No End to the Shit

This morning when I was biking home (on my wife's bike because mine got stolen, probably because my younger son left it out in front of the house, unlocked) I saw my younger son working for our neighbor Gwen, doing some digging; he was wearing his brand new tennis shoes, so I told him to go home and put on his boots, as his tennis shoes were for tennis only and he was ruining the soles-- plus it's much better to have hard soles when you kick a shovel into the dirt; he took the bike home, I chatted with Gwen for a bit, and then he came running back and I was like "where's the bike?" but he had left it in the backyard, so I walked home and when I entered the house, it was full of shit-- Ian had tracked a bunch of dog shit into the house on his tennis shoe-- so I had to clean all that up, he ruined a carpet and scattered shit on the various floors, and he had left out the taco meat, the cheese, and the salsa-- total mess; so I cleaned the carpet and his tennis shoe and did my best to find all the shit and wipe that up as well; then I noticed there were several large flies in the house, and when I went upstairs I noticed (after chastising Ian for have three-- three!-- wet towels on his bedroom floor) that my older son not only had his window open but the screen as well-- I think this was so he could see the bird nest more clearly below his window, but he never closed it . . . there's no moral to this sentence, nor a resolution or ending, because this shit is just going to keep on happening, over and over and over.