Whose Dog Peed on my Lawn?

I've been watering the brown spots on my lawn for the past two weeks like a crazy person.

"Come look at this!" I demanded, dragging my husband to the front yard to inspect the grass.  "Someone's been letting their dog pee all over our lawn."

"What the..." my husband stated.

"There's one...two...three...four...five," I paced across the front yard pointing each one out. "There's like 30 brown spots!" I ranted.

"I wonder which neighbor it is?" he asked.

The kids immediately shared their suspicions. They accused the old man down the street with the two chihuahuas, the lady who jogs at night with her black lab, another neighbor with one white dog and one brown dog, and a wiener dog that was ruled out because it's too fat to waddle up the grassy slope to pee.  All other dogs and owners however, were suspects.

"When I find out who's doing this, I'm walking Max down to their house so he can pee on their lawn." I declared.

The kids helped by setting up look out posts to catch the peeing perpetrator. 

"DOG!" Rio yelled. "Don't let your dog pee on my moms grass." Rio warned people when they passed our house, as Amaya ran to the front corner to watch dog and owner until they were clear of our property.

"Nope, it's not them!" Amaya reported.

Then while watering yesterday I noticed something odd in the center of one of our many dead patches of grass. A shriveled up, dead weed. That's when it hit me. I called my husband out front to discuss the yard.

"You know the dogs that have been destroying our lawn?" I hinted.

"Yeah, what about them?" he asked.

"It's not dogs at all," I informed him. "It's you!"

"Me?" he asked as if I was accusing him of peeing on our lawn.

"A couple weeks ago, you sprayed weed killer around the sidewalks and planters..." I tried to trigger his memory. "Did you happen to use it on the weeds in the lawn also?"

"Oh, that's right I did," he admitted, laughing. "I forgot!"

"You do realize it says weed and grass killer on the bottle?" I asked.

He laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

Apparently the joke's on me.

It's All About Balance

I proudly wear the titles wife and mother.  Still, I'd prefer to have the titles ruler and dictator.

I don't mind the cleaning, the laundry, the dishes, the mopping, the vacuuming, or the cooking.  I don't mind the carpooling, the scheduling, the budgeting, or the organizing.

Okay, I mind a little.  It's my job not my passion, and if I want these things done right, I have to do them. 

But it never fails, in the middle of my cleaning escapades, to look over and find my husband sitting on the couch.  Just sitting there, not doing anything.  It makes my blood boil.

I try making extra noise in the kitchen, I try turning on the vacuum behind him, I try dusting the television he can't pry his eyes off of.  All my subtle attempts fail to draw his attention.  Finally I can't stand it any longer.

"Are you just going to sit there?"  It's a demand more than a question.

He's oblivious to his three pairs of shoes scattered in the middle of the floor, the knocked over sunflower seed bowl spilling down the cushions, or the fact that he has tracked taping mud through the entire house.  I just finished sweeping!

I start thinking, "Men have it so easy!  I wish I were that blind."

Then I remember, that's why he has me in his life...to make his life harder. 

It's all about balance.
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