Crime Scene

I find it rather ironic that I'm writing this post given the circumstances of what just happened in relation to my previous post. You see, as I was writing my previous post about how lovely and precious my two adorable girls are, Pieper was scheming some of her own trouble. Yep, daddy and Kennedy were at the store, mommy was enjoying a few minutes of peace and quiet as Pieper was settled into her jammies for the night. I thought I'd let her play for a few minutes until bedtime. Well, that proved to be a little disasterous. You see, I was upstairs, and Pieper went downstairs. Not typically a problem. Until now. She managed to find a somewhat opened bottle of nail polish, bright RED, I may add (thanks, Kennedy), and smear, or in what she thought, "paint," all over herself and my armoire. You know, you would think after almost 4 years of parenting, you would heed to those "mothering instincts," or rather "it's WAY too quiet down there!" But no, I let Pieper come find me and ta-da! look what I did, mom. At first, I thought, "oh my gosh, she's bleeding everywhere." But then... then when I started smelling that smell. You know, the smell of whatever they put in those darn tiny bottles I knew. Oh, did I know. I literally said out loud, "OH MY GOSH." I was a little afraid to go downstairs and examine the scene fearing I'd see red paint everywhere, but when I turned that corner, looked around at the floor and didn't see the carpet pasted with red paint, one element of fear escaped. And when I did see the crime scene, all I thought was, "oh man, we'd better get this cleaned up before daddy gets home!" So, with two bottles of nail polish remover and a couple dozen cotton balls and towels, the damage has assessed and life will go on- only with the nail polish in the garbage.