And...he IS my child.

It's obvious that this is Dennis' son. I mean, look at his hair color (although I will have you know that red hair must be on BOTH sides of the family for a child to end up with red - er, strawberry blond - hair).

As a kid, I was notorious for my pout. My uncle told me that I stuck my lower lip out so far that if a bird flew by, it would surely poop on my lip. That, fortunately, never happened. But it did make me think twice about pouting. Well, at least when birds were nearby.

Have you ever been pooped on by a bird? It's not fun. Not at all. I think that I've only been pooped on twice. OK, maybe three times, but that is the MAX. And by a bird ONLY...no other animals have dropped their flying-biscuits-of-love on me. I guess birds don't like me. Or maybe their excrement has a magnetic attraction to me. Either way, that magnetism must be waning because I haven't been pooped on in a few years. And, it only happened once on my head and twice on my arm.

Plus, it's completely normal to get pooped on by all types of animals. I'm sure that it's a totally normal occurrence. Books are probably written about it.

ANYWAY, Dennis says that I still make this face when I cry. If I do - - which, I'm NOT admitting to - - then we finally do have proof that he is, in fact, my son. The only other proof that would be considered valid is for us to go outside and see if he has the same luck with birds as I do.

We'll be outside all day long tomorrow.