Don't worry, Mike Rowe, you're still my favorite...
...because who wouldn't just love that smile? Heh...I can't decide if I'd rather help him get dirty, or help him get clean. Or both. Sigh. 
Sorry...I know you didn't need that mental image.
My son had a screaming fit a few minutes ago - he's convinced that an alien will land on the roof, tear his room open, and get him...because he has a toy goldfish he got from the aquarium that's officially named Depot but he calls it Flounder because he loves The Little Mermaid (yes, I'm fine with that, even if it is Disney), and the alien hates Flounder and think Bird is its enemy and it wants to get him. He is utterly convinced of this. I have no idea. It seems that I must now add to the rolls of our imaginary protective menagerie - there's Nogard the Dream Dragon who gobbles up bad dreams, snap, snap (some day I hope to publish that one) and there's Snortimer the Monster Under the Bed (with apologies to Pierce Anthony) who grabs anything that tries to get to Bird in the night and mashes it to a pulp. Now, it seems, it's time for Mib, the alien hunter who will watch over him while he sleeps and be mum's proxy for stomping aliens into the dirt if they try to get him (when he was smaller, he would say "Goodnight, mommy, and remember don't let any monsters or aliens get me" to which I would reply "I'll stomp them into the dirt if they try." How quickly mum isn't enough any more). For tonight, though, it seems that the ceiling fan will do - he informed T that if the fan was on, he (Bird) would be safe. Aren't their little minds fascinating?
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