BP ain't got nothing on slippery spills

Today while I was putting Cheeks to sleep for his afternoon nap I let the boys play in the closed garage with their toys. I thought it was safe enough. After I laid Mac down, I heard a squeal coming from yonder garage and hurried to the scene of the crime. It was David who had slipped on the cement ground and given himself a sliglt bump on the bum. He looks at me happily and says, "Slippy mommy, slippy!"

Turns out Gabe had gotten the big bottle of bubbles off the shelf (which he knew not to do) and David Hyrum and dumped them all over the floor (which is precisely WHY Gabe was not supposed to get the bubbles down). Well I was relieved it wasn't worse- say some sort of hammer and nails incident, but a little annoyed that they did it. They were both slippier than a fish so we had to change their clothing before they got a mild time out. (I say "mild" because they got to sit together while I cleaned up the mess, which is basically like a little boy party on the stairs.)

Cleaning turned out to be no small task since I don't want my bionic mother to break her already replaced hips on that hard floor. Better yet, the renter to slip and sue us for an unsafe living arrangement. I whiped, then mopped, then set out a path of towels for those who dare to tred before the final check. I'm just glad it wasn't worse. BP ain't got nothing on our slippery spill. No more garage when I'm in with the baby I guess.