yeah, well

More trouble with dog poop.

Today I was cleaning the kitchen--washing down cupboards and polishing the chrome on the chairs, doing the floor, and Tim and Julia announced they wanted to go outside and continue scooping dog poop.

"We want to earn some money."

(I pay $5 for half a paper grocery bag.  Do not fill them past half because they will rip. Get a new bag.)

Anyway, before they'd hardly been gone for two minutes, they were back.

And there was some insane story about how Julia had ended up getting hit in the head with dog poop Tim threw.

"Seriously?  What the hell is going on out there?!  We're throwing dog poop now?"

Well, Tim said he was trying to throw the bag over to Julia and he thought the turds inside would weight it down, and they did not.  It sort of flew up and part of the contents spilled out.

Oh, Good LOR-ed.

"So where is she now? I hope in the bathtub."

Yes.

I don't understand.

James later told me he encountered Tim sitting quietly on the couch in the living room and Tim told him about the dog poop accident and said, "Mom hasn't even yelled at me yet."

(As if that's the worst thing that could happen to a person: me yelling.  Pretty sure that's happened like a million times over the years and everybody is fine.)

I told James, "What would I even SAY?  I don't even know where to go with that."

James:  "Yeah, like don't throw bags of dog shit in the air, like that needs to be stated."

Oh, gawd.   Yes, exactly.

Sigh.

Julia, Sweetheart, I am so sorry this happened and you were an amazing good sport.

love you so, Mom