rub a dub dub, smack my head on the tub

Bath time is one of those things that never gets old. Monkey always keeps it interesting. Usually, it's a great way to wrap up the day before the boys go to bed. Of course, Ethan can't go in every night, his little baby skin would get dry (oh no!), but Monkey goes in every meal if not more frequently. It's fun to watch him splash, and fill his little cup with water, and pour water all over his little belly, and play all manner of squirting games.
When it came time to put him in the tub tonight (spaghetti night, it had to happen), Ethan was in the process of gnawing off his hand, so I opted to feed him in the other room while catching up on the phone with my father-in-law. All of a sudden, I heard a new kind of splashing noise in the bathroom, and wandered in to find Jonathan pouring entire cups of water on the floor. Since I am past the point where I think it's possible for my house to *ever* be in order, I just mildly scolded him and continued feeding Ethan-- this time perched on the toilet to ensure there was no more naughtiness from the Monk. About fourteen seconds into this new arrangement, I heard this loud pounding on our door. My first thought was to get a knife to protect us from whatever crazy person was trying to bang our door down. Then, after a second more of thought, I realized it had to be the lady downstairs. We love her to death, but everything is a crisis to this woman. "Who is it?" I ask, even though I know full-well who it is. As soon as the door is open, she proceeds to gush about how my toilet must be over-flowing and her apartment is drenched and oh-my-gosh I was falling asleep and I thought it was raining, and WHAT ON EARTH-- she repeats the story several times as if trying to process a near death experience.
About this time, Monkey comes running, nakie, out of the tub and over to see who came to visit. I tell him sternly to "go to bed," figuring at least there he can stay out of trouble (of course, I should know better). I finally convince our downstairs neighbor that the only way I can fix the mess is if she lets me go clean up the water. I explain that it was my son pouring water out of the tub.
Now, Jonathan is normally a very obedient little boy. By normally, I mean not usually. More of a somewhat occasionally. This time, he decides that before he goes to bed, he has to run back in the bathroom and throw a toy back in. He slips on the somewhat flooded linoleum, and is bawling his head off, so I pick him up and coddle him and yada ya until he finally calms down. When I set him down, he goes running into his room, and I find him a minute later curled into one corner of his little bed, all covered up, all sobbing and shaking. Poor guy.
I finish getting the monkey calmed down and ready for bed, figuring the crisis is over now that i have all the water cleaned up. About 5 minutes later, our buddy comes pounding on the door again. She still thinks it's the toilet. Maybe she just underestimates my toddler?