Angie called me at work today to tell me the latest antics of Beavis and Butthead: if I had been at home when this happened, I think I would be on my way to the nearest crack dealer to erase the memory from my mind in the quickest way possible.
Seems like Rakes, well, for all you parents out there, had "gone #2" in the potty. It also seems as if Rakes forgot the golden rule in Ted's house, which is ALWAYS close the bathroom door so the 14 month old holy terror does not wreak his particular brand of mayhem.
Next thing Ang hears is Rakes saying "Mommy-my baby is in the bathroom." By the time she got there, Trot had grabbed the, well, you know, out of the toilet: and had wiped it on the floor, the wall, his clothes, and basically everything but the light on the ceiling.
If it had been me at home? Forget it: I would have just curled up in the fetal position in a corner somewhere. God Bless her, Angie cleaned everything that needed cleaning and put the boys in the van to head out to her get together she was trying to go to. She goes back inside to get a water bottle, and upon opening the door to the garage, what does she see?
Rakes: taking a whizz out the door of the van on the garage floor. I kid you not: the boy was just letting it all hang out, leaning out of the door with, according to her, the same look he has in this picture. After getting HIM cleaned up, she gets back in the van and detects that particular odor one gets from an infant from time to time, and has to change HIS clothes again before she can leave.
Have I said how much it scares me these two are getting into this much mischief at 3 and 14 months, respectively? If not, I am SCARED TO DEATH what these hooligans will be like at 14 and 11: I've got to ask my Mom if Matt and I were like this. If we were, this blog may have a shelf life of about another 10 years, give or take.
As for the Red Sox/Yankee game tonight? Never happened. You hear me? It never happened.
Father Curt takes the mound tomorrow. And all will be right with the world.