Stepping on Legos is the worst pain. We all know that. But I'm here to confirm it again. This teeny weeny thing is a teeny weeny knight's shield. The pain was not teeny weeny. I could have birthed a pumpkin with less pain.
It’s probably been a year and a half since I wrote about Legos, but they bear repeating. Er, talking about the pain from stepping on them does. The only thing that comes close to that pain is stepping on a Barbie shoe. Or I suppose a fire ant. But I don’t happen to have a fire ant mound in my living room.
Ryan recently turned 13, and Timotheus is 9. I guess in some ways they’re getting to be more responsible. Most mornings, Ryan gets himself up to go to school, and Timmy sometimes does. But both of them immediately wash up a little, get dressed, including shoes on, and then make sure their backpacks are ready. It’s pretty impressive.
And that increased responsibility in them has extended somewhat to their belongings, their toys. But it stops just short of the Lego box. They’re still on the floor; in, on, and under the couch; in corners of the kitchen and hallways. You know, in every nook and cranny like an English muffin.
I have to admit, it’s not quite as *many* Legos that are all over. Two years ago it usually looked like a Lego factory exploded in the house on any given day. But still, as much as the boys have gained in maturity and all, Legos are still where they shouldn’t be.
And this morning when I went to let one of the Baker’s Dozen out the front door, I was assaulted by that teeny weeny knight’s shield. And was just about brought to my knees from the pain. Geez louise, I gave birth three times and was never on my knees from the pain. Well, actually, the nurses wouldn’t let me get off the bed in the birthing room, but let’s not get technical. ;)
I’m just here to make an official statement today that Legos HURT! There. Now you all know that earth-shattering news and can carry on. Have a nice day!