“You owe me,” I said to Dane.

But let me back up. That’s really the end of this story.

Perhaps I should start by saying that I found the baby-sized nail clippers. Though to appreciate that fact, you might want to know that they’d been missing for over a week (the nail clippers, that is), and that Sadie grows sharp little baby talons that need to be clipped maybe every other day. So perhaps I should start there.

But at this point it seems that I’ve already started. I’ll just continue. By the time I found the clippers this afternoon, Sadie’s fingernails were so long she could have taken out my eyeball with an errant swipe of her pinky. Luckily she didn’t, or this story might end somewhat differently. Or perhaps it would end the same, though I can’t imagine how “you owe me” is the appropriate response to losing an eyeball.

At any rate, there I was, sitting on the floor clipping Sadie’s fingernails while the older kids blew bubbles in the backyard. As you might expect, I have to look at the clippers when I’m clipping. Which is how I managed to miss seeing Audrey accidentally swallow a gulp of bubble solution.

Instead of dipping bubbles wands, the kids had been blowing through straws to see how big of a mountain of bubbles they could grow. But Audrey accidentally sucked on her straw, effectively putting an end to the bubble mountain game. She didn’t swallow much—when we play with bubbles, I assume spillage will happen and dole out solution accordingly.

“I think Audrey swallowed bubbles!” Owen yelled, but before I could even stand up, I was saying, why yes, yes I think she did, as the bubble solution—along with Audrey’s lunch—made a slimy reappearance. All over the sliding screen door.

After washing Audrey and checking that she was quite all right (one small swallow of immediately-vomited-up, nontoxic bubble solution does not seem to have done any lasting damage—she made a face that said, hmm, that was annoying, and then moved on), I turned my attention to the screen door. I figured I’d just lay it on the lawn and hose it off, thus cleaning away the yuck and also watering our parched grass, but I couldn’t figure out how to get it off its track. Of course.

I called Dane, who explained that screen removal requires pushing and pulling and cursing, and that a screwdriver might be involved. “Call your parents,” he suggested helpfully, but they were out of town this afternoon. “Bring the hose in the house and spray the screen from the inside out,” he offered, which, I mean, sure. No problem.

Eventually I closed the glass sliding doors and sprayed the screen from the outside, thus pummeling the—let’s call it spit-up, shall we?—onto the glass door and then, one hopes, out onto the ground and into the lawn. And then we were done playing outside today because: ew.

“You sure you don’t want to come home to share in this fun?” I asked Dane over the phone before turning on the hose. But he didn’t. Which is why I am on the computer tonight and he is washing the dishes. Or wait, no, that’s every night. But whatever.