I Went Away For The Weekend And Sh*t Looked Like It Hit The Fan. Literally.

This past weekend I went to the beach. By myself. No kids, no husband, no dog.

That’s right- my husband stayed home and held down the fort while I went to the beach to hang out with friends at the 18th Annual Running of the Bull. For those of you thinking, “wow, he stayed home and you went down to spend all day in a bar drinking copious amounts of adult beverages!”, yes. However, there is a moral part of the event, which is that around $85,000 has been raised during this event, with sales of t-shirts and red bandanas, over the years for the local Rehoboth Fire Department. So, I could leave my kids, drink beer, and feel good about supporting our community.

And drink copious amounts of beer. Did I mention that?

This isn’t the first time I have run with the bull in Dewey. It’s like my 18th time. I was there at its inception, the drunken grand idea of several of my beach house friends.Okay, I was around that first year, but didn’t actually partake. But I did partake in the 2nd year and as my friend Andrea said, “just take it Voltzy, take the first year.” So I am.

Anyways, while I was down at the beach for the second consecutive year sans kids for the running, my awesome hubs was home with the kids.

Have you seen that commercial where the mom is skyping with her family, all looks well,  and the husband and kids end the call and you see the disaster behind them?

Well, that didn’t exactly happen. And I had told myself that since my hubs had the kids all weekend allowing me to hang out with friends, I was going to be all appreciative and not mention anything other than positive when I got home.

No matter if books and toys were strewn all over the floor.

Who cares if the laundry didn’t get done.

So what if dishes are still in the dishwasher and they are now eating off paper plates.

It’s okay that there are dog hair tumble weeds meeting me at the door from 3 days of no sweeping.

He had the kids.  I slept in. TWO MORNINGS IN A ROW.

He had to walk the dog. I sat on the beach READING A BOOK.

I had nothing to complain about.


I walk in the door, all ready to give hugs and kisses and exclaim, “how was everyone’s weekend? I missed you all!”

But instead:

“Is that POOP on the floor? AND THE COUCH???”

That’s right. Before I even got all the way in the room, hadn’t even put my bag down or said hello.

Of course I couldn’t just look at it and decide, I had to actually touch it and smell it, b/c I’m a mom and we do gross things now.

And yes, I was correct.

Pi looks over: “what? huh?”

Sweets: “oh, I think that happened this morning.”

Pi, quickly interjecting: “No, I think I know when that happened and it was just a couple hours ago.”

JUST A COUPLE OF HOURS AGO!?!? Poop has been on the floor and on my couch for A COUPLE OF HOURS???

Really? In my head I am ranting:  “I can’t leave for the weekend for a charity fundraiser (see how things changed here? right?) without shit hitting the fan and landing on my couch and floor?”

In real life I was biting my tongue so hard I could barely eke out, “you better get the fabric spray” before walking into my room and then immediately doing my “I can’t believe this sh*t” angry dance.

Turns out Sarah had ALOT of fruit over the weekend and had many costume changes, to the point Pi just had her hanging out in her diaper. Which doesn’t answer the question: why,  if he knew “a couple of hours ago” that there was a potential poop incident on the couch, would he not check??


Next time I leave, I am going to ask him to do a quick poop check before I come home.

Have you ever gone away and come home to something that made you throw up your hands??

Have a great crazy day!





Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s