Busy Boy.

Philip has been driving us bonkers this week.  

If he's not climbing up on a table or a toilet or the piano, 

he's dragging a chair somewhere to reach something.

Here's what an average 5 minutes with Philip goes like:  He toddles into the kitchen and dumps out a box of cereal.  While somebody cleans it up, he goes over to the table and finds a drinking glass, then promptly dumps it all over himself and the floor.  Then while we're wiping that up, he goes into the living room and finds somebody's glasses or cell phone and hightails away with his booty.  We wrest his prize from his grip and put it somewhere safe, but by then he's found somebody's carelessly placed cup of coffee, and has taken a long draught, and also probably spilled it.  While we're putting the cup in the kitchen or wiping the spill, he goes into the bathroom to find some trouble there - the kitty litterbox, a toilet brush, etc.  Remove him from the bathroom and he heads for the cat food dish.  Then he pulls a log out of the wood ring.  Take that from him and he goes and empties a basket of toys.  While we're picking up the toys, he goes over and shakes the gate until it opens, and scurries up the stairs to repeat the process on the second floor.  He can smell an open gate or an open door.  Any unguarded chair allows him to get at an unsuspecting computer.  If somebody leaves the piano bench pulled out even a few inches, to him it's an opportunity.  My sewing table is an irresistible prize.

There couldn't possibly be enough naptimes in a day with him.  I am exhausted.

About to be mauled for my cup of coffee.

Victorious!  There were only a few drops left anyway.

But he got every last one of them.

New hiding place.

I wasn't exaggerating about the piano.

It's only a matter of time.

It's like a huge game to him, and he's winning.

But he's SO darn cute about it.

Ha!  I beat you to the table again, Mom!

Pausing to plan his next attack.

In this pose he reminds me so much of my maternal grandfather.