Seth has got his life all figured out. He’s not quite four yet.

Apparently, he’s a planner. Unlike Marc and me. I’m 33 and I STILL don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

Since Seth was around 2 1/2, he’s set his sights on becoming a doctor and a daddy someday.

He recently informed me that he wants to have eight children — all boys. He even has their names all picked out. They are: Hunter, Logan (like his two cousins) Mitchell, Jacob, Austin, Tanner, Michael (like his friends) and Seth (because apparently, he wants a jr).

I told him I don’t know if he’ll be able to find a woman crazy enough to agree to that sort of madness. The poor woman would spend most of her time pregnant, recovering from being pregnant or on her knees trying to wipe up all of the pee that missed the toilet but hit the walls, vanity and anything else. (Shudder)

So I’m teaching him how to sort laundry these days, feed the dog as well as pick up his room and clean up after himself. Because in 20-something more years, if he still wants eight children he’s going to need a high paying job and some serious housekeeping skills so some poor, poor woman doesn’t lose her mind.