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The Littles teamed up today to dazzle me with the premier of Holy Crap on a Cracker, the musical. Apparently the last few days of bliss here in The Land of the Giant was too much for them and they needed to bring me down to my knees.

And their molars and other assorted teeth worked with their bowels to make it happen.

In yesterday’s diaper the Big Little showed off a stunning array of Easter goodies. In poop #1 we had tin foil from an obviously chocolate candy of some sort. This was followed several hours later by my having to extract plastic grass used in Easter baskets from her bum.

Thank you God, I guess I did need that image in my head for life.

So today we started off with Madame Feisty who was just all over the place with her mood swings. By the time the second Little showed up, we’ll call him Sir Bellows, it was just a scene.

I’ve been changing round after round of poop on each kid and stuffing teething toys in their mouths as fast as I can. Meanwhile, Madame Feisty and Sir Bellows are sitting right next to each other and making the other one get louder and louder in their desperation to get some sort of attention from the Giant. Who is, by the way, trying desperately to calm them both down while essentially making it worse.

We tried music; they just got louder. We tried bubbles, they just slapped each other. Poor Sir Bellows is too small to aim so he ended up a little worse for the wear in that freaking fiasco of an activity. Stupid, stupid bubbles…

I considered my options and did the only thing I could do. I put on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and went into the bathroom where they couldn’t find me. And I just sat there and played a round of Candy Crush on my phone.

And just when I was ready to call in for reinforcements I’d have taken Hannibal Lecter at that point I hear this little sound.

A light tap, tap, tap.

It was gentle knocking and no crying was attached to it. So I cautiously open the door and there is Madame Feisty, the Little I have known since she was 3 weeks old and adore with all my being. And she looks at me and says very clearly “Oh Zoe Zo-ster.”

Which is what I always say to her when she is injured or crying or upset or just plain in need of me. And when I picked her up she just patted my back.

She’s learned how to comfort. Goddamn, I’m getting through to them even when it seems like we’re on the edge of out of control.

P.S. Don’t you worry your little self about confidentiality. The Little’s name that I used was allowed by her mommy, who is an avid reader of my blog. Hi Jessica!


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