Because we are clearly horrible parents, neither Brock or I noticed that Thing 2's sandal had rubbed a massive blister on his precious baby foot. The kid screams like a fat lady stuck in a bath tub when his brother takes a toy out of his hand but doesn't utter a peep when someone (Thing 1) or something (ill-fitting sandal) is causing him physical harm. Therefore, he has not worn shoes in five days and currently is sporting a nice layer of permadirt on his feet. I guess it is fine because now both kids have matching feet, as Thing 1 never wears shoes. Also, both boys had a growth spurt and look kind of, well, gangly. Currently, both of my offspring slightly resemble Tarzan's albino cousins, or a couple of backwoods Arkansas boys in need of a shower and a good meal... or twenty.
No worries, they are self-sufficient. I know this because Thing 1 can peel his own bananas now and Thing 2 has taken to eating things that he finds in the trash can.
We all went to the chiropractor yesterday and didn't bother getting dressed. Any of us. I mean, we had clothes on, just not "real" clothes. I was wearing this:
|Tank top and greased stained shorts circa 2000 ala Ye Olde Navee.|
The flip flops are at least 15 years old and splattered with paint.
I'm one classy broad.
Thing 2 was dressed in the sagging, stained, white onesie that he had slept in and was sporting the giant sore on his bare, dirt stained feet.
We looked awesome.
Hey, it is fricken hot. At least I showered.
Ugh......Good Lord, someone send in the Fashion Police. Quickly. We need shoes and updated, unstained matching clothes. STAT. *And a wipe.
Thank goodness we don't have super close neighbors that can see all our madness.
In other news: This week I will be teaching Thing 1 to play the mouth harp and Thing 2 to play the jug.