I can't make this stuff up.

It's 7:30 p.m.

We've reached the end of The Ballad of Little Joe.

And I order the Fries to do their least favorite thing:  Pick up toys.

Now, granted, there aren't that many that aren't packed up.  Yet, somehow, I find that the smaller amount of toys makes just as big of a mess as all of the toys do.  Must be some kind of Murphy's Law of Toy Rooms or an applied corollary of the Two Lonely Wire Hangers rule (they breed when left alone).

But I want them to get the toys out of the living room, specifically, and mostly put away.

Yeah, it was about as successful as you'd think.

Two minutes into Operation Put-Away, Large Fry announces that she can't pick up toys because she has to go potty.

Close enough to bedtime and having to go potty anyway, so I let her go.

A good eight minutes later, I'm yelling for her to get OUT of the bathroom and quit playing with the water (not necessarily in that order).

And that's when she comes out and tells me.

"Mommy, I stepped in the kitty water and spilled water on the floor."

Because I'm mid-yell at the twin Fries, who are running around and giggling and most definitely not putting toys away, I don't hear most of what Large Fry says.  I heard enough to know that there's water on the floor. But I have other pressing concerns, like her disobedient siblings.

Next thing I know, all three of them are in the bathroom (something we've forbidden, because Bad Things always seem to happen when more than one Fry is in the bathroom at a time), giggling and arguing, and I'm shouting for them to get back in here.

Small Fry takes the opportunity to tattle on Large Fry.  "She speyuwlled LOTS of watewr on da floor."

I order the twins to the toy room to pick up more toys.  Then I turn to Large Fry to try to get to the bottom of the water problem.

And that's when Medium Fry waltzes into the room and is clearly about to just stand there.  "OUT!" I shouted.  (Yes, it's not been a good night.)

She returns to the toy room in tears, which I hate, but she came in here to watch her sister get punished, I'm sure, not to pick up toys, and I'm not going to deal with that.  Especially when I just told her to go into the toy room and pick up toys there.

Oy.

It was a Migraine Salute moment.

I performed said Migraine Salute, pinching the bridge of my nose between my index and forefinger.  "What," I ground out between my teeth, "did you do to spill water all over the bathroom floor?  You stepped in the water dish?"

"No!" Large wails.  "In the kitty water!"

"You stepped in the kitty water bowls?  How?"

"Because I dried my hands and moved and I wasn't focusing on what I was doing!"

Okay.  Well.  At least she understands that's the problem.

I moved my laptop.  "Let me see your socks."  Her socks are gone.  Probably now in the dirty clothes hamper, because they're wet.  I snag her pant leg.  Yup, soaked right at the foot.  Another Migraine Salute.  "Get undressed and get your jammies on."

It wasn't until I came downstairs after tucking the Fries in bed (and heaving a huge sigh of relief on my way down) that I discovered how the spillage in the bathroom had been sopped up.

The hand towel from the towel rack by the sink...and a fluffy pink boa from their dress-up toys.

*facepalm*