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.