Monster

Our sweet little boy has become a little monster. He runs around and terrorizes everything he can get his hands on (and with his sweet climbing skills, let me just say, that's a lot). He dumps Canberra's water out of her bowls, pulls all his books off the book shelf, bangs furniture with his Louisville slugger (miniature baseball bat from Grandma and Grandpa Matthews), drops toys into the toilet, breaks one of our only glass tumbler (the one he fished out of the dishwasher), and relocates all the shoes in the house. I firmly believe, the number one prerequisite for happy parenthood is a fabulous sense of humor.

Well, to put it simply, that fabulous sense of humor was, for the first time, challenged today (mind you, I said challenged). As Ben and I showed off our beautiful (and first) tomato, forming nicely on our pampered plant, we turn our backs, momentarily, only to turn around and find our little monster, munching happily on his treasure. Oh, that little Stinker! Despite the initial disappointment, I gotta' say I love our Stinker. . .  good or bad. The way he ran up to me, yelling in excitement, arms raised high above his head, as he proudly presented his freshly picked tomato . . . yep, that kid can only melt my heart.