Devil's Intuition

Today clinched it.

For years, we've ALL heard how mom has eyes on the back of her head.

We all know what it means to a mother when the house gets quiet . . . TOO quiet.

But today, for not the first time, I have become convinced that Demon Baby has devil's intuition. In direct proportion to how stressed I am, to my deadlines, to my personal problems, to his siblings' problems, to my parents' problems, to the weight crushing my shoulders at times, to bills needing paying, taxes needing filing, and bank accounts needing funds, to lack of sleep, too much coffee, to all of that . . . he KNOWS. And he chooses THOSE times to be his most epic monstrousness of adorable demonology.

Hence, three thrown containers of applesauce, two thrown spoons, three pee-pee accidents (after near-perfection all week), one standing on dog crate and telling me it was "monkey bars," five times telling me that ham is really made from "pee-pee and dog poop" (guess he didn't want ham today), three fart jokes, one declaration of "I hate you, mom," one declaration that his nanny was mean and should go home (when she is a saint--she comes twice a week for a few hours), one freeing of the lovebird, and several hair pulls of his brother and sisters.

Demon, indeed. he is contemplating World Domination. It's his world. I just live in it.