A bit of background: it's been a bad day. A bad week, really.
There have been several phone calls each day to Utah, where Fis is currently doing science stuff*, with somebody sobbing and screaming unintelligibly: possibly me, possibly Vaughn, possibly Ailsa, but most likely all three.
Did I mention it's been a bad week?
So, tonight, I was making dinner: steak, carrots, and potatoes, and decided that, while the barbecue was warming up, I'd change the bottoms of two happy little kids.
I somehow unleashed hell's fury by just suggesting we go upstairs. Thirty minutes later, I call Chris. "I. CAN'T. DO. THIS." He talks me down a bit, and then I go over to the corner where Mr. Snots is still screaming his indignation over having a dry diaper reapplied to his cute little bum, and demanding both a nap and his blankie, like the autocrat he aspires to be.
I sez, "Are you done? Can you have dinner now?"
He quiets down a bit, gives a long, shuddering sob, and sez, "I sorry," which is the cutest thing ever (and almost worth stuffing him into a corner just to hear), and then gives me a hug and a very soggy kiss (I'm choosing to believe it was tears, not snots) and I lift him into his high chair.
Ailsa, meanwhile, is still screaming from her playmat, so I put the bumbo on the table**, and put ClipClop (her horsie) into her lap.
I put dinner in front of us, pour meself a Strongbow***, and Vaughn picks up his sippy cup of milk and holds it out to me.
"Cheers!" he sez.
Suddenly, just like that, I'm having a delightful steak dinner with two adorable, happy and smiling children. Cheers, indeed.
But that's not the point of this story.
Right after dinner, I take Vaughn upstairs to go potty and get him into his bath. With my partner in crime away, I have decided that it makes more sense to bathe one child a night than to attempt to bathe them both on the same night, so Ailsa is lying on the bathmat, playing with a sock (is that wrong?).
Ok, so picture this: you're 21 months old, you've got a great sense of humour and generally delight in everything that's new and/or interesting. You're well fed, sitting in a nice warm bubble bath, you're surrounded by fun toys like Tubby Tater...but you're also kind of gassy.
Well, we all know what happens when you toot in the tub, even if some of us won't ever admit to having done so. It's funny as all get out, no matter who you are (well, unless you're not alone in the tub; then it's usually only funny to one of you, eh?), but can you imagine, to be that young and that amazed by the world at large, when you suddenly realize that something that makes you laugh like a maniac on dry land is even funnier when it also involves bubbles coming out of your butt.
I thought he was going to drown, he was laughing so hard. He couldn't even say, "toot", he was in such hysterics. And then he did it again! Oh my, what delight! What joy! What rapture! There's nothing like gasping belly laughs from someone that small - holy cow, did we laugh!
When he was out and dry (ish), he still had more in him, but I tried really hard to keep a straight face, to set an example, don't you know. How crass, but the little ripper (badum)... well, let's just say that he would have made his Daddy proud tonight.
What a day!
* I know! I didn't think they had science in Utah either!
** Yes, I know. But she was practically sitting in my plate, so it wasn't unsafe in the least. Pbblt.
*** 1. I needed it badly, and it was either that or an entire bottle of wine, so don't judge. 2. Vaughn now bellows, "Strongbooow!" and makes an archer pose. Ya just gotta love the kid.