rube goldberg

Wednesday is the wife's Nia night. Typically things run pretty smoothly. Tonight? Not so much.

First, a little context on my 2 year old, Taytay. The flavor of her terrible twos is that of taunting court jester - whereas my 4 year old son was more of an angry tyrant at that age. So anything you tell her not do, will only result in her shrieking and giggling with glee as she does it anyway.

Sooooo... I'm giving the kids a bath. Tay loves to drink bath water. If you take away all toys and potential ladles, she'll cup her hands. Must really like that blend of soap, urine and fecal remnants that are the primary nutrients in a shared tub. Wow, I want to vomit just thinking of that. Ironic I should choose those words...

Tay winds vomits after I get her out and dressed in a fresh pair of peejays. All over herself and the rug at the top of the stairs. I change her, and then myself. I instruct Seabass not to step into the vomit, and nimbly toe-stepping, launches right into it. Great - I swoop him up. Tay is already negotiating the stairs, so I carry the bassman down in my arms, planning on planting him in the sink. I'm at the bottom of the stairs when bam! - wah! Taytay stumbles on the stairs. She doesn't fall far, but I freak, and plant the boy on the rug, vomity foot and all. Tay is freaking hard. I plant her on the couch, and finally get the boy's foot in the sink, then scrub the rug spots. Ugh. Fortunately for me the commotion left them both pretty exhausted, and usually when Tay gets hurt is when Bass gets the most compassionate.