Blame it on the schnauzer cause she ain’t talking

The best thing about a dog is their loyalty.  Kids…not loyal!

I had it on my mind to make French Onion Soup.  Sweet Onions, sauted over medium heat with some butter for 90 minutes until they reached a nice deep brown.  I now know why French Onion Soup is expensive in restaurants.  It’s very labor intensive.  I chose the incorrect day to make soup.  Monday was a very busy day in our household, I spent the morning paying bills and doing laundry and then realized as the boys were coming home from school that it would be in the best interest of keeping to the schedule if I started chopping onions at 2:30.

John had his client calling from California just as the boys were walking in the front door, and I had to quell their typical excitement as John looked at me with this look of “can’t you keep them quiet” as he waved his hand for us to move along out of his earshot.  I did think briefly to myself that he could do a better time scheduling conference calls, but we need business so I keep my mouth shut and shimmy the kids out to the back porch to update me on their day.

Mignonne was swinging happily with her American Girl dolls sitting at the table under the swingset.  Lille was sunning herself in the perfect sunlit spot fitting for a freshly groomed minature schnauzer.  Ashton had a fresh batch of Pokemon cards, and Jack was giving the update on a new book he was going to read this week “Matilda”.  All quite interesting, but my onions were not sauting.  I got Jack started on his reading, and told Ashton and Mignonne to stay OUTSIDE until daddy was off the phone.

I went and tended to my onions for the next 30 minutes, then it was time to take Jack over to tennis.  I asked if either of the little ones wanted to come, but they said they wanted to play outside.  Turned off the onions, and left the two little ones, and the schnauzer in the back yard.

Five minutes later, I returned, lit back up the onions, and decided to turn on Oprah in my kitchen where I learned that I could have multiple TYPES of orgasms, and exactly where inside my vajayjay I could locate the “G Spot”. Note to self:  if you are ever feeling around in there, it feels like the tip of your nose.  Ashton and Mignonne kept coming inside and I kept telling them to go back out.  “Daddy is on the phone”.  My stress level was increasing and I realized that I hadn’t left the house to get the refill on my Xanax…and it was one pill from being “out”.

Sauting onions add another 45 minutes, almost over with Oprah and then I shall never look at that Iranian installed fence the same way ever again.

Ashton came rushing inside yet again, saying “Mommy, Mommy!  Lille pooped on the playground!”


“Lille POOPED on the playground.  Come see!”

So I turn off the onions again…go outside and Ashton leads me to the playground and the table under the fort part of the playgroud.  Lille was really into eating something.

“Lille Pooped!”

And there it was.  A very thick tootsie roll shaped log was right under the picnic table, right next to Julie, the American Girl doll, resting comfortably on the pinestraw.  I gagged.  Then right at EYE level was an impaled turd right on the ladder going into the playhouse.  The turd must have first hit the ladder, made a point of impact, and then proceeded to fall to the ground.  Half of the turd was on the ladder, the rest was on the ground (which the dog was eating).

I gagged several times and headed towards the garage to get a shovel.

When I returned I saw two big flies munching away on the impaled ladder turd.  I heaved.

The dog was over under the lawn table.

Mignonne was gagging too at this point.

I just shoveled and chucked the turds into Mohammad’s yard (over the fence and into his weeds) without thinking.  I went and got the garden hose to rinse off the impaled poo off of the ladder, and headed inside to tend to my onions and tried to get my mind back on finding my G spot one day and making french onion soup.

But wait…

It was a thick turd.  It wasn’t a doglike turd.

Lille doesn’t typically eat her poo.  Does she?


I went back outside and found my middle child.  “Ashton and Mignonne, come with me”.  I walked them over to the most recent Lille poo over in the side yard.  “This is dog poo.  What was that on the ladder?”

“Am I going to get in trouble?”

Seems that Mr. Ashton pooped off the fort thinking it would land in Mohammad’s yard but instead the bomb misfired and did some damage of the “friendly fire” variety.

So, I need to let me kids use the bathroom inside from now on if there is a conference call scheduled after school and it would probably be in everyone’s best interest not to make French Onion Soup on a weekday.