I've spent a rather tame morning tidying the house and reading to my son. The baby went down for an early nap, so I was essentially down to one sick, but passive kid. Wooo! I had big plans - I was going to tackle my bedroom closet and the linen closet!

But then, "Mama! Up! Mama! Down! Mama! Hokey-Pokey!" (I'm kidding about the hokey-pokey part)
Hark! The Baby! I pulled her out of the crib, and set her up to eat some yogurt (fingerpaint with yogurt, and also possibly condition her hair and give herself a strawberry flavored facial) while I used the swiffer wet-jet on the bathroom floors.

Why? Why do I even keep trying with that thing? La la la, smear smear smear *high pitched squealing noise* la la la. Yes, yes. I've managed to redistribute the dirt much more evenly. I have to say the rrrrrrip! noise the velcro stuff makes when you are peeling off the nasty-pad IS satisfying.

This took me like one minute in each bathroom. I spun on my heels heading for our entryway, to smear some dirt there, and saw a tiny purple bottom and two chubby legs hanging out of the pantry. Uh-oh.

"Get out of there, honey!" I seize her by the legs and begin to haul her out. Her entire torso is deep within the recesses of the closet.
As she emerges, she is clutching an ancient, open bag of Cheetos. This bag is a left-over from one of the boxed lunches my husband's workplace provides when they have a working lunch with clients. Because grown men and women SHOULD be eating cheetos while working on engineering specs and sales figures.

In any case, it's stale. I make a move to snatch the bag, but in a move that proves without a doubt that my child is made of rubber, she rotates out of my grasp and, giggling like a maniac, gallops down the hall with her distinctive half-bounding, half-stumbling gait.

"Oh no you don't!" I head off in hot pursuit. She squeals with glee and accelerates towards the big kids' room. It's a sharp left, and she took it with her upper body leaning, hopping on one leg. It was so Three Stooges that I expected a "Nyuk nyuk nyuk!"

I make another grab, and connect with the wrapper, which promptly splits in two, showering the hallway with little orange turds.

The baby drops to her hands and knees and immediately starts collecting Cheetos. Rushing to the living room, I grab the vacuum and head to the scene. The baby starts howling. "Noooooo! Cheetooooooos! No mama no mama no!"

She's frantically trying to scoop all the stale, nasty pieces off the carpet and into her mouth. I pick her up and deposit her in the living room so that I can vacuum. In a minute's time, the mess is eradicated.

As soon as I switched the vacuum off, the baby rushed up and embraced the see-through dirt catcher. "No. No. Cheetoooooos. Mama, oh no! Oh NOOOO!"

She was quite distraught, but I was able to calm her with some string cheese and apple juice, while I emptied the vacuum into the outside trashcan.