I'm pooped.

Earlier this week shared an absolutely hilarious post on Facebook. She actually even tagged me and #realwife because the post was about a mishap that occurred involving a Roomba (we have one of those) and the solid waste of their puppy (we also have one of those).  It was a great post, widely shared, and in fact led to some fantastic opportunities to the poster. And this was all wildly hilarious. Right up until it wasn't.

Today wen I got home from work, I smelled poop. This isn't entirely uncommon - we have two dogs, 4 kids, and if we're being honest, they could probably all use a little work. I went to the usual haunts (formal dining room back, by the hutch, or in front of the recliner in the living room) and came up empty. I did notice the Roomba wasn't docked, but again, not all that uncommon - it'll typically get caught on a charging cord or eat a sock. When I turned the corner into the den, I just knew something was wrong. It was quite literally in the air.

And on the ground.

So, so much ground.

No one is getting out early for good behavior.

The Roomba had buried itself under the corner of the sectional, but not until after it had spread the dog's filth across half of the room. Normally this is a 2-person job - one of us would tear the Roomba apart and clean with an old toothbrush, while the other worked the floor. In this case, however, I was on my own, as Becca had spent two weeks on the road for work and come home with a broken hand. I didn't have time to tear into then, so I set up a safe zone in the den, and set about making dinner, packing lunches, and getting kids off to bed with a very poopy Sword of Damocles hanging over my head.

I'll spare you the details (and the pictures) but rest assured the cleanup was exactly as awful as you'd expect it to be. And if you'll excuse me, I'm off to shower forever.