When good ideas go bad

So the other day I decided to do my mile walk with Sully and the dogs. Like any smart, logical parent, I asked him if he needed his scooter.

He said no, he wanted to walk.

I asked him if he wanted to ride in the stroller, that it was kind of uphill and that he may get tired.

He said no, he wanted to walk.

I'm not sure what part of brain was whispering in my ear that letting a two year old made a decision against my better judgement was a good idea. I'm sure it was the same part that told me to strap two crazed dogs to a leash and bring them along as well.

Of course, at exactly the half way point, my child refused to walk any further. Like, screaming-bloody-murder-why-would-you-take-me-on-this-walk-I'm-going-to-make-concrete-angels-on-the-cement-and-kick-this-cinder-block-wall-while-people-in-cars-drive-by-and-judge-your-parenting-skills-until-you-pick-me-up - kind of throw down.

So I hoisted all 30lbs of Sully glory onto my shoulders and started walking. Except he decided to push my hat down over my eyes - and I figured the screams were a continuation of protest to the death march I decided to take us on. And then a giant branch slapped him in the face - and he freaked. Right around the same time the dogs decided to split in two different directions on their Y-lead around my ankles. Apparently Buster thought this would be an optimal time to take a crap right on the side walk right around the same time I realized I hadn't grabbed the poop bags on our way out. With my child frantically beating the top of my head and my legs deadlocked next to a pile of dog poo and cars speeding by, I lost it.

I started laughing hysterically. I'm sure people thought I was nuts.

And that pretty much sums up how the past month has been.

Nuts.