Can't help lovin' that Joe of mine

When Lil Joe arrived home from his grandparents' house, he was very tired. He had just fallen asleep in the car a few minutes earlier and he barely spoke a word as I removed him shoes and socks and tucked him snugly into bed with a hug, kiss and zrrbrt (his nightly routine). Imagine my surprise when I heard the TV on in the living room a few minutes later, and saw Lil Joe on the couch with the remote. I turned off the television, removed the device from his grip, and scooped him up. He protested as I carried him back down the hall back to bed, but climbed in obediently to receive another round of "good night" while Hubby brought my laundry up from the basement to be folded, leaving it in a pile on the couch. As I was in my room hanging some clothes in the closet, I heard noises from the living room. I approached to see Lil Joe in all his glory, remote in hand. My laundry was in less glory, spread all over the floor. I didn't know whether to yell or laugh (both of which are pretty painful anyway, with the sore throat and sinus infection and such). I scolded him for dumping the clothes, and he parrotted my words and tone, as three year olds like to do. I stalked down the stairs to blow off some steam, since laughing at him would only encourage the behavior that had me so conflicted. When I came back up, the laundry was still spread all over the floor, but Lil Joe was no longer on the couch. He was, instead, sprawled on the pile clothes, chin in hand, grinning at me. "Lil Joe! That is not funny!" I said. "Is not funny!" he repeated in a stern tone. Then he giggled. "NO. I am very angry at you!" "I angry at you," he said with a scowl. And I had to walk away so I would not laugh. "Mama, where you going?" he asked, as I headed for the stairs. "I need to go away from you for a minute," I replied. When I returned a few moments later, my giggles having subsided, Lil Joe met me at the top of the steps. "I fixed it, Mama," he said. "Fixed what?" I asked. "The waundry." And indeed he had. All of my clothes were back on the couch, as they had been before his appropriation of the space. Except now they were covered in dog hair, and the couch probably was as well. But seriously, how can anyone look at this chubby little face and be angry?