My Mud-Soaked Life

On Friday Wes called me at work to see if it would be okay for him to accompany his parents on an overnight trip to LA to see his father's siblings. I believe the conversation went like this.

"Sure, when is it?"
"Saturday."
"This Saturday? Tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
Long stunned silence.

Eventually I said fine. Then on Friday night I started to get that vaguely I'm-coming-down-with-something feeling. On Saturday I knew I was getting sick. And Wes left. And then I got sick.

The kids are at the age where they can pretty much keep themselves entertained. But the dogs. Good Lord. They want to run out in the yard, get covered in mud, come inside (I wipe them down) then run back into the yard. It was raining on and off all day so they got extra special muddy and gross.

At some point I went upstairs and fell into bed. I dozed for about fifteen minutes while calling out entreaties to the kids.

George barking.
"Please let the dogs out."
George barking.
"Please let the dogs in."
George barking.
"Please throw his ball."

What I didn't realize was that George had brought a mud-soaked tennis ball in from the yard. So while I had a few minutes of rest he covered-- COVERED--the hallway carpet and walls in muddy dots. I wiped off the walls and attempted to vacuum up the dirt once it dried a bit but it's still a disaster. In fact the entire house is a mess of mud and dirt. Every surface downstairs is covered in a fine layer of silt. The yard has lots of bare patches and the parts that aren't bare are covered in wood chips that are a few years old and pretty broken down. So the yard is essentially all mud and dirt. We wipe down the dogs when they come in but apparently they can store a very large quantity of dirt between their toes. Someone on Twitter suggested using one of these.



All I could think was, "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

George just would not quit. At some point I realized that he had be up and running for over eight hours without ever lying down. I decided to enforce a naptime, like I would with a toddler. I put him in his crate (I didn't crate my toddlers, for the record) and within about a minute he was fast asleep snoring. But then I worried about him sleeping too long and not going to sleep when I wanted to go to sleep. See, just like a toddler.

This morning has been full of standing in the cold, muddy yard throwing various toys. I've already completely lost my temper with one of the kids and one of the dogs. Wes is already on his way home. He can't get here soon enough for me.