and Max is just three . . .
I pass him in the kitchen and he's running with his shirt pulled up and tucked beneath his chin. One hand is twirling a metal pipe tool thingy of his daddy's while the other is pulling down the front of his briefs - just enough to let you-know-who peek out - way out. He's running to the bathroom and he's singing loudly . . .
Cinlerela, Cinlerelaaaaa! (Cinderella)
I feel a little dread - but I'm trying not to linger on it y'all, I'm trying really hard - at least he's running to the bathroom.
