How could i.

Max stood in a storm of emotion, a curly haired little one-and-a-half-year-old isle in the midst of the seas of frustration and fury. Wimpering and glowering at the same time, fists balled up. It’s amazing how one develops an ability to create such displays at this stage in life. The boy was furious. I was standing between him and happiness. I was standing between him and his beloved. My paper shredder. He’s seen me put papers, CDs, even plastic cards from time to time in there and he wanted his turn. The device had been returned to its proper place, plug pulled. Love had evaded his grasp once again. An exact replica of his father’s eyebrows angled,  met and demanded to know how anyone could possibly deprive him. Of the glee that only comes from creating mass destruction with wild abandon.