No Shortage of Chocolate Milk Here

I woke up this morning to the two little voices of #3 & #4 chatting and giggling in the hallway while I was snuggled up in bed with big dog, Theo, or as 3 now calls him, Mr. Big. Thanks to Coronavirus we have no where to rush off to today, no morning classes at the gym, no soccer games, nothing. I start to think how sweet it is to finally be able to relax, not feel the pressure of having to be at a million places at once and how I get to spend the whole day relaxing with those sweet voices outside my door.

Then I focus in on what those voices are saying.

“Moommmyyyy, there’s poop outside your door!”

*giggles*

“Mommmmmyyy, there’s a pooper in the house!”

*giggles*

“Mommmmmyyyyy, it’s really stinky out here!”

*giggles*

What. The. Actual. F. is happening outside my door? Please let those giggles be a sign of joking, not of two little boys that think poop on carpet is funny.

I get up, open my door, and am hit in the face with the most god awful smell of dog diarrhea.

They think poop on the carpet is funny.

They let the dog out and watched her poop outside my door and are now laughing about this.

I start to gag. I want to cry. And guess what y’all!  The husband is once again out of town!

Why does this shit (pun intended) always happen when he’s not here?

I tiptoe over land mines and head downstairs to find cleaning supplies.

But wait, there’s more. Pee on the living room carpet, more diarrhea in the dining room carpet. It’s overwhelming. The smell is suffocating. I want to die.

I grab plastic grocery bags, a garbage can, towels and my Norwex paste and try to figure out how I’m going to pick up piles of dog diarrhea with the consistency of potato soup. I strap a Kroger bag to my hand and just go for it. I grab a pile. The warm squishiness oozes straight through the Kroger bag onto my hand and releases a hot fresh stench of rotted boxer bowels straight up my nostrils. I fling the bag into the garbage can and my vomit follows. I’m crying, I have puke dripping from my chin and brown dog sludge on my hand. There can not be anything closer to hell on earth than what I am experiencing in this moment. I get up, scrub my hands in scorching hot water and 3 gallons of soap for a full 10 minutes and realize I have 7 more piles to get through.

Crying harder now.

I pull it together - sort of - and head back to the land mines.

My hand is still sore from trying to wrangle a horse on a leash yesterday when I attempted to take both dogs on a walk but I need to use it to scrub 48 ounces of liquid dog poo from my carpets. I get down on all fours and start scrubbing when I realize those 2 sweet voices are still chanting “there’s a pooper in the house, there’s a pooper in the house!”

I want to yell. I want to cry.  Wait, I still am crying.  I want to run away from home but can’t because we’re in isolation. Nothing is going my way.

Instead, I just keep scrubbing. And scrubbing. And scrubbing. And I start to wonder how much dog poop can a Norwex cloth actually backloc?  The cloth itself doesn’t look that dirty; however, I soon find the answer. A SHIT TON. (Another pun intended). I realize just how much when I go to the sink to rinse it out. I squeeze the cloth and it looks like a mud slide of straight up chocolate milk pouring out. Well hello again bile in the back of my throat. I use another 3 gallons of soap and scorching hot water on my sore, dry, cracked hands until my skin is almost worn completely off. Still crying.

I give up on the carpet.  It’s as good as it’s going to get for now. But I need to do something about the smell. My entire house smells like rotted dog bowels.

I’m walking room to room, searching for Lysol with 3 & 4 trailing me begging for breakfast. How in the hell can anyone have an appetite with this level of stench in the house?  I ask them what they want and 3 says, “Cereal and chocolate milk.”

NOPE.

NO CHOCOLATE MILK.

NOT HAPPENING.

They get their cereal and WHITE milk and giggle over breakfast about dog diarrhea. I lay on the couch completely depleted wondering how anyone can possibly be having a better time quarantining than me.

It’s been a long day.

It’s 10:00 am.

I need a drink.

Anything but a mudslide please.