Moving Part 1: Packing

Will someone ask my mom to stop talking on the phone, typing at the computer, and packing boxes so she can spend time with me? I've tried clinging to her legs, banging and yelling at the gate by the computer, and unpacking any open box I can reach. It's not working.

Today, Mom has been trying to pack a big, plastic box with stuff from a closet in the hallway. The box is sitting on the floor, so I can reach right in and grab whatever I want, unless it's too heavy for me, of course.  I don't think you have to ask if I unpacked everything I possibly could. Mom re-packed the iron for the ironing board five times before I was done playing with it.

I finally got bored with pulling things out of the box and went to play with my own toys.

That made Mom happy because it meant I was out of the way. Although, she felt bad because she couldn't join me.

Mom checked on me after a few minutes to see how I was doing, and found me in this position.

I'm so exhausted from her packing that I crashed, right there on the carpet, in the middle of playing.

I don't really like this whole moving thing. It's too tiring and takes too much time.