Thank God for 7-up!

I knew something was amiss the second I became conscious this morning. My overly-heightened sense of smell told me disaster was in the air. Literally.

I walked downstairs, knowing what I would see. Yup...

In a state of exhaustion, I didn't give Sam enough time outside last night before I went to bed, so there were big surprises for me all over the floor this morning. I went back upstairs to arm myself with cleaning supplies and told Mike to go ahead and get ready (I usually go first) because I had a HUGE mess to clean up.

For a while, I just sat on the bed, staring at the roll of tp... trying to prepare my nose for its up close and personal date with disgusting. Need I mention that we've been discussing our dilemma of what to do about impending situations that may arise from our household managing a hyper 112-pound dog (with no yard to speak of and no playmates) and an 8-pound baby?

With both my nose and stomach refusing to cooperate, I cleaned up the mess as quickly as I could and took it outside to the garbage cans - thankfully, today was trash day. Then I used the trash cans a little more myself, and walked the sidewalk in my pjs, trying to take in as much fresh air as I could before going back to sweep & mop the floors.

Finally, I went back upstairs at about the same time my dear husband got out of the shower.

"You know," he said sweetly, "I'm sure Sam feels really bad about th--"

"Stop it!" I said firmly. "This is not the time to take his side--"

"Hey, I'm a member of this family, too," he says, obviously hurt at being interrupted. "I can state my opinion."

To which I snapped, "Yes, dear. You are the most important person in the world to me.[It's true.] But I cannot handle your opinion this morning."

And... I couldn't. Neither could my stomach - which has been sick all day. Or my nose, which has gained a ridiculous capacity for holding in smells for hours.

So my stomach thanks God for 7-up.

But what do we do about Sam... until we do have a bigger yard & bigger kids?