Chicken poo is the new black

Morning.

The puppymoon is over.

I'm not complaining because I knew this would happen. It's par for the course. But sometimes I have such ridiculous nights and mornings that I have to share. So brace yourself.

My sleep schedule, between The King and Buck, was as follows:

8:30 - Bed (no joke)
9:30 - Buck
10:30 - King
11:30 - Buck
11:45 - King
12-4:45 - Sleep
4:45 - Buck
5:15 - Alarm
5:45 - Crawl out of bed
6:00 - King (thank goodness PB was still home so I could shower)

I need to get up when my alarm goes off.

Our morning routine is organized mayhem.

I feed Kingy while simultaneously trying to make our lunches and chase dogs. Once The King has decided he's finished and thrown all of his food on the floor, I call Gracie for "Last Bites" hoping she'll clean the floor for me.

Then I chase The King around the house, finally trapping him in a corner so I can get him to change his clothes and diaper. He starts the kicking and screaming because he totally hates being changed; which is understandable because we've only been changing diapers and clothes for 16 months and it takes a long time to get used to that sort of thing.

When we are finally both dressed, we then brush our teeth, my hair gets semi-brushed (messy hair is totally in), shoes are on (more chasing) and maybe a swipe of mascara. I pick up Kingy and what seems like eight bags, maybe a slice of toast and coffee for myself, The King's pancake to-go (sans syrup), one dog in the kennel and waddle our way out the door to throw everything in the car.

Now we have Buck so I go back for him, still holding The King, but he's now yelling because he wants to carry Buck to the kennel so I set him down, he picks up Buck and they both fall down because Buck is too heavy. Now The King is pissed and yelling again. I grab the dog and the kid, dragging them both, whining to the kennel. Lock em up, only Buck, but sometimes I consider locking The King in there too. Then we have to go say hi and bye to the chickens and bunnies and I end up chasing Kingy around the yard because he doesn't want to leave.

It's my morning exercise.

By the time I catch him and load him into the car he's crying because he's still pissed. I strap him in, assess what's in the car and make sure I have everything. Give him some food and hope for the best.

I finally look down at my clothes to see how much dirt and food I have smeared all over myself and there it is. My shining new badge of honor.

Chicken shit.

I'm not even kidding. On my coat and pants.

Perfect. Because I have tons of time to change.

But you know what? I didn't freak out. Nope. I just grabbed a baby wipe and got that shit right off me, jumped in the car and got the hell outta dodge.

I'm hoping that chicken shit is appropriate "business casual" but I'm not so sure.

Sometimes I feel like I don't live a real life. Like, who the hell is this insane? But then my ginger friend texts me 20 minutes later saying that her daughter shit all over her and her house and I remember, oh yeah, this is life. Totally normal.

And at the end of the day, as much as I may bitch and complain, I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Except maybe without the chicken shit.