I had a %()&*^(&*%%$&)*) morning.
I woke up LATE to the sound of Mike barfing. He was on the edge of my bed. Sooooo grateful he has a good aim and completely missed the bed. Soooooo not grateful it splattered everywhere.
Then, my mom informs me that J.D. pissed all over the bathroom floor. Right by the toilet. 8 inches from the litter box.
THEN, my mom further informs me that someone (either J.D. or Mike but most likely J.D.) POOPED in the dining room.
THEN, she pointed out more barf that Mike apparently had leftover and decided to let loose in the living room.
4 rooms, 3 bodily functions.
It's days like this that make me want to pack up a suitcase and get the hell out of dodge.
However, despite the J.D.'s apparent lack of use of the litter box, how can you be mad at this:
You can't. So, I just suck it up, clean it up and move on.
In more animal news, Max has this cleanliness fetish. He HAS to get every bit of trash that's thrown out of moving vehicles that land in our yard or the neighbors yard or the other neighbors yard or, well, any trash at all in a mile radius.
Even if it's buried.
So, it's nothing to walk outside in the morning to find bits of lime green Styrofoam or broken glass jars with dirt on them or torn to shred soda cans in the yard.
However, this morning?
He stumped me.
Yeah, that's a sweet potato. And not a rotten one. And not one covered in dirt.
Where the hell did he get a sweet potato?
This, people, is REAL LIFE.
And some days, it's just too much.
I just have to keep telling myself, "One month, one week and two days."