Bunnies WILL get into stuff these days.
Okay, not just these days. Most days. Since they found their legs could move their bodies from place to place. Sha-ZAM!!
For instance, at 10 months, Lamb was already into things. By the way, I still can’t believe I managed that week of youth camp using nappies. I’m not talking about those modern, fancy cloth diapers either. NAPPIES! Give me a medal.
He butt-scooted for a few weeks, and went from standing to running in just a week.
All this, when his older sister, Puppy, was busy finding creative ways of How to Keep Mama On Edge. Did she think my hairbrush was too hot in our tropical heat?
Things do get found in odd places.
Yes, that IS underwear.
And no, it ISN’T mine. I’m not kooky that way.
But back to my point. What? Oh yeah… Bunnies will get into things. It sometimes takes a toll on my mental faculties and makes me want to pluck out my eyelashes using an eyebrow trimmer. One. By. One.
But, as my Sweet Man reminds me, I get what I ask for! Allow them the freedom to explore, and they prove themselves extremely capable.
Who do you think thought he or she could start using my wok?
I’m rather relaxed when it comes to allowing them in my kitchen.
Actually, I pretend I’m relaxed. I keep a hawk’s eye on them at all times. And slice my finger every now and then.
It’s safer for me to let them into the kitchen than keep them out, where I can’t see what they’re doing. (Safe for me? See previous paragraph.) Oh, did I say the neighbours think I’ve got a muscular problem? I keep twisting my head around to check on them. (Unfortunately my sink faces the window. I hung up a mirror once, but it was too small.)
But all the glass is safely in wall-mounted cupboards. And every conceivable sharp device is well out of reach, so they’re safe.
And we do get some Math done. Like how many extra spoons we’ll need if Grandma comes for dinner. And how many pots are in my cupboard. (You can count them as you put them back, my dears. I ain’t lifting a finger.)
And learn how to fry some eggs.
And why frying is less healthy than steaming or grilling.
And feel the rough, round tops of broccoli, compared to their smooth stems.
And close your eyes and guess: Did I put rock salt in your mouth or black pepper? Is it rice in the jar, or barley?
And help me lay the table. (You guys know where everything is, thank you very much.)
Who needs contrived sorting games, or sensory activities, or flashcards of vegetables?
I love me Munchkins! Keep getting into my stuff! OUR stuff.
But not my secret drawer, where I stash chocolate to calm my nerves and, you know, uh-hums.