I got home tonight around 7:30 and enjoyed approximately 15 minutes of serenity while we ate dinner; after that? The circus came to town.
Rakes and Trot spent the next 40 minutes either wrestling, fighting, or running save for a brief period where I got them to lay on our bed and watch "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse".
To answer your next question? Yes, Rakes has his hand down the back of his pants. And no, I have no idea what in the world he's doing. In fact, I'm pretty sure I don't want to know what he's doing; some things are better left unsaid.
It was right about the time I walked in to check on them and found Rakes whipping Trot with my belt like Dusty Rhodes laying the strap to Ric Flair, AFTER I had warned him about 587 times to be gentle, that my wires sort of went haywire.
You'll be happy to know that instead of hanging him by his shorts on the nearest hook, I simply sentenced him to bed at 8:30 with no snack, no tv, and no Star Wars on the PS2. Even though he was pitching a fit like I'd put him on Death Row, I'm pretty sure he'll be none the worse for wear.
Anyone know someone willing to be a Nanny for 3 ruffians and no hazard pay?