book with 10,000 different designs for cakes and cupcakes, we find everything BUT Star Wars, including a creepy-looking cake with this plastic man lying on his side wearing only his underwear that said, “It’s your lucky day, lady!” on it. Nice. We’ve got a nude Ken doll but no Darth Vader. So back to the van and on to Target. Surely THEY have a Star Wars cake or cupcakes. I know we’ve gotten one in the past. We’ve only had at least two other Star Wars-themed birthday parties in the past. So in the Target doors and straight to the bakery. This time, Boy #3 helped me turn EVERY. SINGLE. PAGE of the book. Hmmm. It’s a conspiracy. NO STAR WARS! But if you’d like an Over the Hedge or Boobah cake, you’re in luck. I hear there’s a big demand.

So on home as I’m rethinking the party food. (Note that I’m doing all this the DAY BEFORE the party.) Arrive home, make supper, noticing that the kitchen appears to have been involved in some sort of tornado or other natural disaster that caused food to be on the floor and dirty dishes strewn throughout the counters and table. Then after supper, I do a double-take at Boy #3. Hmm…something about you looks different. Did you get a new outfit? Do something to your hair? Oh, that’s it! You got a haircut. From YOURSELF. Super. Now, I can’t blame him entirely because he was only following in his older brother’s footsteps. (Yes, Boy #2 cut his own bangs the night before.)

So then it was not only bath time, but haircut time as well! And if you haven’t heard, I have no professional training as a stylist. Nor do I have any talent whatsoever. In fact, my mother-in-law has made me promise I will never try to cut my childrens’ hair again. Sorry, Mom!

So I spent the next two hours struggling with two wriggling, half-naked or fully-naked boys while wielding clippers and a pair of scissors. I even pulled out Husband’s beard and moustache trimmer. At one point, Boy #3 was lying on his side on a pile of dirty towels, buck-naked, while I tried to even up the back of his hair while lying down myself. I’m pretty sure that’s how they do it in all the best salons…

I have to say, they don’t look too bad. At least school pictures are over!

After finally hitting the sheets at 11:00 after spending my evening cutting hair instead of preparing for our party, I woke up this morning a bit stressed at all I have to do today to get ready for tonight. Not to mention that my dad’s 70th birthday party is tomorrow and I haven’t even thought about what to get him! So I was extremely thrilled when we were getting ready to leave for school (yes, the boys were all fighting again) and Boy #1 said the dreaded words: “Teddy just ran out!” The dog WAS in his crate but somehow found a way, once again, to escape and proceeded to run out the front door when one of the boys opened it. Excellent.

This makes only the 4 millionth time he’s gotten out in the past two weeks. And getting him back keeps getting harder and harder. He couldn’t care less what you wave in front of him or squeak. I could be holding a 24-ounce steak and he’d pretend to come to me and then psych me out and dash off right before I can grab him. It’s his little game. Which I do not enjoy playing.

After taking my distraught kids to school so they weren’t late, I recruited my sister to help me trap him.

Thirty minutes later, after running through the backyards of a block-long row of neighbors’ houses, another neighbor stopped on her bike and helped. Yes, it was 3 adults against one dog. Make that 3 adults and one dog against one dog. The neighbor grabbed the collar of another neighbor’s dog that was out and used it as “bait,” knowing that Teddy would want to play. Fortunately, the neighbor dog was friendly and didn’t try to bite our hands or Teddy’s head off. (Although its chain did trip my sister and nearly break her ankle.) Finally I felt Teddy’s fur between my fingers and held on for dear life. I picked him up and carried him like a baby to my van, whispering sweet-nothings (which I cannot repeat on this family-friendly blog) in his ear, and then back to the house where I banished him, once again, to his crate. Then up to my room to change my pants, which are wet halfway up to my knees due to the fact that I had been running through long, dew-filled grass for a half hour straight.

So, late to work again. No clue what we’re doing for this party tonight. My house still looks like a hovel. And now my dog is covered in mud.



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