This past weekend was nothing short of glorious! The weather was beautiful! The temperatures were perfect! The windows were open! The air was fresh! As soon as I had the opportunity, I kicked The Daughters (and The Dad) out of the house, locked the doors and enjoyed a little bit of peace and quiet. OK, fine – I didn’t really lock the doors.
But I should have! Daughter 1 and her friend hadn’t been outside for five minutes when Daughter 1 burst back into the house hopping on one foot, “My shoe is dirty!” she announced as if she really expected me to stop reading PostSecret, close the laptop and do something about it.
So, I hollered back, “Clean it!” I am nothing if not an efficient and helpful Momma. The fact that it was dirty really shouldn’t surprise me at all. We had 59 inches of snow in our back yard that had just recently finished melting. Essentially, the part of our yard that wasn’t a literal pool was a pool of mud.
After hoping into the kitchen, she removed her shoe and I heard her running the water. Then I heard her pull the spray nozzle out. Then I heard her and her friend giggling. Then laughing. Then snorting.
Geez – I would have to stop reading PostSecret after all!
I made my way into the kitchen where, at first glance, I noticed the dirt splatters all over my white sink and all over my spotless counters. (You know they weren’t really spotless, right? But, I hate to write “all over my cluttered and messy counters” no matter how much truth is in that statement!)
Daughter 1 then shrugged her shoulders, slung her shoe and declared, “Good enough.” She put her shoe back on (still wet) and walked back through the kitchen toward the back door, tracking her precious little foot prints all through my kitchen. Precious. I didn’t mean to write precious. I meant to write stinkin’.
“HEY!” I hollered. “You’re slinging and dripping and tracking mud all through the kitchen!”
“No,” Daughter 1 replied in that hesitant voice that tweeners use to look cool in front of their friends and make their parents feel like complete nerds at the same time.
“Uhhh – Yes,” I replied using the exact same voice.
“No. I’m not, Momma,” then she threw a side glance and a huff toward her friend to show just how stupid I am.
“Yes, Honey,” I said, giving up on being a cool tweener and using my very patient Momma voice. “Look… splatter, drips and tracks! I looks like a mud crime scene!”
“Momma! Geez. You keep saying mud and it’s not.” Wait. Wha--?? “It’s dog poop, Momma.”
Of course it is… and why shouldn’t it be?
Look for my secret next week, “Dear PostSecret: I’m locking my family out of the house until all dog poop disintegrates.”
