The other day I decide titi needs washed. Titi is starting to smell.
Rule #1: There is no safe time to wash titi.
Brent is occupied with Daddy in the living room. I sneak into his room and snatch the offending blanket. I ball it up under my shirt and sneak to the washer, unseen.
Success!
Rule #2: If there is a safe time to wash titi, it will somehow become unsafe.
Brent looks around the living room, his nose in the air like a hunting dog. He senses something is amiss.
Immediately, he runs to the bedroom and looks in the crib.
I go about my business, trying not to look guilty.
"Teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Crap. He knows. Somehow he knows. I think of all the money we can make on Jerry Springer showing the world our son's psychic connection with his blanket. But my thoughts are interupted by more screams. And I was just picking out my new car....
Me: "Titi is getting a bath honey"
Him: (sobbing) "Teeeeeeee Teeeeeeeeee.........."
Me: (cheerfully)"Titi will smell so much better for bedtime tonight!"
Him: "No Teeeteee batttttt tub....."
Me: "It will be fine, you'll have titi back before you know it"
Him: "Mooommmmmmmaaaa......teeee teeee"
This goes on for awhile. Somehow, we survive to fight another day. And titi gets clean.
The end.
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