Every couple of weeks, after their baths, I sit the boys down and de-claw them. They get planted on the vanity's bench, facing out, and I sit on the floor in front of them, turned around and with each leg in turn clamped under my arm. You have to do this or when you go at their toe nails -- attached to their inevitably ticklish feet -- you'll get kicked in the face. Trust me.

This position leaves them looking down at the back of my head.

"Daddy?" Mikey said the other night. "Why can I see skin under your hair?"

"What?" I said.

"He's going blonde," Tom said.

"Blonde?"

"Like Lex Luthor," Tom said.