This is my eight year old son Sam.
He's the kid that will probably get the 'most likely to be a entrepreneur' award when he finishes school. You may also recognise him as the one who tried to sell stale nuts to the neighbours.
He is the one I most fear being the parent of when the teenage years come knocking at my door.
Don't get me wrong, this kid has a heart bigger than China. His devoted love of animals is heartwarming and the way he genuinely cares about people and in particular the underdog, has made me punch the air many a time.
But he also has the most mischievous nature and can cause more chaos than a truck load of squirrels in a nut factory.
He had his bestie over for a sleep over on the weekend and as per usual they were up late working on more comic books for their stock pile to sell to - yep you guessed it, our long suffering neighbours.
At least that's what I thought they were doing.
When I heard money rustling I decided to investigate using my most trusty resource .... eavesdropping.
I heard some discussion about admission charges and discounts if you pre-book and pay ahead of time.
I then heard the thump thump thump of my youngest boy's feet as he raced to his bedroom to collect his money box.
Clearly he had decided to take advantage of the early bird fee.
Once I heard the sound of the door shutting again, I sent my husband to have a little look, with his camera of course and this is what he came back with.
I laughed it off - as you do - and went to bed.
Come morning I was woken by the sounds of music pumping and glasses clinking. There was also the familiar sound of little packets of chips opening. Reluctantly I threw back the covers and rose from my flannelette cocoon to go and check in on them.
When I took in the scene before me I honesty didn't know whether to laugh or cry or do some kind of weird combo of both.
I so wish I could show you a photo of his bedroom, but I have an agreement with Sam where I will not put photographs of his bedroom on my blog ... unless it is neat and he has full creative control. He says its just his thing and its kinda like the way aboriginals think it is bad luck to show photos of the deceased, he feels its bad luck to show his future girlfriends his messy bedroom.
I wasn't prepared for what was in that room.
What I found was utter mayhem.
They had hung tissue paper EVERYWHERE. There were chips and orange peel and clothes all over the floor and little piles of books and comic books on every available surface. And sitting in the middle of all the chaos were the boys, who were focused intently on what ever it was they were doing.
Closer inspection of what they were doing revealed this.
Apparently they were making their own wine for their party. They even had orange peel ready to mix in to give the wine a citrus flavour.
God help me.
I have only a few years to work out my strategies to deal with the teen phase.
I'm screwed aren't I?