24 hours of bored

More of the same monotony around here. Things started getting yawny yesterday when Tweedle Smart and Tweedle Smarter took turns pumping out a healthy amount of the 44 ounce bottle of shampoo all over themselves and the (will it always be that slippery now?) bathroom floor. Fine. Not their finest work and at least the bathroom smelled fresh and weirdly clean. Then I tried and failed to keep my eyes open when Julia stripped down to do one of her signature ninja deposits of that's! not! chocolate!!! behind her bedroom door next to her worthless little bowless potty. While I was busy polishing off my daily tub of straight cream cheese a mere 1.5 rooms away but before I could sniff out the flowery aroma Sebastian found it and guess what he did? He did. He ate the shit (is it less offensive if it's in a smaller font? I think it is). He ate it and he liked it and when I found him he was alllllll kinds of upset when I dragged (touching as little of his shit-covered person as possible) him into the bath - or maybe he was just a little stunned over all the new words I was loudly shouting at him and the ninja pooper who suddenly seemed verrrrrry preoccupied with her innocent naked prance-jig she was pounding out on the kitchen floor.  I don't know but Simon said not to worry -- the shit will just come out in his diaper. Do you hear me laughing? No, no you do not because it was not funny.

Enter today's clean slate.

when was this? oh yes, the calm before the storm.

We got things going on all trillion cylinders when Julia went up to see Sebastian (like she always does! every single day!) in his portacage and she fell allllllllllll the way down the stairs. And before she could even start the piercing screams her mouth and nose were immediately gushing blood. It became instantly apparent that she had reopened her former mouth wound and liquid seeped out and dribbled down her chin all over again when she turned to the comfort and solace of her addictabottle. I slapped the liquid bandage on without fainting and got her nose to stop bleeding while putting on her beloved Dora and I only called Simon 56 times before he picked up and didn't murder me for breaking the cardinal 'don't call Simon at work unless someone is absolutely DYING' rule. I would probably rate my performance as a whole: A- ... to be perfectly humble and honest. She recovered about 36 hours faster than last time and we still made it to the grocery store with minimal talk of "boobies" and "happened?" and "tynawl?". We made it out relatively unscathed with only four up-down-glares from strangers as Sebastian inhaled and regurgitated the better part of his free M&M cookie (fine, cookies - plural) all over his shirt and the cashier laughing heartily and waving away the ID I offered to prove my maturity when paying for the 4-pack of mini bottles of Moscato.

But there is a sparkly sliver lining in the form of a gleaming white (with minimal door dings) minivan in our driveway. I know. The same-age-as-a-first-grader wagon should and does wipe alllll my woes away. It has all the bells and whistles (two sliding doors! ice cold A/C! an AM/FM radio!) and after driving around in the little pellet of a Jetta all week the monstrosity of a mini feels like a semi-truck or maybe a spaceship. I love it. We offered the owner a significant amount less than he was asking and he quickly countered with a figure 2 hundo lower than our offer. Sold! As long as you throw in a lesson on how to haggle, kind sir. 

And now I'm eying my 4-pack and hoping for some excitement and post-nap dramedy because, like I said, things have been a little monotonous around here lately.