Herding cats and Mia

I had a couple of days this week to herd the baby and I don't say "herd" lightly.
Mia is an adorable almost-2-year-old with white-blonde hair, big blue eyes and an engaging grin.
She's as sweet as can be but related to a tornado.
Her big sisters have always been full of fun and energy and Mia seems determined to outshine them on the enthusiasm scale.
Where she could walk, she runs.
Where she could sit, she spins.
Where she could pull, she yanks.
If it's not locked up and hidden deeply away, she can get it, whatever it is.
I've been amazed at how high she can climb, how fast she can move.
And I know 2-year-olds are busy. No surprise there. 
But this kid.
I tried to play ball with her the other day in the driveway.
It was her idea. I just went out to get in the car when Mia saw the basketballs and took off running for one.
She picked it up, dropped it and ran after it, falling to her knees several times on the garage floor. She kicked it like a soccer player and when it rolled into the road, she tried to get it.
No amount of persuasion would stop her from running into the road after it.
I grabbed her hand.
She pulled away.
I tried to pick her up.
She kicked and went limp so she'd slide out of my arms.
I finally had to haul her kicking and screaming back into the house.
Later we tried just taking a walk. (This was after she climbed out of the moving wagon when I tried to give her a ride.) I took the outside lane and tried to keep her safely in on the sidewalk.
She listed to the right to the road.
I grabbed her hand.
She pulled away.
I tried to pick her up.
She kicked and went limp so she'd slide out of my arms.
I finally hauled her kicking and whirling back into the house.
Later, when her mom came to pick her up, I was telling her my stories. (Kari was NOT surprised)
Mia was putting her sippy cup up on the edge of the sink.
That's when we both saw an odd sight, a full-length, sharp, serrated, kitchen knife moving along as though disembodied above the counter as the child ran behind.
Kari moved with motherly speed and caught the knife before Mia could cut herself or anyone else so all ended well.
But this morning I'm moving the knives up to where even I can't reach them. The attic maybe?