Thursday, June 14, 2012

Streaker.

photo-54

Today has been one of those days that starts out really good and then just slowly spirals downward. They've been painting our building this week and my-freakin-soul they could not do it slower. The door to our porch was taped off for three days, then they untaped it but painted something else. Then something else. After five days, we thought they were finally finished and Max and Napoleon went back to their always-outside routine with complete bliss.

And then!

After reading books outside this morning, a man climbed up the bannisters and painted the freakin' floor. The floor! I mean, it looks 500 times better but with a toddler and a puppy, I had to bite my tongue to start from swearing up a storm as soon as I saw his hand on the railing. I needed to work badly, so it ended up being a day where Max dumped three glasses of water on the floor, a bag of popcorn on the floor, didn't nap well, and watched like five episodes of Dinosaur Train (I hate Dinosaur Train). Granted, we had our good moments and laughed with each other and played with his blue tunnel and his trucks and we jumped on the couch cushions he'd pulled on the floor while holding hands and he was perfectly content stacking his blocks for a full thirty minutes. Mostly, though, it was chaos.

But then!

As I tried to give myself one more pep talk about my edits, I heard a scream. The kind of scream Max makes when he has on a towel after his bath. I looked down next to my feet and there he was: a stark naked, twenty-three month old baby screaming, covering himself, and screaming again. He did this for at least ten minutes, running all over the apartment, and it was the funniest thing I have ever seen.

Toddlers. They are the best.