The Heathens Death Defying Stunt Team

My children are trying to kill themselves.
And drive their daddy bonkers.
I'm not opposed to driving The Man bonkers. It's my life's goal. I've honed it into an art form, so its only natural my children would take up the cause an run with it.
Falling over their own feet and smacking their pug noses on the floor.
Yep. They are their mama's children.
Yesterday, The Man had a rough day.
Boo was running from the bedroom and The Man came around the corner. Boo and The Man collided. Boo went flying back into the corner of a door frame, resulting in a nice goose egg and a sob story. Then Bug threw his SpongeBob toy and hit Boo in the lip.
The Man sprouted two more gray hairs on his poor balding head.
I knew I loathed SpongeBob for a reason.
Punk, being the adventurous midget she is, gladly took a plug in air freshener provided by Boo and worked it like a lollipop. After a call to Poison control and a few panicked moments later, my baby has pine fresh breath and The Man has a new gray hair.
Things seemed to have calmed down until after my return home last night. Then Bug decided to join the act. An office chair, a clumsy four year old, and a hard floor later, Bug was a member of the Heathens Death Defying Stunt Team.
After wrapping all the children in those packing plastics (the bubble kind you like to pop--which I restrained myself from popping and having a moment of sheer orgasmic joy. Barely!) we settled in for the night.
Yes, I left them air holes.
The Man said he was quitting, turning in his notice as a parent. I reminded him that I was sneakier, could move faster, and would halfway to Mexico and a cute Latin lover before he could sputter out a response.
So here I am, on a sunny beach, slathered with sun screen and sipping a Pina colada brought my my new toy, Pedro.