Seven of Nine

No one was particularly concerned when Gloria's exact whereabouts were unknown in the latter part of this unusually bucolic afternoon. Mom was in the living room with Krassi, Mira, and the other girls. Grandma was reading on the couch and Dad was in the kitchen working on pears with Bobbi. Owen was at the computer, and Reuben was in the cozy chair where he's been camping out during his wakeful hours lately. We all knew she was just floating back and forth between the kitchen and living room, and generally content as is usual for her.

Then Mom went into the kitchen to check on Dad, and upon leaving, saw some...thing crawl out from under the dining room table where Bobbi was working.

The photo above is what we found crawling out.

There is a certain freedom to being the seventh (and youngest) of nine children. That sort of freedom that comes from being nineteen months old, and thus old enough to get the pantry cupboard open if one of the big people leaves the magnetic key on, and yet still young enough that when you grab the peanut butter jar under Daddy's watchful eye, he doesn't really think you know how to open it. It's the freedom of living in the kind of house where sitting under the dining room table is perfectly acceptable, so you are, indeed, safely within the purview of your doting parents and siblings - right in the middle of the action - and yet just concealed enough that you can unscrew that lid (which, yes, you DO know how to do just fine, Daddy!) and dig in. You're of course too short to reach a spoon, but that's okay because we all know that fingers work just fine.

I love that she had taken the time to screw the cover back on before climbing out, the conscientious little girl! And once, while I was showing her off to all appreciative parties before beginning the clean up, she unscrewed the lid, grabbed out another handful of peanut butter, and promptly replaced the lid before enjoying her reward.