Some of you may be unaware that our family is moving (we are going to buy a house less than a mile away, but in the meanwhile we'll stay at my parents'). The exciting, horrific, draining adventure of moving began last Monday, when I began filling boxes and sorting through all of our 'stuff'. Mary and Russell are both such dears to be patient with a tired and stressed mom, and the other night was no different. They were content to play in their disorganized and untidy play room while mom began digging and sorting through their clothes in a bedroom closet down the hall. Horay! I was getting a lot done and in the process lost track of time. After noticing that the house was a bit too quiet, I went to the play room. Mary was still there, tending to her Baby Dumbo (as always). But where was Russell? I checked the back rooms, no Russell. I checked the bathrooms, no Russell. I checked the front room, the kitchen, no Russell. Where on earth did he go?? I went all through the house again, calling for him. Then as I headed back into the kitchen it dawned on me that I didn't check the pantry. I turned the corner and...
Hey, what could I say? The tubs were accessable, he was quiet as a mouse playing independently, and who can resist the textile combination of mom's white flour, wheat flour, and sugar? Just too tempting for a one year old. Mary exclaimed, "Wrussell! What will we a do with you??" After seeing that mom wasn't mad, Mary decided she would 'help' him clean up aka take advantage of little brother's mess and dig in, too.
I figured the mess was made and what's done is done; the kids were happy, I was able to finish a bit of packing, and I was too tired and it was getting too late to do anything about the mess, anyway. So I finished up packing, Russell found that flour makes great snow drifts for trains, and the floor slept that night with a blanket of flour.
