A Million Little Pieces
Summer is upon us, and it's time to be footloose and fancy-free. By footloose, I of course mean "loose of shoes."
Barefoot is the way to be when it's summertime and the livin' is easy. At least that's the way the kids prefer it, even after our youngest stepped on something—possibly the rusty stump of a former fencepost, we're not sure—while playing hide and seek in the further reaches of our small yard. (The prescription for oral antibiotics that the doctor wrote us "just in case" was blown to Timbuktu in Friday's strong winds, but that's another blog post.)
Anyway, I'm known to run around unshod myself some of the time, but I'll tell you what...it's much safer to do so OUTSIDE these days than IN. Because since the tidal wave of two kids' birthdays in eight days hit our house, you need to step with extreme caution around here. Now that he's five, our eldest has graduated to regular Legos, no longer as interested in their easier-to-spot Duplo siblings. There are Playmobil figures and accessories to contend with, too. The crazy Germans that design those things must breed their children to be extremely organized from birth, because I haven't yet found in one of the sets the one accessory I'd find most useful—a tweezers to pluck embedded wrist cuffs or tiny swords from the soles of my feet.
The situation is a bit better with our now three-year-old's stuff. There's no risk of tetanus from a puncture wound inflicted by a puzzle piece or a Little People Person. However, given that those Little People have evolved into beefy, unswallowable beings, there is the chance you'll turn an ankle if you're not watching your step.
Like I've always said after Christmas, it takes me a week to assimilate new inventory into our collection. That leaves me three more days to find homes for our million little pieces.
Barefoot is the way to be when it's summertime and the livin' is easy. At least that's the way the kids prefer it, even after our youngest stepped on something—possibly the rusty stump of a former fencepost, we're not sure—while playing hide and seek in the further reaches of our small yard. (The prescription for oral antibiotics that the doctor wrote us "just in case" was blown to Timbuktu in Friday's strong winds, but that's another blog post.)
Anyway, I'm known to run around unshod myself some of the time, but I'll tell you what...it's much safer to do so OUTSIDE these days than IN. Because since the tidal wave of two kids' birthdays in eight days hit our house, you need to step with extreme caution around here. Now that he's five, our eldest has graduated to regular Legos, no longer as interested in their easier-to-spot Duplo siblings. There are Playmobil figures and accessories to contend with, too. The crazy Germans that design those things must breed their children to be extremely organized from birth, because I haven't yet found in one of the sets the one accessory I'd find most useful—a tweezers to pluck embedded wrist cuffs or tiny swords from the soles of my feet.
The situation is a bit better with our now three-year-old's stuff. There's no risk of tetanus from a puncture wound inflicted by a puzzle piece or a Little People Person. However, given that those Little People have evolved into beefy, unswallowable beings, there is the chance you'll turn an ankle if you're not watching your step.
Like I've always said after Christmas, it takes me a week to assimilate new inventory into our collection. That leaves me three more days to find homes for our million little pieces.
posted by Lisa Strandberg at 6:38 AM
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