Most days I can maintain and or manage my beloved little hogs. However, there are some days ... some days in which even I am left standing there saying, "done, I am just done." Yesterday was a done day. For starters, Jon is traveling. This means I am single parenting all 4 hogs. I manage sneering bouts of testosterone laden madness from the older two simultaneously pulling a lego man out of the bottom of my foot while kicking a trail to the littlest hogs bedroom. And I don't even have a taser for any of this mess. One little thing goes wrong in this bedlam of madness and it all falls apart.
Yesterday it started with orange hair. I had it in my head that a cut and color was desperately needed prior to me heading up to "parent/college" welcome next week. Uh huh. And the Universe cackled. I made the cosmic error of trying a new salon, cue, Ms. Longstocking, ala Pippi. Since I only have 3 or 4 hairs on my head, processing my poor bird hair again to resolve the orange mess she made could mean going bald. The stylist said it wasn't "that bad" and tried to reschedule me for 2 weeks to try again. Um. Hell. I came home to my 4 year-old squeeling, "mom, your hair is orange!" Yeah. I know. I went to my room to try and make sense of the hair situation. I had a football parents meeting in an hour, and holy crap I was going to be so awesome. #facepalm As I tried to style my 4 orange hairs into something manageable, or at least not laughable, my oldest came in the room and said, "hows the fight sista?" He was trying to help.
I left my parenting post momentarily. I let the ball drop. While I was fussing with orange hair two hogs escaped the pen with the dog. My phone rang. It was the 12 year-old, sobbing. My heart escaped me for a second imagining the worst when he said, "mom, the dogs trapped in the lake, help." Excuse me? The dog is trapped in the lake, WTF? The "lake" he was referring to is a giant retention pond behind our house. We've had an unreasonably warm summer and the retention pond smells like ass. Not butt. Ass. It has ducks and mud. A lot of mud. Both items were apparently just enough to coerce my dumb dog into the middle of it ... where she got her back legs trapped in mud, because she's also aggressively stupid.
I grabbed the oldest hog and we proceeded to go on a dog rescue. He went one direction, me the other. I'm on my phone with a sobbing 12 year-old and what do I see? There on the trail around ass pond stands my 4 year-old, "hey Mom, he's in here, it's waaaaaay down there ..." as he points his chubby little hand towards the marsh. I could hear Bradyn, I couldn't SEE Bradyn. Well crap. I hollered at the oldest, "he's here!" as I headed down into the marsh following the lightening trail skills of a 4 year-old. Seconds later I hear swearing. Perfect. My blazing orange hair must have served as a beacon to help the oldest hog sniff me out.
The scene was ... it was just that ridiculous. Surrounded in the ass pond, sinking in the mud, sobbing 12 year-old, and the aggressively stupid dog sitting in the middle of said pond hanging onto a fallen piece of wood. I imagine some desperate Lassie situation. No. If the dogs tail wasn't stuck in mud, she would be wagging it. The oldest started maneuvering out into the ass pond. "Oh my hell, what is this smell? We are going to all get a disease. Let the dog sit in her own stupid." These were my thoughts as I saw my two older boys trying to maneuver onto pieces of wood and muck out to their beloved stupid dog. My thoughts were interrupted by two things. I was sinking into the ass mud of the pond and my oldest just splashed full throttle into a pile of ass mud and pond followed by a few words that weren't describing the ducks in the pond.
My mind flashed into holy crap mode. I did NOT want to be in this ass mud. I could not go into the ass pond. My 4 year-old was giggling. The oldest fell, again. He was now full ass into ass pond. "Can you move?" I screamed between laughter. This was a circus act. I hollered at the 12 year-old to help him from the other side of the "log bridge of redemption" to their aggressively stupid dog. I sank further into the ass mud trying to rescue my hogs ... oh gross. I threw up a little in my mouth just in time for the dog to be freed from her ass mud with an aggressive (of course) body shake. Aaaaaaaahhhhhh! We're all covered in ass mud! Gross. Run. Run home. Run home and hose off before we all get the ass plague.
There on the patio we stood. Ass mud pond covered hosing off. The dog is so remarkably intelligent that each time we hosed her down she ran into the woods to rub her whole body in the dirt. Aggressively stupid. The oldest finally broke. Covered in ass mud ripping his clothes off ... he dropped a series of "expletive remarks" regarding his shirt being found on the ground (see dumb dog running rampant) instead of on the patio chair. The expletive stream was running haywire, non stop, so I warned him, "cool down". He didn't ... so sans a taser but in possession of a hose I sprayed. We had all reached full ass tilt.
The expletives stopped, stunned, followed by him grabbing a shoe and throwing ... in my direction, fast and hard. Now I was screaming expletives. Then the 4 year-old opened the patio door. Noooooooo! Aggressively stupid dog ran inside, covered in ass pond and dirt, leaving her trail all over the WHITE carpet ... and couch ... and stairs ... and her trail of tears continued. I looked at the clock. 5:55. The phone rings, it's Jon from Las Vegas, "hey, so the football parent meeting at 6, you can bring the other kids, they are going to have ice cream, should be awesome." Oh Jon.
I surveyed the scene around me, dog, ass pond dirt, filthy carpet. I rubbed my 4 orange hairs on my head and said, "done, I'm done." The kid apologized for the shoe, I apologized for the hose, the 12 year-old ran upstairs as soon as I said we missed the meeting (6:30 now) and the 4 year-old shrugged his shoulders and said, "I didn't do it." I ordered they all get in the car so we could forage for food in town. As the universe was still cackling and my little hogs were getting in the Tahoe, my neighbor showed up, wagon in hand, asking if we were headed down to the neighborhood "weenie Wednesday". I mustered up my orange hair to venture out the door as she said, "I love your hair." What? I mumbled it was a trainwreck and something about being covered still in ass pond. She didn't skip a beat. "Get your ass down here, I have hot dogs and wine." The hogs momentarily turned back into children as the exited the Tahoe for hot dogs and friends. I turned into a grateful friend. "I'm done" turned into "one more day". I joked she hazed me into weenie wednesday attendance, but really, she helped me not give up.
