I awoke a little while ago to a loud crashing sound. I jolted immediately awake and saw my son standing on his father's nightstand, wedged behind the blinds and looking incredibly guilty. This is something he has been told not to do many times for this very reason. In the process of getting himself wedged behind the miniblinds he knocked his father's lamp (the only light source in the room besides my lava lamp, btw), off of the nightstand and broke it, thereby putting an end to my erroneous assumption that metal things are unbreakable.

The finial is broken and the lampshade completely popped off. On the way down the breaking of the finial led to the popped off pieces of metal that used to hold the lampshade in place gouging the hell out of the lampshade. The part that holds the light bulb is also broken and hanging at an angle that I know from experience (re: the breaking of the downstairs lamp), can not be repaired. This thing has officially gone to the great light source beyond.

Monty Python Moment:

It lights no more.

It has ceased to be.

It is, in fact, an ex lamp.

It's pinin' for the fjords.

On Monday I relocated all of our VHS, DVD and CD collection downstairs and set up the kids' toy box in the living room since I have insufficient means of keeping them from breaking things back here, thinking I had taken the last of the breakables out of their reach. It seems like Trentimus is on some kind of a rampage here. He's been destroying things left and right for days.

If I'm not mistaken, this is the way Steve Irwin's dad said Steve was when he was little. I believe the exact term he used to describe him was terror.

Touche.

Does this mean that Trentimus (his Gladiator name), is going to eventually wrestle crocodiles and other dangerous reptiles for a living?

Hmmmmmmmmmm...

I'll be okay with that if he'll give up wrestling inanimate objects in my house first.