Saturday, May 8, 2010

Death by Legos

Oh, pain!
I have pain. I have spent the last 2+ hours down in the dungeon with Clark.
The dungeon is his basement room. It's not finished, so another name for it is his "summer room". That's because it's too cold to sleep down there for half the year, but for the other half it's the most comfortable temperature room in the house. During the colder months he sleeps in a loft be upstairs with Cannon. You can easily see why this is not Clark's favorite arrangement, although Cannon is delighted with it. But Clark keeps all of this belongings downstairs. This way he has the illusion that he has his own room. Smart of us parents, huh?

Well, after a winter of just using the dungeon to the bare minimum, it was time to go down and put it back together again. It was messy. Dirty. Yucky. Stinky. You get the idea. It was a very creative, ten year old boy's room with very little supervision for six months. The worst offenders were dirty socks and legos. Now I know where all the socks have gone. But it's the legos I want to talk about. GADZOOKS! How did we get so many legos? I'm not complaining, because many of the legos have been gifts to Clark and he does play with Legos a TON! But a few months ago, a big box got spilled into the floor and they spread like wildfire. They were everywhere. So Clark and I got down on the floor and started gathering the lost tribes of legos.
This is why I have pain right now. I am six + months pregnant. I don't think I'm suppose to be doing things like this anymore! However, in honor of Mother's Day weekend, what can I say? I guess that just the sort of AMAZING mother that I am!
I think I'm going to have a nightmare tonight of being buried alive in Legos.

1 comment:

Mothership said...

That was a funny image. (:

My mother-in-law planted the entire garden the day before she had Justin (and they grew a huge garden in those days). She was so sore, she could hardly move for his first week.

If I lived nearer, I would bring my boy and we would finish that room for your boy. If only . . .