Out darn powder, out!
Powder puff, or take a powder, or out darn powder, out! Whatever you want to name it, it was a mess! I hope I haven’t done my vacuum any major harm sucking up all of that lovely scented baby powder. My girls looked like 18th century French aristocrats; only nobody offered me cake, as I the oppressed and soon to be turned revolutionary, vacuumed up their royal mess. By the way, I have no idea what Miss E. is looking at on the ceiling, perhaps begging help from heaven after hearing and seeing mommy’s reaction to their asphyxiating mess.
I love my girls to bits, but they are at least twice as hard as their male twin brothers were at this same age. Actually, they haven’t yet locked me out of the house or called the cops while playing with the phone. Give them time though; I know they’ll try their hardest to out due their predecessors. Actually, I don’t think they’ll even have to try, it will come so naturally that when the house explodes I will look at the rubble and say, “I sensed that would happen dear, it was only a matter of time. At least we got the baby powder out because that could have really made a mess!”
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