Easter Eve

I ruined SIX of K's favorite shirts. You know, the shirts he wears, unless they are dirty. His 2nd-choice shirts were all still in his closet. His favorite shirts were in the washer.
I took them out, and piled them on the floor (so I could take them upstairs to hang-dry them).
My next load of wash was a white wash. I poured the bleach into the washer, one of my kids bumped my arm, and the rest of the bleach spilled all over K's pile of favorite, clean (and now very bleached) clothes. When K and I worked at a group home together, K did the wash sometimes. It seemed every time he did the wash, something dark would get bleach on it. I don't know how. He didn't either, so we agreed that I would do the wash. Today, K said, "If I can't do the wash, and you can't do the wash, who does the wash now? B?" And I'm thinking that might be our best option.

We colored Easter eggs today. Before we colored them, B climbed on the table and spilled one of the bowls of paint. I had him go wash his hands. He went down to K's office to sulk, and stapled himself in the palm.
We were about to color the eggs, when Z knocked the entire dozen eggs to the floor and cracked every one of them.
We colored cracked Easter eggs. It didn't matter, in the end, because the shells only stayed on for less than an hour. Each of our kids ate all three of their eggs, and someone must've eaten mine. I couldn't find it later, when I finally had time to eat it.
After coloring eggs, B jumped down from his stool, and knocked my trash can over, spilling all of the egg shells (the ones I meticulously placed in bowls, so they wouldn't end up on the floor and table), coffee grounds, bits of stale biscuit from last night's dinner, and cold lumps of oatmeal. He slowly looked up to see my reaction. I laughed, because what could I say? How about, "B, I just ruined SIX of Papa's shirts. You got egg shells on my floor. I've got nothin'!"