My oldest boy LOVES LEGO. I mean, really, really loves it. For Christmas he got several new LEGO sets, and he was in his glory just building, building, building. It brings me great joy (and wonder!) at how he is so skilled at reading the directions and making helicopters, trucks, cars, etc. with such ease.
The downside? There is always a piece of LEGO laying on the floor somewhere. I try to vacuum up the strays every once and a while, but nine times out of ten, there is at least one brick hiding - just waiting to stir up some trouble.
Last night, after a long day and heck of a time getting the kids to finally go to sleep, I discovered one of these rogue bricks. Hiding in the shag carpet. Biding its time - waiting to inflict pain and suffering. Quite honestly, I think I would rather go through childbirth again instead of stepping on a LEGO brick. But I fooled it. I spotted it before it could become a weapon in the war against my feet. Yes! Score one for the Momma!
As I excitedly stepped forward to pick up that little sucker I learned a very hard lesson. It was a decoy. Under my broken toe (story for another day) lay the real 'brick of pain'. I screamed. I cried. The kids woke up scared and screaming and crying. I spent the next 45 minutes trying to convince them that no major tragedy occurred and they could go back to sleep, all the while mentally plotting the many ways I could get rid of each and every last piece of LEGO in this house.
And then I checked my Twitter feed, and this is what I saw ...
Needless to say, my throbbing toe and I had a long, restless night dreaming of being chased by LEGO mini figures whose weapon of choice were bricks designed to inflict maximum damage.
I've decided my soft cushy feet are no match for LEGO. From now on, I'm wearing shoes in the house. And if you come to visit me? You might be wise to leave your shoes on too.