Basket?

As I staggered toward the stairs beneath another heaping load of laundry, I spied my laundry basket hanging out in the living room (serving as a matchbox car garage, I believe.) I freed one hand and pointed. "Jed, will you bring mommy's basket downstairs?" Jed chirruped and zoomed headlong about the room. I rolled my eyes, set down my load, grabbed the basket and threw it on top and continued weaving my way toward the basement.

Once downstairs, I started the usual loading/unloading ritual. I hollered for Jed, as he is a VERY big "warsh-musheen" fan, but he didn't appear for his usual shove into the dryer job.

A few moments later, I heard an object bounce down the stairs and land behind me, then a shout of gleeful victory from above. I turned around to find... my wicker diaper-change basket. And at the top of the stairs a red-cheeked, grinning kid looking enormously proud of himself. He'd found the diaper basket, stacked with freshly washed and stuffed diapers, wipes, and accouterments, thrown the contents around the living room and tossed the basket down the stairs.

He'd brought mommy her basket.

What a sweet helper boy.