Mini joins Tank in the dog house

(Just joining us?   This post finds me at the DMV in August of 2019 during one of the most frustrating events EVER) . . .  

I scooped up my pile of papers proving when my son was born, that he’s a US citizen, that he resides in my house, and that he has insurance and STORMED out of the office.  Tank half jogged two steps ahead of me to the door.  He was racing my impending outburst like it was hot lava that was threatening to burn his heels.  He was hoping I would not launch into my shit storm of verbal assault while in the DMV.

I was appalled.  Disgusted.  Ticked.  FURIOUS!  

My gentle-approach parenting that Tank enjoyed on the drive to the DMV that morning as I tried to calm his nerves evaporated big time.  I cried, and screamed the entire 25 min drive home.  I had sacrificed a 2 hour chunk of time - time that is in high demand in August, for nothing.  NOTHING!  

This photo is completely unrelated, but I have no
photos of the laundry basket full of my children's
scattered belongings that I charged money for.  I
am guessing I was TOO beside myself to be in blog
mode.  The above happened on Friday - 
Curly and Mini were assigned the duty  
to clean the raccoon cooties
 from my spa so we could refill it.  
Mini feared her feet would be dirty 
from walking across the grass
 so she decided to don
flippers.  Curly:  not pictured,
doubled over laughing.

(I am posting this in February '20 April '20 July '20, so as a refresher August is school supplies, college kid packing, school physicals, prep for me to start babysitting, etc.)

I could not stand it.  Needless to say, Tank got an earful.  I kindly (OK, not kindly) requested that he remove his head from his ass and start to take care of stuff that needed to be taken care of on his own.  I gave him that signed paper about grades MONTHS in advance. (those just joining:  the very paper that he failed to turn into his driver ed teacher and the sole reason we stood in line and could not get his license that morning).  

When we arrived home Mini and Curly looked at us excitedly.  Like:  "So, did he pass?"  My fiery entrance wiped that look right off of their faces.  I marched into the living room and pulled the hidden laundry basket full of discarded kid-shit into the kitchen.  

While Coach and I were in South Carolina, Mini admitted that Sunday night she looked around and surmised that the first floor had NEVER looked so horrid.  She scooped up the crap discarded all over the family room and kitchen and loaded it into a laundry basket so the mom dropping off World's-worst baby for Mini to babysit was not horrified.

Now I stood fuming in the kitchen.  I emptied the basket, sorting it as I went.  "$10 an item," I announced.  Tank owed $60 for the belt, socks, hats, shoes, etc.  The straw had broken.  This camel's back was beyond repair and I was taking no prisoners.  

Mini and Curly shot each other a few looks as I ordered them to clean up the kitchen from breakfast and left for my 4 mile walk.  Before I could go, Tank whispered to me, "So, am I still going to play golf with the high school today?"  

I told him by all means should he go play golf, because I was too mad to want to see his mug around my house.  

After my walk, I was able to breathe a bit better.  I could hardly believe that Tank’s pile of crap was STILL sitting on the kitchen floor.  I texted him:  "Big mistake leaving this pile for me to look at for another day.  Fines double since your crap is still here.  You owe me $120 now.  Figure it out!"

I told Mini to get her permit.  Since World's-worst was napping, I could take her out to practice driving around the neighborhood and Curly could stay in the house with the sleeping baby.  After my shower Mini looked at me sheepishly and then barely whispered:  "I can’t find my permit." 

And the fun continued.