Character Assassination Carousel: Walter the Farting Dog

Last week, I asked my Facebook friends what book drove them crazy the most when it came to their kids' books.   There was a reason for my question!

The very hilarious, Ninja Mom, started this cool party over at her bloghouse. It's called the Character Assassination Carousel, and it allows bloggers to deconstruct and assault a piece of obnoxious children's literature that had it coming to them. (Here's a good spot for my disclaimer..I keep it pretty light and funny on my blog here - and I will readily admit before I rip this book to shreds as duty calls me to , I have gotten many laughs with my kids reading this book to them..that being said, I have to roast it today..I owe it to my blogger friends on the carousel to do it!)  Before I forget to say it, "I'll Love You Forever" clearly got the most votes for book you most wanted to drop off at a book drive - however, the hilarious blogger Kristine over at Wait in the Van already knocked that one off a while back - check it out here

Anyway, there have been many other  very funny character assassinations of some of the most annoying, aggravating children's books by other bloggers on  Ninja's Carousel so be sure to pop over there to look for your personal favorite.  My readers mentioned most of the ones done before, including the book featured previously on the carousel called  "Junie B. Jones."  Tall Curly Biscuit writes, "...worst of all, she uses terrible grammar. Every time we used to read a Junie B. Jones book, I had to stop every 5 lines or so to correct her grammar. Here’s an example of Junie’s narration: “Then she quick handed me the jar. And she runned right out of the room.”  Be sure to check out Angela from Tall Curly Biscuit for the rest of her critique of Junie B. Jones!

This week, we are going to tackle the ignorance of these pet owners who can barely parent their own children let alone take care of an intestinally-challenged dog...also known as Walter the Farting Dog.

What could the lesson possibly be about this book?  "Hey kids, if your pet isn't perfect, your dad can take him back to the pound..."   FAIL!

Misc. Reviews:
'Warning: This book may cause flatulence..'
"Too much farting for me, but then again,  I'm not a  ten year old boy..."
"The illustrations creep me out.."
"Farting: My kids favorite F word..."

We start at the beginning of the book - which has an inscription from my sister-n-law to my 3 boys... "Dear Little Men, I saw this book and immediately thought of you all.  I'm sure you'll find it very funny...Enjoy!  Love, ....."  Ahhh yes.  Because with 3 boys and a husband, we don't spend enough of our days talking and laughing about farts, now we can read this story to end our days.  Thank you Auntie!

Moving along with the story.  We begin with Betty and Billy who bring Walter home from the dog pound by themselves.  Their mother, who apparently didn't go with them to sign for this adoption, since they are clearly underage and shouldn't have been able to do so without consenting guardians, immediately complains about his stink.  If she would've gotten off of her ass and gone to the pound with them, she would know that all shelters stink in one way or another,  and unless she thought her kids would stop at Barking Bubbles for a quick Bath on the way home from the pound, why is she so surprised that he smells awful??  She suggests they give him a bath.   BLATANT PARENT FAIL #1

Maybe it's my OCD kicking in, but I wouldn't trust the two little ones in my bathroom to give a new dog a bath.  Between the splashing and the soap they would turn my bathroom into a mud puddle that I would have to clean from top to bottom with scrubbing bubbles and I just couldn't deal with that.  I digress.  Mother walks in yet again to the bathtub scene and complains about his stench.  Sure enough, Walter starts with the tiny fart bubbles in the tub and Mother pulls out a can of "Fart Buster" room spray.  Apparently Bath and Body doesn't carry this line of room fragrance yet?  This is when we learn that Walter is not nervous at all - he is Farty By Nature.

No matter what he did, Walter farted.  Every room, every event, every hour, every day.

Enter Father.  The creepy illustrations show father as a slightly overweight, spectacle-wearing,  ball cap to the side sportin' goofball with a cat on his head.  He makes the obvious statement that Walter farts "morning, noon and night.."  Then he tells the kids to "take him to the vet.."    I love how these parents expect Betty and Billy to do everything. BLATANT PARENT FAIL #2

They take him to the vet only to find an illustration of the vet with a magnifying glass inspecting Walters junkular region that is inappropriately too close for my comfort.  As if that isn't bad enough, there is a drawn puff of gas headed to the vet's eye that makes my eyes water every time I have to read this. 

