It's almost bedtime and Daddy is on the phone, saying goodnight to the munchkins. I take a short break from the living room to look at the weather forecast on the computer. I get the phone back, say goodbye to my husband and walk out into the living room, only half-listening to D.B.'s newest tattling opportunity that Destructo is in the water in Daddy's work thing.
Translation: My 2-year-old is dancing in the ice water in the cooler used earlier this week during our short stint without power to keep the milk cold. There are ice cold tiny footprints and water spray tracks all over the LIVING ROOM floor. Not the kitchen, mind you, where I last saw this cooler. Oh no. Destructo has dragged the cooler into the living room to have his ice bath.
At some point he evidently sat in the cooler as well. He is wet right through to his pullup. Thankfully this escapade was planned and executed BEFORE I got him into his PJs.
After being dried off and re-dressed in a new pullup and clean, dry PJs, Destructo informs me he "wanted to take a bath in the cool-whip." Not the cool-er, which is what I said to him.
I officially call bedtime, before I completely lose my mind.
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