After-bedtime quiet house = heaven. Daylight-hours quiet house = impending doom.
Yesterday I, very mistakenly, thought The Baby was playing in her room with her beloved Weeble Wobbles. (Seriously, she's obsessed. You know they wobble, but they don't fall down. What's not to love?)
Instead, she was doing this:
I've always heard that egg white facials do wonders for the skin. No mention of what they do to ducky floor mats.
Clearly, I am doing nothing in the way of teaching The Baby important life skills like Bathroom Clean-Keeping or Scrambled Egg-Making.
Her poor, poor future spouse.
*edit* Oh, I didn't mention how she GOT the eggs OUT of the fridge in the first place? Never again will I trust The (beatific, altruistic) Girl when she so sweetly offers to fetch a Capri Sun for her sister. She totally let The Baby swipe the eggs, and didn't come tell me they were all cracked UNTIL THEY WERE ALL CRACKED.