My son, Tolkien, has recently mastered the ability to stand. This had opened up whole new avenues of destruction. Keep in mind that at ten months he trained the dog to lay down adjacent to things he wanted to climb, at eleven months he opened the baby gate, and at twelve months he discovered how to eat Mama’s carefully written thank you notes that were supposed to be sent to people who gave him birthday presents. I am, of course, very proud of his mischievous side as it is proof that he is indeed related to me and is not just a clone of his father, as so many have hypothesized. He has the hair and vocabulary of a two-year-old and all the charm of a politician. And yet I am frequently shocked that he is still a baby.