*cue theme music*
Tonight! On Bedtime Confessional...
*Medium escapes unscathed...
*Small is caught in a lie...
*and Large is discovered to be a criminal mastermind.
I went upstairs to see what the bedtime-readiness status was of the Fries.
~Small scrubbing the bathroom counter with her nearly-new toothbrush. Using liquid soap.
~Small had escaped the Berlin Wall and gone into our bedroom to find pajamas (the Fries are not allowed to go in our room because they will a) play, b) steal things from our room, c) make messes that they do not clean up, and d) wreak havoc upon our belongings), rather than getting some from her own room.
~Small had gotten out her generic play-doh (RED, of course) to play with in her room, and the container was still empty. Never a good sign. (Play-doh is forbidden in bedrooms or anywhere with carpet for good reason.) Upon inquiry, the play-doh was found taking a bath in a small plastic tub designed for small plastic dolls...and hidden under Small's bed. I took the whole mess and put it on the bathroom counter to deal with later.
~After being fetched twice during the night regarding the mysteriously darkened nightlight in the twins' room (switched off the first time; bulb permanently disabled the second time), I decided I needed to question both Medium and Small as to who was getting out of bed during the night just to turn the light off. I knew it couldn't be Medium; she's the one who complained about it being "too dahwrk." Small insisted upon her innocence. About then, Hubby came home, and took over as Chief Inquisitor. (He's better at it than I am.) When Small continues to profess innocence, Hubby removes her to our bedroom for further questioning.
~Being a (justifiably) suspicious sort, and since this is not my first rodeo, I decided it would behoove me to check under Small's bed for further contraband. (Mind you, I'm only three weeks post-op and still tethered to an IV bag 24/7, which is thankfully stashed in a zippered pouch that I can carry around. No pole required.) Hellloooo there, small pumpkin acquired during the twins' first grade field trip to the pumpkin farm. Hello again, used nighttime pull-up that got hidden under the bed because Small didn't want to take it downstairs to throw it away. I tossed the pull-up out into the room behind me and went to lift the pumpkin by the stem...which gave way, and slimy pumpkin seeds dropped on the carpeting. Now, due to my medical misadventures and Hubby having to be everything around here, pumpkin-carving (a favorite Halloween activity around here) got the boot this year. We just couldn't do it. Trick-or-treating was last week as it was, and Hubby is still in danger of burning his end at both candles. We recycled costumes from last year because we didn't have the time, inclination, or ability to do anything different. But I digress...the pumpkin. I hauled it out from under the bed, grabbing George (my IV pack) and retreating out from under the bed. I pulled off the pumpkin's "hat," returned the seeds to from whence they came (mostly), and checked: yup, only a lobotomy incision. Innards were left alone. The surgeon was clearly a hack. I stormed down the hall and shoved the pumpkin in Small's face. "Did you do this?" I growled. Small nodded hesitantly. Hubby fetched the pumpkin from my hands, determined that fascial surgery had been attempted, and leveled his gaze on Small. "Well?" Small met his gaze (barely). Her lip quivered. "Large did it fuwrst!" Hubby sighed. "I can believe that, because you don't have the dexterity for this yet."
~I went to Large's room. "Where's your pumpkin?" She scurried to get it. Her pumpkin had been carefully tied up (triple-knotted) in an old Wallyworld plastic bag. I untied it and confirmed yet more amateur surgery. I marched both her and skull-jacked gourd into the bedroom to face Hubby.
After relating events to my mother-in-law, who's visiting with us this week to play chauffeur for me and to help out (I still have very little wrist strength and low flexion), I went back upstairs to make sure one of the sharp knives was not being squirreled away in a Fry bedroom (like my stapler was last week). Both Small and Large were focused on me when Hubby facepalmed after relating that, no, there was no sharp knife lurking about upstairs (I still feel the urge to move my knifeblock to Mars), because operations had been conducted with a table knife. (I was still chuckling about that when I got back downstairs some minutes later and related it to my mother-in-law.) Hubby was concluding business with Small, sent Large to her room to await further discussion on other matters, and he advised me to go have a listen to this:
The subtitles make it funnier, honestly. (You may have to watch it directly on YouTube. It's worth it.)
I'm dying by the time the subtitles read, "Non lo so!"
And then I watched this, and realized—between the content of both—why my sadistic parents are always smiling when they come to my house.