"Don't kiss each others butts. That's how people get sick"
"Please take the plastic bag off your head."
"Potter is not allowed to eat oven gloves."
Morgan and Zoe take baths together. Typically, I take this opportunity to clean the bathroom. It is disturbing how quickly our bathroom turns into a toothpaste encrusted bowl of hair.
So I had my back turned and I hear Morgan say "You just kissed my butt," which is actually not that strange when you know how much time my daughters spend with their faces in the bath water, despite my telling them that said bath water is only clean until they get in it.
"Kiss it again," she says. This is when I have to intervene.
* * *
Zoe puts things on her head.
If it has an opening, it goes on her head. Boxes, laundry baskets, leather purses, nylon duffel, canvas totes, and yes...plastic bags. We are the reason there is the big warning across them that says they are not a toy.
Her favorite is emptying the clear plastic carrying case for the Mega Blocks. It is big enough that it fits over her shoulders too, yet she has clear visibility to wobble around the living room in it.
* * *
Potter is a pretty typical St. Bernard in his old age. He spends the majority of his day in one of two positions. Curled up on the floor or sprawled out on the floor. He breaks the monotony by licking himself or chewing on his paws.
With a few memorable exceptions he refrains from chewing things that don't belong to him, so I was little surprised when I investigated a strange noise and found him gnawing on something in the front foyer.
Thinking it was a stuffed animal, I quickly went in for the rescue. But it was only an oven glove. The sturdy kind you use instead of pot holders, but not the rubber kind that would be impervious to geriatric dog teeth.
And more unfortunately for us, my rescue came after three of five fingers could no longer be found and I'm assuming are working through the irritable bowels of our dumb ass dog.