I'm FUCKED!

I am fucked Current mood: crazy
Honest to God. My kids are cute and all...but...fuck me. I really think I need my meds upped. I spent all morning yelling at them...all "Mom he is doing this..." "He bit me" "He hit me" FUCK FUCK FUCK. I sent them to their rooms...good idea in theory...but we have hardwood floors...so every single step they take seems to echo down stairs. I kept them in their rooms for 1/2 hour. It seemed like best thing for all of us. I am seriously thinking about velcro underwear. I could just stick them to the walls. Oh. And the dog. Sir Shitsalot. C + C Poopfactory. The Crapanator. Apparently...the shitter is full in the backyard. He dumped twice upstairs. Nice smell, let me tell you. Couple that with Febreeze and you have a wonderful shit/clean linen smell to your upstairs. Figuring maybe it was about time to get out of the house...I decided to take the boys and the dog to Petsmart. Sir Poopsalot needed his nails clipped. I, I might add, need a pedicure too, but I don't see that happening. Maybe if it clicked when I walked on the hardwood, my husband would tell me to go...I might have to try that...but back to the issue at hand...Petsmart. Great idea to take 2 kids, who if you missed the earlier part of this blog and didn't see how "well behaved" they have been today...and a dog to Petsmart. How can kids manage to find something that they HAVE TO HAVE at a pet store? I swear, my kids did inherit that gene from me...the shopping one. Logan is carrying a rather fancy cat bed (retailing for $56) and begging me to buy it for the cat. The cat that we haven't seen in a week. Patrick is standing so close to me that I swear he knows what I am thinking before I do, and the dog is managing to sniff and be sniffed by all of the dogs in the store. At this point I tell them to go look at the fish. What I wanted to say was...you two better get the fuck out of my sight or I am going to go mother fucking ape shit on your asses. The dog gets his toes done...and we have to go look for some food and treats. It is at this point that the boys and the dog decided to compete for most annoying. I can't even say that there was a clear winner...all three gave it their best effort. I would have to award Patch the whole "best actor in a dramatic series" because he can be so damn dramatic...but the other two tied for most annoying. I bought a new "pooper scooper" because the whole, let the dog shit in the back yard, I won't have to deal with it until the snow melts, thing has blown up in my face. Now. I have a backyard full of crap...mixed with melted snow (which if you don't get the visual, is basically POOP SOUP.) Checking out was almost as much fun as the entire trip. I have C + C Poopfactory trying to mount the shitzu behind us and Patrick and Logan begging for Mountain Dew. Yeah. Mountain Dew. Thanks to my brother, they think asking for it all of the time is HILARIOUS. Neither one has ever actually drank it...but they know they are not allowed. Amazed by the fact that I have not had to kill anyone yet...we leave. Me, being pulled across the parking lot by Sir Poopsalot...Patch nearly walking into the poop area...before I scream "THERE IS POOP ALL OVER THE PLACE." The mere mention of poop is enough to set him off. Drama. I see a career on one of the CSI's in his future.I rolled into Starbucks on the way home, because frankly I was going to kill someone if I didn't...and the cute, obviously single, childless and petless, kid working the window was all "AWW, your dog and your boys are so cute..." Seriously? You can have all 3...and the SF Vanilla latte...how bout I throw in a fifty for good measure?? I am sure he thought about calling Children's Services...but thought the better of it...Instead, he gives the dog a treat. How about a prozac for the mom instead? Naturally, the dog didn't want the treat...lord for bid we not have Snausages on hand for his every whim. I got my 'Bucks...but even the power of sweet, sweet latte couldn't overcome my frazzled nerves. We make it home...only after having to procure the "straight out of Edinboro" cd that I made...so we are rollin down the road blastin "this is how we do it..."
Get home...I decide to try to use the pooper scooper. PFFF. Why? To get out of the house? I seriously see why the dog was crapping upstairs. Once the snow melted...there was NO ROOM for much more...he uses the far back corner...and it is clear that he is a pooping machine. I am thinking about not feeding him any more. I mean...come on. Basically, by taking the poop upstairs, he was saying "shitters full."
I am proud to say that at this very moment, our back yard is less poop filled, No, I couldn't get it all. I just couldn't. I don't have the attention span...the boys are somewhere in the house being relatively quiet...and I am listening to some music...and typing this. I will throw in a plug for finetune.com...if you have not heard of it, it is great. I have a link on my home page, check it out, sucka. (thanks Tori...) If I sat right here and nothing changed for the rest of the day...I might think I can do this parenting thing...but just as I said that...the little one just came bustin thru the diningroom on his belly on a skate board. AWESOME. Going to go crush some lexapro and contemplate some vodka.