Four o'clock, or close enough

I think that someone invented digital cameras so that mothers who were about to 'lose it' with their children could take photos instead of losing it. Or in addition to losing it.

We have a little tagger in this house. He's three and obviously thinks highly of his place in the universe. Enough so that he wrote his name with orange crayon in as many places as possible before he was discovered. Places like the window ledge in his parent's bedroom. All of the walls in the upstairs hallway. A mirror. The wall. Another wall. And even another wall. The back of a rocking chair. A window. The side of a bureau. And on an original drawing of a bay-brested warbler (sorry Greg!).

I'm going to clean it up--if it can be cleaned. But first I'm going to document it. And then I'm going to tell him that I love him even when I'm angry with him. And then I'm going to have a bottle, I mean a shot, of whiskey.