difficult child is so much like Dennis the Menace lately. This a.m. he brought a pkg of water balloons into the kitchen and asked me to help him. I, ever the fool, helped him fill one, under the condition that he take it outside. Sure, Mom. He walked all over the kitchen with-it, bumped it on the dogs' heads, put it on his own head, and finally sat at the table while I ate my cereal. He put it in his lap--and KABOOM!--water everywhere. There was a beach towel hanging on the back of his chair. I just said, "I knew that was going to happen. Use the beach towel," and walked away. I'm wondering if I'm still human because I really didn't care. Maybe this is a good thing?