“Someone please let the dog in.” requested in a nice, cheery voice. Because really? It was a simple thing, all that needed to be done was open the sliding glass door to let in the dog who was about to body slam her way through the window.
“Someone. Please. Let the dog in!” voice a decibel or two higher.
Crickets and grass growing.
“SOMEONE! PLEASE! LET! THE! DOG! IN! NOOOOOWWWW!!!” exclaimed with a slightly louder than indoor voice.
Crickets, grass growing, needle being hid in a haystack.
No movement. No response. NO NOTHING.
I walk into the living room. Where the sliding glass door is that the dog is trying to scratch her way through. Where there is a child laying down on the couch, iTouch in hand, oblivious to my voice and the noise of glass being scratched and clawed at.
I walk into the kitchen. Where there are 3 kids sitting around the table, staring into space.
I say, LOUDLY…
GO LET THE DOG IN. ONE OF YOU. NOW!
One of the children, who will remain nameless, looks up. She rolls her eyes (dead giveaway that there is a blood relation to me).
“OMG Mom. Why are you always yelling at us?”
Cough. Choke. Gagging on horrible words that are pounding on my teeth which are biting my lips.
I roll my eyes.
I head to the living room, where the kid on the iTouch hasn’t moved.
I walk over to the sliding glass door that is threatening to explode due to a dog trying to claw her way out of the scorching heat and back into an air-conditioned house.
I open the door and let the poor thing in.
As I hear my husband, who is in the kitchen pouring himself a cup of coffee…
“Yeah, you really DO yell WAY too much.”
So, I walk into the garage. And I SCREAM.