Little Dude

As if to end my last post with an exclamation point:

All of a sudden the Clouthier household was quiet. Too quiet. Running out of the office to the family room, I see what looks to be like a miniature Dr. Steve standing triumphant on the fireplace hearth, black vulcanic lava pieces strewn everywhere and some still contained in his little, fat fists ready to be launched. He hoots a primal yell of glee and smile broadly revealing a mouthful of pearly white teeth that seems incongruous with his T-shirt-wearing, diaper-clad bottom.

Previously, the wee monkey was found in the fireplace enjoying a very earthy snack only three or four, okay maybe five times.

It would seem, dear readers, pure silliness to advise anyone about childrearing. If Little Dude makes it to the ripe old age of two, we will all breath a huge sigh of relief. He is Dr. Destructo and seems to relish his villianous role.