 This Quack of a Vet prescribes a 'change in diet..'  Now one can only assume that because the children are the ones who were at the vet receiving instructions, they misunderstand the 'new diet..'  They give him every kind of dog food out there, cat food, hot dogs, burgers, and a plethora of other horrifying no nos to give to dogs.  I would hope that if the parents weren't so lazy and went to the vet with them, they would've had enough sense to know that is NOT what the Vet meant by 'change in diet..'   BLATANT PARENT FAIL #3.

Idiot Father says, "No matter what that dog eats, he turns it into farts..."  This is coming from Puff Daddy wearin' his hat to the side gangsta style and blaming Walter for his farts I'm sure.  Then there's Uncle Irv, who we can assume is Puff Daddy's freeloading brother who blames his farts on Walter, too. 

Here's where I get aggravated.  Father says, "he has to go back to the pound.."  The kids beg him not to send Walter away, but apparently Father is so damn delicate that he can't stand that someone in the house is farting more than he is.  So basically, you are telling all of these little people reading the book that if your dog stinks, take him back to the pound.  BLATANT PARENT FAIL #4.

So that night, Betty and Billy are heartbroken, crying in their rooms and beseech Walter to stop farting, as if Walter has any control over his flatulence.    By some miracle, Walter understands his fate and decides he will hold in his farts forever.  Have you ever tried to hold in a fart like that?  As a woman, I can tell you, it is gut-wrenchingly painful.  Why are we encouraging kids to hold in their farts?  I'm going to throw that into another BLATANT PARENT FAIL #5.

Walter digs in the cupboard and finds a bag of low-fart dog biscuits the Quack Vet prescribed him - and because the parents weren't at the appointment, conned the kids into buying for Walter to make them think it would help him - when really he made them pay for an overpriced bag of Fiber One bars for dogs and charged it to their bill.  He eats the entire bag and goes to lay down...just him, his giant gas bubble, and the creepy photo of the woman lying on the couch above him.  WHAT THE HELL IS THAT ABOUT?

He hears a noise at the window.  Burglars enter the house.  (now my kids get scared at this point of the book every single time...)  One of the burglars says to watch out for the dog - and the other says not to worry that the dog is a
'wimp'...and they tie a rag around his snout.

They wipe them out and try to leave when Walter lets out a rip-roaring fart that sends them racing out the window.  They run through the streets when by golly they nearly run right into a passing police car.

The next morning, when Father and Mother decide to drag their lazy asses out of bed, they come down to find poor Walter's mouth still tied shut, and the house in disarray.

Mother's first selfish reaction was not to see if Walter was unharmed, or to see of the kids were ok, but to exclaim "he saved the silverware!"  Selfish prude!

Father's first reaction was to yell in delight, "HE SAVED THE VCR!"  God forbid Father not have his precious previously recorded programs to watch while he lets the children parent themselves!

He quickly gives Walter a backhanded compliment of "Good dog, Walter! You're our dog even if you do fart all the time.."  What a douchebag.

And that's where it ends...Walter gets to stay.  I hate to see what would've happened if the burglars took off with the VCR?

That's it for me, folks!  I'm getting off this carousel because I'm feeling a little queasy..not sure if it's from the round and round of the ride or all of this talk of farting.  I'm getting off my high horse and letting Deborah of have a turn.  She's next on Character Assassination Carousel!  Thanks for reading!

What do we do, we swim, swim, swim...

Thank you to Marian at Just Keep Swimming for letting me play with the cool kids on the blog playground!

Remember playing Telephone when you were a kid?

You and your friends sat in a group, someone would start a silly story and end with a dramatic cliffhanger, then the person next to you continued telling the story, etc...etc. The stories always took a drastic turn to the silly and ridiculous and it usually ended it someone peeing their pants.  Errr...maybe that's what's happening with all of us silly mamas writing this story. Get your coffee, pretend like you're doing something important and read's my turn to continue Swimming Telephone tag, started by one of my favorite fellow bloggers -  Marian at Just Keep Swimming. It’s the blogger version of Telephone – and it’s got some of the funniest bloggers putting their 2 cents in.  In this game of Telephone, our heroine is a mama having the MOTHER of All Bad Days. So far we’ve discovered…
  • Mama’s 3 year old son escaped and had a junior joy-ride in the driveway (Nicole at Ninja Mom)
  • Her middle child got tattooed with a Sharpie by his big sister, complete with an f-bomb shout-out (Kristina at There’s No Time For Pants!)
  • Big sister got a lovely reverse mohawk from middle-child brother (Robyn at Hollow Tree Ventures)
  • The new school year begins tomorrow
  • And to top it off? Our heroine’s mother-in-law just showed up
  • Robyn chimes in with "You Must Be Kidding" & panics as company arrives
  • Finally, JD from Honest Mom donates her laughs with "Thank God for Grandma" which you can read in full below..
Here's the previous post from JD with “Thank God for Grandma” . My contribution starts with "It IS 5 o'clock somewhere!

