I found a handful of paintballs in the microwave. They expand when heated if you were curious.
Sweet Boy#3 jumps into our stroller and pushes off, starting himself upon a wild ride down the lawn narrowly missing trees. Then he does it again and jets down the driveway to crash by the propane tank. Thankfully he survives.
I take all 3 boys to town. Sweet Boy#1 dumps water onto Sweet Boy#3 who dumps his entire bottle of water onto Sweet Boy#2. We go hiking, go to the doctor, buy food at the wok about grill (where they spill a full bottle of soy sauce on the floor, jump around in three different booths, and eat some noodles off the floor) get an icecream cake and sundays for the boys, and rush home as the boys are getting fudge in their carseats before the cake melts so that we can decorate for our anniversary.
Sweet Boy#2 takes one training wheel off his bike then rides down the stairs on the mini golf course, launches off the end and lands in a pile of rocks. He gets a 3 bandaid scrape on his side and cries when I tell him that we are all done riding bikes in the golf course.
But the winner this week…the boys set up a tent in the middle of the lodge at camp and slept in it with the hunky hubby. But sweet boy#3 needed a change so one of our counselors brought him over to me at the house. I changed him and then he said: “I go to camp.” And started down the stairs. I thought about it for a minute and decided that he could go back and try one more time to sleep in the tent. DK said that she would take him over and we walked down the stairs expecting to see him waiting at the bottom for us by the door. Instead what we see are two wide open doors and no two-year-old. I grab my shoes and we both rush out into the night. DK catches him running across the parking lot at camp, alone, in the dark, in the rain, in his jammies. Too scary.