Snapshot

At 4:03pm yesterday afternoon:

• I put Landis in the shower because he stunk. He stunk because apparently he had to fart and, SURPRISE!, he shit his pants.
• My sister-in-law called to see what I was up to.
• My dog was barking incessantly because I wouldn't let him in the house. I wouldn't let him in the house because he'd run away to go swimming in the pond down the street and was soaking wet. And because he was soaking wet, he stunk like smelly-wet-dog. And he was on his leash so he wouldn't run away again. And he was pissed about it and wanted me, and everyone else in the neighborhood to know it.
• Landis was calling me from the shower every two seconds so I could come and look to see if his butt was clean yet. It wasn't.
• Five random neighbor kids were running around in my front yard playing some sort of game that involved baseball bats.
• One neighbor girl was inside my house crying in an incredibly high pitched, ear-splitting voice about how scared she was. She was scared because she'd climbed the tree in the front yard, decided that she was up too high, and then was worried about getting down. Apparently she did get down, but then decided to come in the house and share the story of her terrifying ordeal.

I'm sure my sister-in-law thoroughly enjoyed our conversation -- at least the snippets of it that took place as I alternately checked Landis's butt for the 18th time, glanced out the front window and wondered if I should put a halt to the baseball-bat game, wondered how soon it would take the baseball-bat game to result in an injury, wondered if that injury would require stitches or an ER run, weighed the odds of the possible injury against the relief of having occupied kids, tried to reassure screeching, crying neighbor girl, and yelled out the back door to my smelly wet dog while I prayed that he would just shut up for two seconds so my neighbors without kids and/or dogs didn't feel compelled to call the police.

If I took a snapshot of your day yesterday afternoon, what would it look like?