Phoenix

So Phoenix is turning 6 on Sunday.
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, to YOU, YOU, YOU!
Let us take this moment to give praise to the one and only master of destruction and chaos known to his intimates as Phoenix.
I have to admit he has calmed down quite a lot in the breaking things department.
REMEMBER THE GOOD TIMES............
We are at Wells Fargo and while standing in line Phoenix takes apart a counter with a light in it and is handing us the pieces. The bank teller asks if he has any tools. No, of course I wouldn't arm him with tools. He does, however have a small stuffed bear. Does that count?
We are at Albertson's picking out a coloring book and he takes the screws out of the display rack and hands you a two foot fluorescent light bulb. Again, does he have any tools? No. He just naturally senses the structural weaknesses in any object and exploits them to cause the most fun.
Phoenix spilling milk in the carpet and rather than admit it to me covers it up until the rotten smell draws me to the spot with every cleaning chemical and disinfectant known to modern man.
Phoenix peeling a huge hole in the paint next to his bed and hiding the pieces under Kale's bed, "Oh, Mom won't notice that two foot circle of bare wall," and then blaming Kale for it. If it's under his bed then he must have been the one. Even though we all know Phoenix had a compulsive need to pick at things. Amoo and I have numerous bloody spots on our feet where he gets a little carried away picking at the dead skin. If you say "ouch" and tell him to stop he does, for about three seconds, and then starts digging even harder than before.
Phoenix takeing a permanent red marker attached to a string and spining it round so violently that it sprays on the freshly painted living room walls.
Phoenix throwing all of his, and his brother's, toys on the roof and said it happened in a dream. He has no idea how any of that got up there.
Phoenix taking the full bottle of Windex and spraying the entire kitchen, without wiping any up, until he and his giggling brother can't stand up strait on the very slippery floor.
Phoenix singing... I mean WOW!
If you have ever heard that boy sing you truly know what the term anguish means. It's so cute that I don't have the heart to tell him how bad it sounds. And it is bad.
You can tell he's my son because I can't sing either. But we both seem to get pleasure out of belting out a tune, no matter how off key or off tempo we are.
Anyway...
He has learned to stop doing those things that get him in the most trouble, for the most part.
He does, however, seem to think he is much more intelligent than I am, and feels no qualms about telling me how stupid I am.
This usually happens when he's lost something and I tell him where it is. It doesn't matter if the lost item was actually where I said it was, I'm still stupid for putting it there. Because you know, I love to wear his Spiderman crocks and I just can't get enough of playing with his Bakugan.
He is a pain in the ass sometimes, but he's my pain in the ass and I love him.
A lot!
Later