I sat at the table sipping my coffee the other morning. The cats had just partaken of their morning treats, and Clem, the mischievous and slightly intoxicated chap photographed in my lap above, began his ritual of chasing the others. His teasing is nothing short of cruel, and I've taken to calling him "The Little Shit" (which he comes to just as readily as "Clem").

I snarled at him to cut it out from two rooms away. When I didn't hear the fighting subside, I hollered, "CLEM! I so mean it!" Brenda walked into the kitchen moments later with her makeup half-complete, holding a mascara wand loosely in her right hand.

"I so mean it?" she mocked. "You're going to make quite the little mother one day. I can just hear it now: 'Stop misbehaving—I so mean it!'" She thought a moment more, and giggled to herself. Knowing that Miles has an affinity for the laid back—and the tendency to ruin an entire day's schedule with tardiness—she continued, clearly enjoying the idea, "And you'll say, 'I'm going to let your father take of punishing you!' and he'll say, "Yeah, I'll be there in a minute.'" She continued to giggle to herself, and I saw scary glimpses into the future.