The Most Perfect Day.

Sunny with a high of 76! These fall days are so beautiful. Everything is kinda muted: the trees, the sky. It's gorgeous.
We are going to walk around the marina today, and then I have laundry coming out of my ears. I can't believe it's already Thursday.
I had the most awesome day two days ago.
I decided to clean my car which hadn't been cleaned since about 1992. I did the whole deal--vacuumed, wiped, Windexed the windows inside and out. Then I decided to take the boys for their haircuts, to be on top of things and to make my husband love me a little more.
Ethan did great, sat up nice and tall and every once in a while would turn toward me in his chair and give me the thumbs up sign. I have to hold Noah during his haircuts because he thinks the buzzer is actually a be-header. He screams like he's being branded, or worse, circumcised. So I get to get his soft, thin hair all over me, despite the cover, and he gets to get it all over himself because he's squirming so much his cover is all waded up in a ball under his left arm.
We finally get all that over with and he leaves with a Tootsie pop that looks way to big for him. He's really happy though.
I get the boys back in the car and we drive home to get Fiebi, who is like six months late on her booster. Again, I had a free afternoon, so I decided to take her in, to make my husband love me a little more.
I grab the dog and throw her in the car and we are off. We get to the vet and when I open Noah's door I realize the sucker was a quick fix for the moment, but in the long run was a very bad idea. He is covered in a pink sticky film. His entire face. His newly shaved head. He can't open his fingers. On top of the stickyness, his fine, soft hair is everywhere. He looks like a balding lion.
And an extremely neglected child.
Oh my goodness...
Fiebi is desperately trying to jump out of the car as I try to figure out how I am going to clean this kid up.
Ethan keeps saying, "Noah is a mess!! That is not a good boy! He is a mess!" We are late. I finally find some water and start yanking out tissues and getting them wet, watching them almost dissinigrate in my hand. It takes almost an entire box to get him somewhat clean.
And let me just point out in all this "being on top of it" I forgot the diaper bag. Or, more correctly, I just didn't think I'd need it. Two qucik errands. Well, now I know baby wipes would have been really nice.
So I take the dog and kids in, Noah on one hip, Fiebi on the other, my purse in between them somewhere, trying to make sure Ethan doesn't get hit by a car.
All the receptionist ladies raise their eyebrows as I try to get the door open to get in. One of them finally does the kind thing and gets off her ass and opens the door for me.
Noah won't let me put him down, which was the plan. Fiebi is terrified, but at least she is still. Ethan begins telling the receptionists how old he is and when his birthday is and everything he is expecting from Santa Clause.
We finally go back, and when the doctor comes in, he takes one look at me and my sticky children and says, "Are you OK?"
Oh yes, yes, I am fine. I thought he was just being polite, but then he says, "Are you sure?" and I kinda wanted to curl up and weep in his arms.
He tells me Fiebi is fine, just really scared, and I just smiled and said great. I was dying to get out of there. Noah let me put him down for three seconds so I could get in my purse to pay, and I just prayed some huge beast dog didn't come out from down the dark hallway and gobble him up.
This time I push the door open with my rear and we head over to the car. I am so realived to be getting in the car, the kids constrained in the their carseats. I sigh a big sigh of relief.
I turn the key in the ignition and see Fiebi's body start to curl up like a cat stretching and then she does that gross hair ball thing with her mouth and then it all comes out, redish brown barf in long tubes like she's yarfing up her own intestines. It gets on my dress, the seat, inbetween the gear shift, and the floor.
I do my best to clean it up with my last three kleenex.
We finally get home and I pick Fiebi up and throw her in the house. I come back out to get the boys and Ethan says, "She pooped!"
"Noah pooped?" It couldn't have been Fiebie. It just couldn't. It had to be Noah, where the poo is contained in a diaper.
"NO! FIEBI POOPED!"
All over the seat. Down between the back and everything. I mean, really, it was a perfect ending to a perfect afternoon.