The other night before I went to bed I discovered this mess in my laundry room:
It has all the hallmarks of my sweet 18-month old daughter who loves to pull every single can off my pantry shelves. Though in all fairness it is very likely that Sophie had a co-conspirator or at least an accessory-after-the-fact. There is too much order in that chaos, too many like cans grouped with like, that betrays the skills of a more sophisticated three-year old who loves to arrange and categorize.
It’s a good thing you are such a cute nut or I might get a little crazy seeing you wear my plastic bin as a helmet:
I must also in the interest of full disclosure confess that I went to bed without cleaning up this disaster area. And that I woke to find it mostly picked up. By Bella, who—so her father told me—exclaimed over the mess and begged his help.