Came home from yet another hellish day in the office today. Fed the wee ones and did the washing up while they scooted off with their noses in books. Greek and Roman mythology for Middlest, some Lord of the Rings for Eldest, and Diary of a Wimpy Kid for Littlest. After a half hour or so, I call over to Littlest:
"Hey, baby, can you you go run yourself a bath and get ready for bed?"
"Of course, Mama," he says, ever the obliging one.
I hear the water start in the bath, and return my attention to the dishes. A few moments later, I look over to see him digging furiously through the liquor cabinet, bare arsed as the day he was born, and his little man bits jiggling around for all the world to see.
"What in the world are you doing, sweet baby?" I ask as I cross my fingers and hope that there are no neighbors walking by to witness this spectacle in the living room, whose draperies are not yet drawn.
"Getting bath toys, of course!"