In case you're wondering where Luke went....

We've decided to send him to military school. Sure, he's only 2 and a half, but something has to be done with this kid. Here are the immediate events that have necessitated such a bold move:

• Friday, 3/13: took a pen to our newly-painted walls.
  
• Tuesday, 3/17: scooped his yogurt out of the bowl and rubbed it all over the picture window.
• Wednesday, 3/18: poured an entire (full!) bottle of doggie shampoo all over my ottomans and my new area rug. (FYI, soap is a bitch to get out of shag carpet.)
• Daily: throws everything out of the toy box in search of his Batman costume, which is sitting two feet over from him on the floor.
• Monday, 3/23: poop. lots of poop, out his diaper and smeared on his leg. (This occurred while his Grandpa was babysitting, by the way, but since he insisted to Grandpa that he didn't need a new diaper, Grandpa ignored it, and I got the pleasure of cleaning it when I got home.)
  
• Monday, 3/23: upon seeing the bowl of gourmet chili at his chair for dinner, he said, "Ooooh yuck, that's disgusting." He then walked away.
  
• Tuesday, 3/24: found a jar of green paint, scooped it out with his fingers and started smearing it all over the (newly-painted) wall in the office. I yelled at him, took it away, and cleaned up his hands. Then I returned to the office, only to discover that he had already smeared the paint all over the arm of our light yellow couch. And we're not talking about crayola washable paint here -- we're talking about the paint included in the rock painting kit a friend got the boys for Christmas, which was being stored in the office closet. Thank you, Harrison family.
• Later on Tuesday, 3/24: took a pen and wrote ALL OVER the very same yellow couch. ALL OVER IT. Dozens and dozens of 6-in. to one-foot long lines, everywhere. Sure, we could flip the cushions, but the other sides are already stained from a couple of years of dripped pizza grease from our days sitting on our asses eating take out in Brooklyn.
• Every time we get in the car: "Rock Star song!" "RRRRROOOCCCCKKK SSSSTTTAAARRR SSSOOONNNGGGGGGGG!!!" Loud, incessant shrilly screams insisting on listening to Weezer sing "I'm a Troublemaker" over and over and over again. And as my brother pointed out, the song consists ENTIRELY of two guitar chords, making repeated airings feel like Chinese water torture (or what I imagine that would feel like). We have to alternate between the "Rock Star Song" and a song with a man singing about what he finds in his belly button.

Let this be a warning to all of you out there with a "second child." Never, ever underestimate them. Don't think that just because your eldest didn't do something, that his/her younger sibling won't do it. This may be especially true for younger brothers (Jeff, Anna -- thoughts?). You think they've reached some independence and that you have leave them alone to entertain themselves for a while, but this is a fatal mistake. You must never take your eyes off them, even for a second. They can be destructive little monsters, wreaking havoc everywhere they go. And whatever you do, stay strong when they come to you, crawl on your lap, and say "I love you so much Mommy." They're just setting you up.