There is a little pixie in our house who likes to move things about.
Each day I tidy a different room in the house and before I know it all the drawers are open, their contents on the floor and things are not quite where I left them.
Shoes are lost without their pairs found days later lodged underneath the lounge.
Contents of the recycling bin strewn willy nilly in the linen cupboard.
Apples in our beds.
Undies in the kitchen.
Spoons and forks dispensed with abandon in the spare room.
But I know it's not a pixie. I know who the wily culprit is.
It's a little girl. A Small One.
I've seen her at it.
She attempts to lift things she hasn't a hope of lifting.
Data projectors, gas bottles, bricks.
She grabs onto precious bits of rubbish and will not let them
out of her steely one-year-old grip till they are placed in the
exact location she intends them to be placed.
To attempt is to submit yourself to a good deal of crossness.
A squeal and quite possibly a bottom plonk and head throw back manoeuvre.
It's quite a sight to behold.
But do we stop this little pixie from her cheeky game?
No of course not! It's far too cute.