Last night, in all my wisdom, I decided it was a good idea to trim the boys hair. When they were toddlers I had sworn off this duty for life. But, as they are now mature worldly boys of almost 7 years...I had forgotten the pain of the gruesome chore. I gathered my tools of destruction and we all proceeded to the back porch, so the hair could be "easily" cleaned up after our "quick" trim (please note my complete lack of cosmetology training, yet sheer confidence for the task at hand.) So, after two hours of whining, crying, nashing of teeth and roughly 45 mosquito bites, we were DONE. I was covered in hair, sweat and tears (my own tears). I decided to go inside, lock the door, deny my reality and leave the mess for next day clean up.
Fast forward to tonight. While sweeping under the breakfast table and scraping the remnants of dinner from the table top, I looked out the back door at the scene of the crime. The rolled up porch rug that could easily have passed for a body, the piles of hair that had seemingly multiplied over night, the scissors, cape, and buzz trimmer that had been thrown to the four winds were all there and then I spotted...wait for it....Cat vomit. Cat vomit siting atop my beautiful outdoor rug. Sticky. Stinky. Hairy Cat Vomit. Apparently, when the neighbor behind you feeds every feral cat in town, you can not leave the stuff that hairball nightmares are made of on the back porch. As I cleaned up the horrid and unspeakable mess, for the second time in my life, I uttered the words "I don't even own a cat." CLICK HERE FOR CAT BACK STORY ;)
Needless to say, I have learned a few lessons tonight.
1. My hatred of laundry was unjustified.
This chore never looked or smelled so good.
2. The only cat I like is grumpy cat
3. My poor children may never get a pet.
It's only Tuesday. Jesus, keep me near the cross.