Thank God for Grandma?
“Grandma’s here!!!” my daughter shrieked, and she and Tattoo Boy dashed for the door. Mohawk Girl flung open the door and greeted my mother-in-law with:
“Grandma! Guess what?”
“Um, school starts tomorrow?” My bespectacled MIL asked, playing along.
“No! I made brother into a tiger! And we played beauty shop!”
Now, my MIL is no fool. The woman raised five boys and two girls and she knows what “beauty shop” means.
She turned Mohawk Girl around to witness the horror.
She rolled up Tattoo Boy’s sleeves to witness the art.
And then she took in my get-up (hadn’t changed out of my peek-a-boo PJ shirt), took in the look on my face, and took charge.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. You go put some clothes on,” MIL dictated. “I will keep Mr. Arty Arms here and clean him off. Permanent marker is no match for this grandma,” she muttered to herself, taking off the boy’s shirt. She stopped short when she read the f-bomb on his arm.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. How does she even KNOW that word?” she gasped, making the sign of the cross. “Apparently the girl needs some Bible reading. When was the last time you went to church, anyway?” She looked at me accusingly.
My mouth opened. Then shut. I had no words.
MIL shook her head and the instructions continued: “You take Miss Hairdo out to get that catastrophe fixed. And little Mr. Man here…” she trailed off. “Where is Mr. Man, anyway?”
OMG. Where was Mr. Man?
I booked it into the kitchen and something told me to look down. I did. And what did I see?
A red-crayon-drawn line all the way through the kitchen, leading into the dining room, over into the playroom.
“Mommy! I drew a paff for you to follow!” hollers Mr. Man from the playroom.
I can’t see him. Where is he???
I follow the “paff” and what do I find?
Mr. Man hanging from the rafters. Literally. HANGING FROM THE RAFTERS.
My MIL comes up behind me with the two hellions in tow.
“Is it too early for a glass of wine?” I whisper to her.
“Well,” she ponders, “It is 5 o’clock somewhere.”

It IS Five o' clock somewhere! by DG

Pfffft!  I can't start drinking yet can I?  Yes.  Yes I can. But first, I grab the kitchen bar stool, climb up unsteadily, and grab Mr. Man from the rafters as he giggles and yells, "Mama look at me! I'm a monkey!"

My mother-n-law watches with an expression that is one part disapproval, two parts empathy - she's been down this road before - and her son, my husband is severely flawed in more ways than I or he would like to admit so she knows to keep a lid on it for now.  As I put Mr. Man at the table, I do what I do best, pre-occupy him with a snack, and the others immediately follow.  Chocolate in the morning?  Yes.  And though I haven't even cleaned up their egg-filled breakfast dishes, I immediately toss them each a chocolate-y snacky-type bar and fill their cups for the third time already today - I'm certain I will do this at least 10 more times before noon.  My mother- n -law decides to take a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser to Tattoo Boy's arm. 
She has more patience and will to get this task done than I do, so I quickly pour another cup of coffee and think I'll pour some Bailey's Irish Cream directly into my coffee cup only to find that my husband has put the bottle back with approximately 3 droplets left. Why does he put empty things back on the shelf?  I'd like to ask my mother- n- law but I bite my tongue.  Mommy's little helper will have to wait until wine o'clock, much later after I get these children fixed.   I am a bit horrified that my mother n law is scrubbing the f word off of her grandson with a magic sponge, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

I catch my reflection in the mirror in horror. Last night's makeup and hair, and I'm still dealing with a wedgie from hell.  I have to do something about Mohawk Girl's hair, Tattoo Boy's arm is now missing several layers of skin, and Mater's Manager is plotting his next move.  I inform my Mother- n -Law that I'm going to run to the bathroom to get my face on and get ready to go and drag myself down the hallway.  When I open the door to the bathroom, I am stunned to find something that is about to make my morning look like a walk in the park....

What is that poor woman going to find in the bathroom?  I pass the sticky keyboard (sorry for the crumbs, chomp chomp), along with my empty bottle of Bailey's to the brilliantly funny Bethany at Bad Parenting Moments for the next piece of this crazy puzzle!


