Off The Grid

This title is apt if we define "grid" as "piece of brown fleece I have thrown in the middle of my parents' living room floor."  So if you're all comfortable with that, we can proceed.

The rolling proceeds apace.*  I think that when I get home, it will be necessary to build some fences in the living room, because Margaret knows no bounds.  Just today, she repeatedly escaped the confines of the felt.**

First, she went off on a tear that was only halted when she ran into the entertainment center.

Then she struck out to have some conversation with the babies on the side of the diaper box.***

But decided that it would be better to remain in touch with the fleece.

Which, in her own particular understanding of the concept, means that she needed to eat it.

Though she soon decided that thumbs were Much Better Snacks.

And then later she decided to play her own game of suffocate the baby.*****

You've got to stay on your toes with the Margaret.

Particularly since she has expanded her toe-finding horizons to finding other people's toes and trying to eat them, which is a particularly unhygienic hobby.
*Or, if you prefer, aroll.

**Which isn't, you might notice, particularly confining, since she escapes it at will.

***This is apparently a family tradition, as her uncle Ron**** apparently used to talk to the baby on the Pampers box for hours.  There's something to be said for a captive audience.

****See note one of yesterday's post for disambiguation of the various Rons.

*****My mother suggests that we call this game "hide the baby," which is probably a good idea, and considering that I trained myself to call a certain seat her bouncy chair instead of her wobble bottom, I can probably bend my mind around this alteration in nomenclature.