Dana (via text message to Tanner): I’m doing our taxes and I’m 95% sure that we’ll be getting (insert ridiculously huge sum of money, the likes of which our bank account hasn’t seen in a very long time) for our tax return.
Tanner (bursting in the apartment after work looking like he just won the lottery): Are we really getting that much for our tax return!??
Dana (mostly seriously but partly trying to get a rise out of Tanner): ya! isn’t that awesome?!? we can pay off our car, catch up on all of our bills, stock up on essentials, and still have some left over to put into savings!
Tanner (whose face has fallen faster and harder than any I’ve ever seen and whose visions of season ski passes, new snowboard, and much dining out have been crushed with one fowl swoop): oh.
As all of you faithful blog readers know, a certain baby that I take care of is rather fond of pooping in the tub. On a daily basis. But said baby’s father had yet to experience such horrors–until last night. When he did. And let me tell you that man is a DRAMA QUEEN in the face of toddler feces. He let loose an endless string of oooohhhs and uuggggghhhs as I laughed and yelled protocol instructions from the kitchen letting him know where to find rubber gloves and the bleach. Nevermind that I deal with this on the daily, based on his reaction, you would have thought she threw it in his face and rubbed it in his hair. Too graphic? my apologies.
Camryn scooting into a room, pushing the door closed, and then banging on the door until we come open it again. Repeat.
And here’s a mostly unrelated video that I shot a few weeks ago. It’s the infamous scoot with a little bit of gallop.