I live in a madhouse

I live in a madhouse.
My kids are maniacs.
Today was a typical day in the Pitts household.
I took the kids to toddler storytime at the library.
It is a session catered to children 1 1/2-years-old to 3.
They had singing and musical instruments.
It was cute (a little hectic) but fun.
Ryan was extremely unimpressed.
She had a bored expression on her face the whole time.
She refused to play her instrument.
She stood there, completely unresponsive.
All the kids were screaming and laughing and Ryan asked if we could go home...
she said she needed a nap.
Hmmmm.
Then while I was making dinner this evening, Ryan announced that her baby was hurt.
She needed to give her baby some medicine?
I am not really sure what medicine she was referring to.
I never need to give Ryan medicine.
I told her that maybe her baby needed a ice pack for her owie.
She screamed, "NO" and threw her baby.
Then she cried for 15 minutes about needing some medicine for her baby.
There was no consoling her.
Oh brother.
After dinner, I decided that since Ryan ate her dinner so well she could have a cupcake.
This seemed to be going over well, until I turned around from the dishes to find her rubbing,
yes, rubbing,
her cupcake on her arms.
It was bath time.
I thought for sure I was on the homestretch. After baths was bedtime.
However, as I was bathing the kids, unbeknownst to me
Ezra was working on trouble of his own.
When I went to retrieve him from the tub, I picked him up, moving a strategically placed luffa, and found that he had pooped in the tub.
A lot.
I snatched them both out of the tub and got soaked.
I ripped off my clothes and tried to dry off the kids simultaneously.
Ryan was dancing around pointing, laughing, and singing "poopy tub, poopy tub."
After getting them dressed and entertained with The Little Mermaid,
I found myself scrubbing out the bathtub ... in my underwear (and for those of you who are LDS you can only imagine what a particularly unpleasant site that would be) ... at 9 o'clock at night.
Great.
What a day.