Every passage around my house looks like this.
“We wanted to make an ocean with our blankets, Mama,” they say.
“We wanted to make a LEGO carpet, Mama,” they say.
“The laundry basket is still downstairs, so we made a magic path out of our dirty clothes, Mama,” they say. (The laundry basket is still downstairs, by the way. Because my husband, in his words, is really bad at doing laundry, and last week laundry tried to kill me, too.)
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think my kids were trying to kill me. This fracture boot is hard enough to walk around in without the added dangers of what’s left out on the floor.
There are so many tripping hazards in my house I can’t even get up from the couch. That’s okay, though. I just started a really good book, and now I have a good excuse to sit and finish it.
Go ahead and swim in your blanket ocean, boys. I’ll see you in a few hours.
(Unless you’re drowning. IT’S A BLANKET OCEAN, REMEMBER?)
