Cub Woes

“Douglas, don’t you step in that!”

Doght! I immediately realize my mistake.

My little insubordinate has now plunged his foot into the clammy knoll of dog poop and is grinning at me wickedly. I quickly put down Kiana’s car seat and grab Douglas before he starts somersaulting through the stuff (Oh yes he would).

He begins thrashing to and fro. He REALLY needs to do the somersaults through the poop now that he knows that I would prefer him not to. His very life depends on those somersaults. There are tears… oh the tears. Then there are blood-curdling screams… only furthering the neighbor’s suspicions that we beat our child.

I found two gray hairs growing from my scalp last week.

I use to think I was Super Mom—that I had all the answers. Then “two” happened. Two kids is not the issue, but the fact that one of them is “two” is.

How does one do “two?”

I need a book.

I need your prayers.

I need a pint-sized straight jacket.