I found a new way to wrangle my kids.
Walking the dog. Due to a new leash law in our neighborhood, we have to keep the Samdog tethered. Or maybe it’s not new, but I just found out about it the other day when a nasty old lady eyed my brood and said in her raspy smoker’s voice, “Why isn’t your dog on a leash?” She sounded like this lady, er, monster from Monsters Inc:
I wanted to ask her, “Why isn’t my foot in your face?”
Anyway, this actually works out quite well, because the girls, especially Rachel looooove to hold the leash and walk Sammy. It works out even better because Rachel is my classic runner. In the opposite direction. But guess what? If they get too far ahead, I can just say, “Sammy stop!” And he stops. And she stops. And if I need them to come back to me, say because Claire has all of the sudden decided to become completely engrossed on a crack on the sidewalk full of “yucky ants?” Well then I just say, “Come back, Sammy!” And he comes back. And she comes back. (Note: I don’t dare try this on my own yet. All it takes is one cat or squirrel and this situation quickly turns into one lucky neighbor getting a permanent imprint of Rachel’s face on their front walk.)
And then there’s the chalk….
On the garage door…
And all over our face. After drawing on the garage door. And then hugging it. Because that’s what you do.