This is the part I love about being a mom.
This morning was not.
This morning I went into John's room to get him up for the third time and I stepped in his wet sandy clothes from yesterday. I deduct that he had the hose in the sandbox. Again.
Getting Rebecca's hair fixed I see there is plenty of sand in the bathroom sink and on the floor.
When I go to lay John's wet clothes out on the porch I see that there is paint dried on the cement. I look for a scrubber and can't find one so I end up using the cat brush because it has metal bristles. (It actually worked good!)
Right at that time my neighbor walks over to return dishes. I am in my morning sweats, hair is in every direction, I am squatting down scrubbing my porch with the hose and a cat brush at 7:30am.
"Dinner was delicious," he says.
Last week John was having himself what we refer to as "a hard day."
This is a day where his anxiety level is so high he pushes us all to our limits.
He let the dog out twice. The second time our redneck neighbor was walking their dog and Charlie proceeded to roughhouse with it until he drew blood from it's face. I was very grateful they were my redneck neighbors and not my hyper-anal neighbors because when I spoke to the dad about it he told me it was good for their dog to get beat up once in a while. The ego was running a little high these days anyway.
Plus, he said, the dog still looks cute to him.
Bad dog.
That night John ended up in our room again. He woke me up five or six more times to tell me he was pretty sure there was a man standing by our bathroom door.
This is my life. I wouldn't want to be doing anything else.