Sell crazy somewhere else...GUEST BLOG

I have never done a guest blog on my page, but there is a first for everything.  I have a reader who sent me this brilliantly written, funny letter that was too good to pass up.  Though I am in no danger of this happening to me, because I have only been invited to 3 parties in 3 years, I know lots of people can relate to being inundated with book parties, purse parties, candle parties, cleaning parties..etc.  It starts to add up after a while.  I had to post this because it is funny and worth reading.  Friends should always encourage each other, but not take advantage of each other.  Just common sense if you ask me.  I happen to love getting invited to these because I get a few hours out of the house, but if I kept getting invited repeatedly each week by the same person, I'd probably blow a gasket, too.  I almost died at the last party I was invited to so if you need my take on these parties from a different perspective, by all means, please indulge here.

Am I the only one who has at least one friend who’s too expensive to keep? You know the kind- she’s got her own “host a party and buy stuff from me” business. Or she’s got kids in so many activities that she’s always in the middle of a fundraiser and needs you to buy a ticket to something. Candles, food items, kitchen gadgets, jewelry, magazines, sports team raffles, and let’s not forget the gawd-awful athletic team spaghetti dinners that charge $10-15 per person for a plate of mushy, overcooked spaghetti, brown-around-the-edges iceberg lettuce salad, and bread of some sort. Oh, and please make it extra garlicky bread because it really adds to the smell of the gymnasium where you’re holding the dinner. I’m happy to pay $50 for my family of 4 to attend. What? In addition I can purchase baked goods and drinks there, too? Excellent, I won’t need to bring extra money because it’ll be easy to tell my 6 year old that those cookies he’s looking at weren’t included in his dinner price, and the drinking fountain water will quench his thirst just fine. How about I just give you $30 to put me on your do-not-invite list?

Do you really think I need that 2nd set of measuring spoons or 3 sizes of metal whisks? Can’t we admit that we cook the same 10 meals on a rotating basis for our families, and if I use a whisk once in the course of a month I proudly feel like Betty Crocker? Even when I need one (i.e. - for a fancy reason like pancake batter), half the time I’m too rushed to go into the gadget drawer and I just grab the nearest fork to do the job. And even then- I’ve been known to use a spoon or a butter knife when the fork isn’t within arm’s reach. And you do realize that you can get the same- or often better- quality jewelry at any number of department store sales/online retailers, right? $40 for a fake silver necklace with low-quality beads on it isn’t a great deal, nor is it particularly fashionable. Sure- you got me distracted with your sex toy party- and I almost fell for it- but I’m quite familiar with the adult store nearby, thankyouverymuch. But I digress.
Inevitably you’ll sign up your friend to host a party for you. She might like the concept so much that she signs on to host parties for the same or a different company. Then- you knew it was coming- she’ll ask you to host a party for her, too. And of course you will because you owe her. Don’t you realize that you’re all just exchanging checks for a bunch of crap you wouldn’t have bought if you didn’t feel guilty because “she came to your party and bought (fill in the blank)”?? Go through your checkbook and you might find that you’ve spent hundreds of dollars or more attending these parties throughout the year. And don’t think I’m falling for that “You don’t have to buy a thing- just come and have fun! It’s a girl’s night out! We’ll have hors d'oeuvres and drinks!” crap. Yep- liquor me up enough and of course I’ll beer-goggle over your merchandise and come home with an order sheet a mile long. We both know me well enough, don’t we?
I like to think that these party ladies are just oblivious to the strain they’re putting on their friends and not consciously taking advantage of their friends’ kind hearts. Hopefully they are just distracted by their excitement over owning their own business. Here’s the tough-love lesson, my well-meaning friends: Friends don’t ask friends to subsidize their incomes. Now it seems there's a new trend happening on my Faceobook Timeline.  Friends that are 'tagging' me with their products they want me to buy - so now let me get this - I don't even get the night out - you want to publicly tag me and ask me to buy from you.  Seriously that's pushing it to a new limit of tacky.  At least give me a glass of boxed wine before you ask me to buy your crap!
Please let your friends support you in spirit, with kind and loving words/deeds, and NOT by writing you a check for your latest money-making endeavor. I know that these are legitimate businesses and I’m proud of you for being ambitious, but please cast a wider customer net that reaches outside your immediate group of friends. I want you to succeed, I really, really do. I love you and will be your cheerleader and I’ll be happy to listen to your worries/concerns/give advice- whatever you need. But please don’t ask me to be on your frequent-buyer plan. One email informing your friends of your business venture is sufficient- and even a reminder email is ok. But if we don’t reply or buy something after the 1st or 2nd invitation, it’s because we don’t have the funds to buy from you and/or we don’t like what you’re selling, but we don’t want to hurt your feelings.

