I was chatting on the computer when I heard N come running. So panicked that he was not forming coherent sentences, he gasped "D-baby bad! Oh No! Come Now!"
There are times when you implicitly trust your child. N, who just that morning had also saved us from the overflowing toilet by using towels and coming to get me when D stuffed THAT up, was in a panic. I leapt and ran.
In the living room, my newly two-year-old was brandishing a flaming, plastic sword.
He'd been poking the sword (which belonged to N by the way), into the fire, and waving it in the air, dripping hot plastic onto the carpet. I approached him carefully so as not to startle him into burning himself or anything else, while N cowered in the doorway, and I removed the sword. D was as proud of his new achievement as the first man to bring forth fire, I would imagine. I however, simply sank to the floor in the fatigued realization:
Omg I have two sons. And a brand in my carpet.