Tonight, Cole was helping the babysitter take care of the boys so I could go to a funeral (another post for another day).
The bathroom was a disaster (bad), but the kids were freshly bathed (good).
He let them play with the batcave in the bath (questionable), but he rinsed out the tub (good).
He didn't put the trainset back together like I requested (oy), but he did help them clean the toys in their room (yay!).
I got home at the rugrats' bedtime. I was fighting with them to turn off Monsters Inc. and go brush their teeth. Cole said, "Hey! Want me to tell you guys a Thanksgiving story?" He closed their door for about ten minutes, lest my audience distract him. Then, when he opened the door and I heard Jack arguing that he was going to have a bad dream, and didn't want to go to bed. I heard Cole say, "I'll give you something Poppa always used to give me so I wouldn't have bad dreams."
He came out of the bedroom, got a bowl and re-entered their room. He asked them both to lie still and close their eyes. He then sprinkled fairy dust on them. As he closed their door, he said, "Now, guys, if you dream about pumpkin pie, you'll taste it."
Oh, that teenager. He's not perfect, but he's wonderful.