T-R-O-U-B-L-E . . . .

. . . the new spellings for David and Henry.

• Baby lotion. So much of it that I could smell it in the hallway. With their bedroom door closed.
• Approximately 1/2 of a tube of Butt Paste. That I just opened tonight.
• Sunscreen. Lots and lots of sunscreen.
• Prescription diaper rash cream.
• Torn up cotton balls.

No, not merely a list of things commonly found in a changing table. The list of things I found smeared on the walls, the changing table, the carpet, all over David and Henry's pajamas, bodies, and hair. Their freshly washed bodies and hair. This was in addition to all of the clothes emptied from their dresser and the two books I allowed in their room torn up and scattered about the room. At least the parts of the pages that David didn't EAT were scattered everywhere. Henry willingly took the credit for everything. I trust he didn't work alone.

I've heard many, many stories about the mischief my father caused as a young child. Both David and Henry Roy were named in part after their grampy. . . perhaps that was a mistake, as they seem to be following in his devious childhood ways. If they're like him as adults I'll be thrilled. However, if they continue to be as children it's going to be a long road!

They'll be entering boarding school at age 5. Until then, I'll be entering a mental facility. Inpatient only.