Today, when Andrew came home, Napoleon went a little crazy and we ended up chasing him outside for twenty minutes. I've still been a little sick (feeling much better though!), so to fully appreciate this, you should know that I was running around outside chasing a fluffy, curly haired, ten pound dog in thermal pajama bottoms with a t-shirt I've had since I was fifteen or sixteen. And to appreciate it even more, I should probably tell you that when Andrew victoriously brought the little emperor home, he had dog pee all over his pants.
I'm just going to put it out there:
Napoleon is crazy. He lives up to the name Napoleon Bonaparte religiously. I mean, he doesn't even walk. He prances and steals Max's pacifiers and tries to mark his territory on territories that aren't his own (read: our couch and our bed). He's terribly cute, though, so we can't help but love him.
Anyway, after Napoleon proved himself bonkers for the fifty-fifth time in the past five months, we all changed our clothes and set off for a little nature walk in the forest behind our building. And as soon as we stepped into that grove of trees, Max decided it was his turn to go crazy.
Yep. Our little Maximillian (happily) screamed so loud he stopped traffic and spent the next twenty minutes moving a pile of rocks from one side of the path to the other. What can I say? The little man loves to organize.
Do I need to mention he (sadly) screamed the whole way home?
Welcome to our Friday nights. They're not quite a Katy Perry song, but we love 'em just the same.