Why are Sundays always the worst day of the week? Perhaps its God's way of telling us to stop being so lazy and get back to church. I'm only half joking. Maybe it is his way.

Anyway, the kids were up painfully early and after starting out our morning with a peice of apple streusel kuchen I'd made for dessert the night before and a big homemade latte (the kids got milk, not coffee), we decided by 8 that we'd better leave this house or we were all going to kill each other.

So off we went to Fred Meyers. We sized the kids for bikes (we'll buy elsewhere, but wanted to see what sizes fit them best) and then dropped them in the Playland while we shopped. We didn't really need anything, but we did need to do something. I ended up with another spice rack and a knife sharpener, along with two plain t-shirts for the kids that I'm going to use for a Yo Gabba Gabba iron-on transfer. Some groceries, some odds and ends and an hour later we picked up the kids and got ready to go. The clown person was still there for their grand opening and the line was short enough that we waited so the kids could get a balloon animal or hat. Ethan wanted a dog, which he got in blue and named "Tito". Gwen wanted a hat and the lady pegged her right off as a "princess" and made her a crown complete with a heart on the front.

After that we stopped at the craft store so I could pick up a few things and then the badness started. J dropped me off and went to pick up a fast food lunch for the kids. I found what I needed but got stuck behind this ridiculous woman. Truly, ridiculous. It took me 50 minutes to get out of there. By then Gwen was asleep, Ethan was sobbing uncontrollably because poor Tito had suffered an unfortunate and untimely death by popping, my lunch was cold, the kids had wanted to wait until home to eat so their lunch was cold and my husband... my husband, he was not happy.

We make it home, bring everything in and a terrible stench greets me. Toby. Oh, our puppy-dog Toby. Leaving a great pile of vomit on the floor. I just knew when we left that I should have kept the back door cracked for him, but I didn't. The smell (along with my already woozy feelings from the day) made me start gagging, but I managed to scoop it up and get it out of the way. We all eat.

Then I start installing my spice racks and in the moment start cleaning out my pantry. Kids run wild. I'm knee deep in junk and spices and flour and ask J to put them to bed. They gave him hell, poor guy. I start vacuuming out the pantry (who puts carpet in a pantry but nowhere else?) and promptly get something tangled up and burn out the belt which I just replaced two days ago.

I hear barking and snarling... oddly, coming from the front door. There is my pup, sitting at the front door, barking at all passing by. At least he wasn't chasing. I let him in and continue my work. Then there is another stench. Oh, so much more vile than the vomit. I can't find the source, but eventually I do see it... on Toby. Apparently he rolled in poo. His or some other animal who knows. But it REEKS. Sigh.

Jason drags him outside on the leash and I hose down the affected area, soap it up, rinse him down. There is miscommunication between J and I and sopping wet dog makes it inside before I get the towel so now there is masses of water all over the floor. He runs upstairs. Water on stairs. Into the kid's hallway. Water there too now. Silently I follow and dry him off and hope the kids hear nothing. I take the dirty collar, towel, my clothes, the clothes he stepped on while making his desperate escape and start a wash.

I'm tired. Jason is tired. House an utter disaster. The kids will soon be refreshed and we will not be. Right now my prayer is that there will be no more stenches, no more poo or vomit, no more water disasters.

Next week we are going to church.