Thankfully I can separate them

Day 4 of summer vacation, the boys have decided they will now fight over everything from a ball of lint to toys they haven’t played with in decades. So I decide that I am going to separate them by declaring “If one is upstairs the other is downstairs, unless you are eating or using the bathroom”. Cool, except the older one decides it’s time to reenact every Star Wars light saber battle from all 6 movies, sound effects and all. Loudly. Very loudly. I sigh, “please find something quieter to do.” He proceeds to dig out the massive amount of coloring books out of the bin and spread them out everywhere, along with all the crayons that we own. Which is fine, until they get dropped on the floor and I step on them, and do one of those hilarious running-on-air moves you only see in cartoons. Fine, as long as he’s quiet.

Speaking of quiet, the little one is strangely quiet, so upon investigation he is in brother’s room without brother (cardinal rule#1 broken) playing with a game (Cranium Cariboo) that he’s not supposed to (cardinal rule #2 broken) and is shoving all the cards into the slots. So of course, at that moment his brother has come up to investigate and screams bloody murder (cardinal rule #3 broken – Thou shalt not shout at each other) and the world has come to an end. I calmly dig them out, reminding them both about playing nicely, respecting each other’s property, yadda, yadda, yadda.

At this point the dog is spazzing out….here’s a little backstory on Zeus. He is a mini schnauzer which is the doggie equivalent of Woody Allen; small and neurotic. He was going through a spell of pooping in his kennel just about every morning because we weren’t paying him enough attention. Some days, we just can’t play with the damn dog. Some days, I don’t get enough attention, but I’m not all popping a squat on my bed…although that would get my husband’s attention and fast. But once again, I digress. He also has a bad habit of gnawing on the blackberry bushes that are furiously taking over the greenbelt that border our yard, and thus leaves us(me) nice, black, runny poop that only seems to happen when my husband was gone on business, leaving me to clean it up, after profusely cursing at the dog. Which I guess you aren’t supposed to do because it makes him even more neurotic and the vicious cycle continues. Once we give him lots and lots of love and attention, and cater to his every whim, the kennel pooping was solved. So, word to the wise…

So, the dog is spazzing out because our neighbor, Naked Gary, is BBQing on his back porch. We call him that because when we first moved in, it was during the summer, and he came over and introduced himself, and he had no shirt on. No biggie, right? Except I swear I never saw him wear a shirt the rest of the summer. And it would be cool if he were all tanned and buff and hot. Except he’s not….and the dog freaks out, hence the bark collar that we can zap him with when he starts freaking out (PETA do not write me, animal lovers do not curse at the inhumaneness of the collar, I would put one on the boys if they made one.) It’s like those harnesses I’ve seen some moms put on their kids when they are out at a store, whatever gets you through sister, who am I to judge? I digress again…

So the dog is spazzing out, I’m zapping him, the boys are fighting again, so I escape to the computer and start typing. Thus is my day.