Seriously?!

It is finally sunny here and the 4-day fog has lifted! The possibility of getting the two two-leggers and one four-legger out of this house for some outside fun was almost too much to bear.

Out my bedroom window I could see the cute little girls playing at the park and the friendly mommies sitting and talking. Dying to be over there, I contemplated waking the littliest one just to get outside. But I held back, knowing his devil-like attitude when his nap gets cut short. (Oddly enough, I think he might get it from me...)

He finally wakes, we throw on shoes, leash the dog and head to the park! I've got on my adorable "Knoxville Girl" shirt, a gift I cherish, and my funky cowboy boots to complete the ensemble. Seriously, who wouldn't want to talk to me?!

Apparently the moms at the park. That's who.

Like a high school girl trying to make a good impression, I pushed the boys on the swings, chased them around the playground, loved on the dog, EVERYTHING! But got nothin'. Not even an acknowledgment. Nothing. I have been searching for these illusive SAHM's (suffer-at-home-moms) for a week now and just when I think I have them...my pit bulls attack.

They terrorize these little girls with their cops and robbers game until they run, screaming to their mommies complaining of the 'mean little boys' that keep trying to put them in jail. (They'd be lucky to be handcuffed by handsome boys, but whatever. They aren't good enough anyway.)

So I quickly make my leave with a, "Hey, boys! We haven't checked out the lake over there yet!" The cops and I make our getaway.

Determined to not let this day, or my cute outfit, go to waste, I decide a walk around the neighborhood would be a great idea!

Strike Two.

We grab their bikes (or police cars as they prefer) and hit the streets. They are doing their best siren impression and the dog is peeing on every. single. lawn. Yeah, welcome to the neighborhood Davis Family!

We make it one block. Exactly One Block before the eldest, whom I will refer to as "Beaunita" decides we are all going too fast. Right. I'm the one in cowboy boots here, give me a damn break. So we slow down. Two houses later, he decides it's too windy for him. He's not just fussing about the wind, oh no, he's outright screaming and crying about it.

Fine. I'm done.

Kids crying, dog howling, wind-blown hair covering my scowl, I stomp (in my not-so-cute-now) shoes back to the house.

And all I can think is...Where. Are. Their. Parents?!