you can't make an omlette...

Before I delve into the horrors that have transpired under our roof, I'd like to first say, that I had two days in a row last week that where almost perfect. The boys were well behaved (mostly), the house was clean (mostly), and I got some of the things on my to-do list done. It was great. I just wanted to let everyone out there know that it's not always crazy insane at our house.

Now, moving on.

I was upstairs looking for recipes for Thanksgiving. And I heard the boys laughing. And I thought, "ah, they are so cute!" and I continued looking. But the laughing continued. In our house, too much laughter like that needs investigated. Because the boys get a wild thrill out of doing things they are not suppose to. So I head downstairs and see this...


And this...

And a whole lot more. That's right, folks. The boys broke eggs all over our carpet. And then they rubbed them around with their hands and ran through them, leaving little yolky foot prints all over the floor.

I was livid. Absolutely livid.

But, in spite of my almost blind rage, I was in control of myself enough to remember that I loved them and did not sell the boys to the circus, and had the presence of mind to take pictures of this wretched event, even though they don't really do it justice. Because I wanted to share it with everyone. And I want evidence for later.

So, it took me a full hour to clean this mess up, scraping egg goo out of the carpet with a rice paddle and a soup spoon, scrubbing the whole area with Zote soap (which is awesome), rinsing it with water and padding the area dry and then vacuumed up the masses of egg shell. And since I didn't want the boys handling raw egg anymore than they already had, this is what they did the whole time:

They had the longest time-out of their lives. I had to keep reminding them that they were in a time-out and that I was still mad and that this was not the time to play. I think they felt punished.

So, besides piles of books weighing down the towels on the floor, this was all that remained. As I was cleaning it all up, I started thinking about some of the other terror stories I've heard of little kids shenanigans; like dumping out several boxes of cereal onto the floor and pouring milk all over it or pouring honey all over the piano keys, and I thought, this little egg event is right up there. Our egg catastrophe will live on... in infamy.