Trying to do 18 things at once, including cook dinner on this particular night, led me to the question, “Where’s your brother?”  I noticed some muffled tears along with the shit eating grin on L.A.’s face……you know this grin.  This particular grin means trouble.

It gets me EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

So, for about 2 minutes (which felt like about an hour) I ran around the house screaming, “ABBOTT!  ABBOTT!”  I was on the verge of a panic attack because the crying had ceased and he was nowhere to be found.  Then I noticed this, my laundry basket.

Perfect size for a buttery little guy.  “Is your brother in there?!?!?”  “Maybe.”  Well, that means yes.

The giant baby is no dummy, L.A. let him out and he crawled out of there like he had dynomite in his diaper.

He may be scarred from doing laundry for the rest of his life.  Which gets me to thinking, maybe one of my older sister’s did this to me when I was little because I despise laundry.  I let it get to the point where it is about to take over and then I do about 12 loads in a row.  Then I promise myself I am never going to let it get that bad again…..fast forward to right now.  We are running low on underwear and socks and the pile of clothes at the bottom of the laundry chute resembles a mountain, or that garbage dump from Fraggle Rock.  Who remembers that thing?  Why did it talk?

More importantly, why is it wearing glasses?!?!