Clearly there are exceptions to this, and I imagine there are many- ok- SOME- women who love being invited to these parties. They enjoy the social interaction and love buying whatever is being sold. That’s awesome and I’m happy for them. But please don’t assume we’re all like that. I think you can reasonably expect that at least one or two of the friends on your business invite list really don’t want to be on it. And if you keep holding your hand out to your friends asking them to buy something from you, one of these days your hand might get smacked in return (in the most loving, supportive manner, of course).

Cheers and Love,
~DG (and Guest Poster....)


I Should've Gotten My Degree in Multi-tasking

Had I known I'd be juggling three boys for a living, I would've paid attention at the circus instead of scarfing down popcorn and cotton candy.

Friends I am not going to sugar coat it.  This week has been brutal.  Three boys.  Three schools.  Three sports.  One mom.  Gotta love Hubs - he's trying to work for a living so we can eat and have a place to live and as soon as he gets home, he's running around, too.  It's been a tough adjustment jumping from the very lazy days of summer into the deep end of school days and trying to swim .  Guess who is drowning already..Mommy.

First of all, I am fully aware that I chose to have three gloriously beautiful, smart, witty, (need I go on?) children.  It was hard balancing everything when they were babies and people said - "wait until they are all in school.." to which I mentally replied, "oh shut your pie hole!"  Well, I hate to say, they were right.  Yes, it is difficult to be the full time Agent of three busy little bees.  I've never been that mom who feels their children have to be involved in sports every single season, multiple extra-curriculars, etc.  I'm that mom who thinks kids should have time to be kids.  However, when your child is begging you to play sports, do you say no?  Me thinks not.  They are not suffering at all - I, on the other hand, am a different story.

In a day, we have three different drop off at school times, three different pick up from school times, and three different sports start/end times.  Problem:  only one me.  So far, I've managed to make it work, mainly by pretending I am a pinball bouncing from one point to another with about three minutes in between to throw something down their chutes for nourishment.  Me - I'm living on handfuls of m&ms and coffee and it seems to be working just fine, thank you.  (Kidding, I am stopping here and there for a Balance bar of some sort - hoping the name is more than just clever advertising to sell the idea that Balance is attainable in three bites of a glorious chocolately bar).  Thankfully, Hubs is able to help after work as well.

First World Problems Lady gets it.

This morning, I had approximately 22 minutes to get myself ready to start the day.  I spent the morning packing lunches, making breakfast, helping them get dressed, tidying up the kitchen (why don't I leave that for later you ask? because I have some kind of OCD that I can't leave a dirty kitchen in case something happens to me while I'm out doing errands - what will they say? You should've seen her house - who leaves their house like that? Tsk Tsk.)  (("They" refers to an elite set of imaginary old Greek women who sit around atop Mt. Olympus and gossip while dipping their cookies in coffee and set a precedent that all of us have to follow to a T so "they" don't point fingers at us and our mothers for raising us wrong..))  Greek girls have a natural born instinct to fear what "they" will say should we stray from the norm.  Where was I? Yes, I need to clean the kitchen before leaving.  Anyhow.  The boys are hanging out, playing with this and that, (in other words, spraying Legos everywhere so I can scurry around to clean those up, too, before I leave).  I run upstairs - I have three simple tasks to accomplish:  Brush teeth, wash face, get dressed.  Did you count them?  Three.

Have you seen the Athenos Feta Yia Yia?  This is a good example of who "they" are.  I borrowed Athenos' Yia Yia for this meme...."they don't walk around barefoot in the house.."  They also don't "sit on the edge of the bed, wear a nightgown without a robe, or leave beds unmade!"  Tough group this bunch of YiaYias, I'll tell you!

Guess how many three turned into....

Picture this.  I run upstairs.  Go into the bathroom.  Put toothpaste on my toothbrush.  It's the last dollop.  I let the motor on my electric toothbrush buzz away while I run up to the attic where I keep my entire stash of toothpaste, etc..and grab a box of toothpaste.  Still brushing my teeth, I notice a bag of clothes I've been meaning to drop off at the Salvation Army.  I turn my toothbrush off because I now need both hands.  I'm biting down on the toothbrush with my teeth, holding a box of toothpaste in one hand, and grab the bag of clothes in the other.  Scampering down the stairs, I trip on something that 'someone' left on the attic steps because they were too lazy to take it to the top and drop the toothpaste to grab the rail.  I can hear it now, 'they,' the old ladies, chattering.."They don't walk around while brushing their teeth...if she would've remembered that, they wouldn't have found her at the bottom of the stairs with a toothbrush jammed into her esophagus.."   That'll show me to walk and brush.  I regroup, thankful I didn't fall down the stairs.  Incidentally, I have found I get more done while brushing my teeth AND walking around then you would ever even believe.  Multi-tasking, people...multi-tasking.

