It's mud season in Rochester, which in other parts of the country is referred to as "spring". Lately there has been more mud inside the house than outside. I spend most of my days now sweeping up dirt and mud and screaming at the perps who drag it in. I sent Paul in to take a shower (in my nice, clean, newly painted, newly tiled bathroom), and there was so much mud and grass on the floor when he was done you'd have thought we were hosing off horses in there. This same child, in an effort to be helpful, thought our dog looked thirsty while she was outside playing this morning. He so kindly took the hose and filled up a hole the dog had dug with lots of water. Hole + water + dog = very muddy dog. My floors don't stand a chance.
In other news, all of my children have been running very low on socks and underwear, so we made a very necessary trip to Target. For those who are slow at math, five children between them have fifty very busy fingers, and it generally takes all of my energy to keep said fingers from grabbing items off shelves, touching things they ought not touch, and poking each other. At the checkout, I only had one item in the cart that I did not put there, so it was not such a bad trip. Pray for me, as we still have to go to the grocery store later. I can really only bite my tongue and roll my eyes when I hear other mothers complain about how hard it is "to get through the store with two kids". Puh-lease.
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