This is the text I just sent to Doug:

“So I was brushing my teeth and I hear what sounded like a wave crashing in the kitchen. Knowing full well that there is not an ocean in our house, I ran toward the sound to find Billie standing in 2 inches of lemonade crying. We get towels to clean up, but she is so out of her mind bereft that she can’t calm down enough to wipe up the mess. So we stand there, together, in a pool of lemonade and do our belly breaths until she calms down. I finally get her calm, go to grab the lysol, and she moved to walk out of the room to get another towel and does this cartoon style flip and lands ass up on the kitchen floor. I can’t help it- I laugh- and in doing so, I lose my footing, slip, and shower us both in Lysol. We just sat there, in 2+ inches of Lysol lemonade, giggling manically until I realized I was the adult and had to handle the situation.

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is: I mopped the kitchen floor. Sorta. You’re welcome.”

He is one lucky guy.