I have a half full glass of g+t and spill it on the carpet. While I’m soaking it up (and crying a little, let’s be honest) Thing Two starts chewing on a balloon she’s filled with flour. (???) It explodes. She’s on the couch. Right above where I’m sponging up gin. She runs, coughing.
Flour is all over the couch. As she runs, she is cough-spitting flour across the carpet, the kitchen floor, allll the way to the bathroom.
I’m still sponging. She moves from bathroom to kitchen. We don’t know why. She’s now sniffing and giggling because, as I look up from my gin spill, I see that her face is coated in white. She’s now snorting GF flour.
The vacuum starts. Its bag is full. It now smells like burnt dust. I’m still soaking. She’s vacuuming. Hubby decides now is a great time to drop a bomb. It now smells like burnt shit. He laughs.
It’s time for bed. She leaves, still covered in flour, still snorting that shit off her face. I’ve refilled by now, assuming I deserve a refill. The vacuum is left out. The cord runs across the floor.
This is my life. This is my karma. I thought, 13 years ago, a second child would be ‘fun.’