By eight thirty this morning, I'd found Maxwell sitting on the kitchen counter shoveling in a plate of cookies. By eight thirty-five, I'd had to pull Max away from the counter five times and my arms were covered with hot, sticky, baby boy tears and my ears were ringing from the word "Cookie!". By nine am, I had to wipe down his baby hands vigorously because he'd decided that drawing designs in foamy window soap was amazingly fun. By nine-fifteen, I had to stop my little bear from hitting the dog with the broom. At nine-twenty, I watched him carry a full-sized mop onto the patio I was spring cleaning because he, too, wanted to join the cleaning party. By ten, I heard him run onto the porch, followed him out, and saw this:
A naked baby booty perched on top of two stacked chairs.
After this (hilarious) episode, followed by some serious corner time for smacking his mama (read: me) in the face with not one but two Lightning McQueen cars, we snuggled up on the couch, watched Curious George and ate frozen corn, cheese, and homemade bread. And all was good for three minutes... until I started to clean the kitchen chairs and Maxwell took a page from George's book and tried to climb to the very top of the kitchen table.
Needless to say, it's nap time.