Packing Peanut

Call me Mother of the Year.

It's been an interesting few weeks. Boomer and I made the monumental decision to buy a new, bigger house and then caused heart failure (mine) by telling the sellers we'd take possession at the end of the month. Thus, we've been buried in boxes. Thankfully, we have a Wonder Toddler who wants to do nothing but "help".

I hadn't realized just what moving with Peanut would look like. For some reason, I figured he'd be curious but far more interested in trains, Doggy Luke, and a shameless chance to spend more time with grandparents. Reality has slapped me upside the head with its sippy cup. Or was that Peanut? Not sure. At any rate, Peanut feels that no box should be packed without his supervision and approval. This makes packing the kitchen way more complicated. Peanut has also discovered the joys of investigating said boxes thoroughly. Suffice it to say that he was playing with Nana and Papa when various toys and books were packed. No way was I fighting that with him around.

Now that packing's nearly done, I've run into another problem today. Peanut would like to play with his trains. I currently have them blocked off with boxes, about to pack them as well. I'm currently trying to explain that the trains are on vacation. No luck. I'm trusting to nice weather for the next week and hoping to wear him out with the one-two combo of park time and playing with Doggy. Only a week left. Then we can explain why his room has moved. I'm leaning toward the use of magic. Wish me luck.

Call me Mother of the Year.