Pooper Scooper

Six Target bags looped on my waist and an old newspaper wrapper tied on one end and tucked into the top of my sleeve at my shoulder, I was either ready to deliver a cow get me some dog poo.

Pooper Scooper Momma was in full effect. Zoe had full-reign of her play set for the first time since September and Xander had his full arsenal of all things that move, light up, or giggle when touched around him on a blanket. I was ready.

FOUR FULL Target bags later I still had at least a third of the yard to do. And that was when Zoe thought it would be fun to terrorize her little brother by pulling him off his blanket and onto the grass. Xander lifted both legs and threw out his arms, so all that was balancing on the grass was his diapered and covered butt.

After a few empty "help your brother or else's" slipped through my lips, I continued the thrilling scavenger hunt. Lost in a "did I check this section? Is that poop or a mouse? Yech. Half eaten mouse" conversation with myself, and no screams/cries/blood coming from the kids, I finished the backyard as Mr. walked out of the house fresh from work.

"What's up with the kids?" Mr. asked as he made his way back to them.

"Huh?" was all I could mutter, as I realized I had not one, but two half masticated mice in various stages of decomposition in my hands.

"What are you guys up to? Did Mommy tell you to do that?"

I turned, dropped a bag of poop, both mice, and my frustration to see both kids balancing with legs lifted, arms out, only tailbones balancing on the grass.

"Xander started a new game!" Zoe cried as Mr. joined in on the action. Soon all four of us were in his position and learned that my little man has a six pack under that milk-made keg!

That was one tough game.