The only time he is ever still:

So I think this is why people have more than one kid. I forgot how much freaking fun it is to have a baby around the house. He’s impossible to bore, impossible to tire, impossible to over-snuggle or over-spoil. Riot squirrels himself into a frenzy over a bubble envelope. He divebombs Puck from the top of the couch. He tries to crawl into my shoeswhile I’m still wearing them and he shreds newspapers for amusement. Did I mention he does it before we’re done reading? He’s always ready to play, to bat at jingle balls with his fat little wee feet, to go on a new adventure, usually inside someplace we don’t want him to be, like the kitchen, or the closets, or my briefcase, or a plant.

This week’s big news was that he met this weird little robot-ferret thing my sister gave us for Christmas a few years back. None of our furballs have ever paid the thing much mind, but Riot was mightily offended by it: What is this artificial robo-weasel? What is this horrible noise it makes? Why is it refusing to go where I tell it to go? I was laughing too hard to hold the camera straight, and I apologize for any Blair Witch effects you may suffer:

Puck continues to do well with his new bro, even permitting (grudgingly) Riot to cuddle him in his sleep.

A.