Parenting experts tell you to meet each pout over a "no, you can't do that" with a stern look and a firm stance. To be hardcore. And Heaven knows we have lots of reason to practice that philosophy in our house, what with the Most Mischievous Little Person on Earth living right here under our roof. Randy and I actually brew our own resolve in the attic -- great, huge vats of the stuff -- because if we were ever to run low on that potion (which I imagine would taste like cough syrup, if this weren't a metaphor), we are pretty certain MJ would dismantle everything we own in a matter of seconds.

Let's take, for example, last Thursday, a day that began with her spreading deodorant all over the canvas of one of Randy's grandfather's framed paintings. (Fortunately, the deodorant was "Little Black Dress approved," so it dried clear on the paint.) As he steered MJ toward her room to get dressed, Randy noticed she was behaving a little squirrely. He asked what (else) she had done, because we both know that our preschooler gets more tomfoolery accomplished before 8 a.m. than most people do all day. She guiltily pointed under his desk, where Randy found her sister's toothpaste and her toothbrush laying between the waste basket and a old computer circuit board. And, more importantly from my perspective, the place where Randy's grass-cutting tennis shoes often have come to rest.

They had a "chat" that ended in some revoked toy privileges and a lecture on the principle of not stealing other family members' items of personal hygiene (at least she didn't brush her teeth with my stick of Degree), and she went on her way through the rest of the day, leaving a trail of torn paper and Cars stickers and magical preschooler pixie dust wherever she went. I sometimes feel like the guy with the giant dustpan who follows the horses in the Christmas parade.

Still, even on her worst days, she manages to soften even the hardest core. On this day -- which ended a two-week period of destruction involving baby oil on our walls and diaper cream on objects that are incapable of getting rashes -- she made me smile in spite of her rambunctiousness, made me note on my calendar to "brew stronger resolve."

MJ: "Mommy," she said, "have to get Baby some new toothpaste."

Me: "Yeah?" I asked.

MJ: "Yeah," she confirmed. "she needs some more."

Me: "You took hers, didn't you?"

MJ: "Yeah."

Me: "Why?"

MJ: "Well, because I had to wash my teeth."

Me: "You did, huh?"

MJ: "Yeah, I had to get them clean. [pause] I didn't know what it taste like."

Me: "What did it taste like?"

MJ: "It taste like Frenchie."

Me: "Like what?"

MJ: "It taste like Frenchie."

Me: "Like what? Frenchie?"

(I actually had to ask her this five times, but trust me, the answer was the same each time.)

MJ: "Yeah. I like it."

Me: "You like it."

MJ: "Yeah," she said, with the earnestness of a monk. "I very very like it."

To paraphrase a neighbor: It's a good thing kids are cute, because if they weren't, sometimes it would be hard to very very like them so much.

Beth appears Tuesday on TriangleMom2Mom. Read more about Beth at her blog MotherBunker.