"Santiago?" I call from the kitchen window.
"Yes, Mom?" he answers without turning around.
"What are you doing, Bubba?"
[uh-huh. the mischief maker's tell.]
"Santiago Gael, please tell me what you're up to," I insist.
[Slowly. He. Turns. Around.]
With a whimper, he struggles with his waistband, tugging and pulling, and getting visibly more frustrated by the second when suddenly he screams...
"I JUST CAN'T KEEP MY SWORD IN MY PANTS!!!!"
[No, no, no! This is NOT a sign of things to come!!!][And get your minds out of the gutter, people. He's only four! It was a real plastic sword he was trying to hook onto his belt loop, for crisakes!]