I go in, spit, look up, and realize I have toothpaste all over my tshirt which I can only assume is there from my near-spill.  Luckily, I haven't gotten dressed yet.  I set the bag of clothes down and think, I should just grab that pile of clothes in the boys' room that doesn't fit.... I stop what I'm doing in the bathroom and head to their room with the bag of clothes.  I turn on the light, see their unmade beds and sigh.  I quickly make both of their beds, raise their shade, find a pile of Legos under the table and stop to clean that up, but while looking under the table, I find a superhero that Youngest had been crying about saying that he'd lost.  I stop, go downstairs and tell him what I'd found.  He's ecstatic.  Once down there, I realize that the bathroom light is on.  I go into the bathroom and see 3 globs of toothpaste in the sink, toothbrushes thrown everywhere, water all over the vanity and the floor, the toilet seat up, pee on the seat and the towel in a ball on the  laundry basket. 

My blood pressure.  It's rising.  I put the toothbrushes and toothpaste away.  I'm happy that they took the initiative to brush without me asking.  I clean and scrub the sink, the vanity, the toilet, the floor, grab the towel and throw it over my shoulder, and take out a clean fresh towel.  Bathroom is clean.  I run upstairs to throw the towel in the washing machine on my way to getting dressed - when I see that I have forgotten to put the washed clothes into the dryer.  I open the dryer to put the washed clothes into the dryer and guess what I find?  Another load of clothes that need folded - that I forgot to fold last night because I got sidetracked by Eldest needing me to re-thread his football belt into his pants (have you done this? It's MADDENING...what idiot man designed football pants?)  I cannot take the laundry out of the dryer like this because it's a wrinkled mess.  I do what any normal mom would do at this point and re-start the dryer, knowing that a good 5 minute re-fresh will help with the wrinkles.  I throw the dirty towel on the floor in front of the washer and go to get dressed. 

I throw on something quickly and glance at the time.  I have two minutes left if I want to get everyone to school on time.  I take a quick look in the mirror to make sure I'm not a disheveled mess, and notice two things.  One - ring around the eyes from a combination of yesterday's mascara that I was too lazy last night to wash off after the football pants ordeal, and two - lick marks on the mirror that are so grimy and gross, I have to stop what I'm doing to go and grab Windex.  I do a quick wipe of the mirror, go and grab an Oil of Olay lazy girl's face wash wipe and rub under my eyes as fast as I can, and run back downstairs.  I'll just have to wash my face...later.

Raccoon eyes are only cute on Raccoons.

I get everyone lined up and ready - backpacks, lunches, shoes on, etc.  And I hear the dryer bell ding upstairs.  Oh no, not again..I can't leave it again.  Or can I?  I look at the time.  Nope.  No time.  I get them in the car, drop them off on time, leave them happy and with a kiss, and drive away.  I go, in peace, to the grocery store, take my time shopping, stop at CVS to pick up some odds and ends, and head home.

When I get home, I see that one of the cats has thrown up all over my rug in front of the door.  I remove the disgusting pile of sick to find a lovely wet ring around my rug.  I throw it aside while I put all of my groceries away  - only to find that I need to organize my refrigerator because things have gotten out of hand with leftovers, expired food, and what not from a very busy week of running in and out.  I speed clean the fridge, organize the food, get everything put away and feel happy that job is done.  When I do a visual assessment of the kitchen, I notice the rug in the corner. I run upstairs to throw it in the laundry, only to find I am back at square one. 

LOL...he's got a point. 

I hit the dryer for 10 more minutes and decide to tidy up while I wait, insisting I stay close by so I can hear the ding of the dryer and finish the task once and for all.  I step into the boys' bedroom to find the light is still on, the Legos are still there, and the bag of clothes is waiting to go to Salvation Army.

And you wonder why I am a little off? 

Keep on multitasking'll all get done somehow right?
PS - - - I would like to summarize my day in one song from the movie Mambo Kings...this one:  ENJOY.