Chop Chop

Grady is getting the snipperoo tomorrow.  I am hoping that perhaps this will calm him down. It probably won't, but as one astute friend pointed out, at least he'll take a day off from the sock-eating. The reign of terror he unleashed last night was fairly epic. When you have to pay your kid five bucks to keep the dog from attacking two-year olds so you can drink wine with your friends in peace, it's pretty bad. He's not purposefully dangerous but he's a freaking idiot. Please, dear Lord, let it be the testosterone coursing through his young body causing him to be so terrible. There is enough of that stuff around here already. Regardless, tomorrow is the day. Jack, being a young buck himself, is feeling rather sympathetic towards Grady and the fate that awaits his balls. Jack: "Mom, do we have to get Grady's nuts chopped off?" Me: "Well, we're not getting his nuts 'chopped off' per se." Brief explanation of procedure ensues. Like I know. I made stuff up. Jack: "Why do we have to do ANYTHING?" Me: "'Cause it's not fair to him to let him keep 'em." Jack: "WHY?" Me: "Frankly, because if he keeps 'em he'll be pretty much driven crazy by wanting to get with the ladies".  Jack: "Heh, heh, heh......".  And so it begins. God.