Wednesday, March 27, 2013

She is a clothes horse.

The other day, I had gotten Eleanor all tarted up for the outdoors and as we're headed down the stairs I see the bus pass by out the window. So we haul back upstairs and I take off her hat and coat and we settle in to wait 20 minutes only Eleanor thinks that if she can get her hat and coat back on, we can GO.

I know this, this is a hat.

It goes here?

And the coat, that is for arms.

But how do you get the arms IN?

And then later that day, I was organizing all her old baby clothes (I AM NOT PREGNANT NOR ATTEMPTING TO BECOME PREGNANT AT THIS TIME, ALRIGHT? I just...I had brought all her baby clothes home from BC because we had the car with us, and I wanted them to be in tidy bins rather than several ripping bags. Stop making assumptions) except when I say 'organizing' I mean 'watching this happen':

She kept sorting everything into piles, and then re-sorting, so I let her do it and I read a book.

And so went the afternoon.

1 comment:

Reading Rambo said...

There were no comments on this, so I wanted you to know it was enjoyed. BY ME.

/commenting on all your things