We are upstairs today trying to make sense out of all the boxes in the master bedroom. We had just put Jonathan down for a nap, so we were trying to stay quiet. We got through the wardrobe boxes, so we took a little break, and then came back upstairs. That’s when it happened.
There are boxes stacked up on the wall in front of our bed, so I was navigating the dangerous waters of our bedroom. PAIN UPON PAIN! I stubbed my pinkie toe on the leg of our bed! No joke, I saw stars and bright white light. Surely, I’m dying! I’m hunched over on the bed, and Paul says, “That sounded like it hurt! Sit down!” Well, thanks for the helpful advice, Paul. I would if I could put any weight on that foot! I’m surprised that I still had my wits about me enough to keep from screaming a litany of curses like I usually do when I stub a toe. I look down, and that bitch is bleeding. Awesome. That means I’m losing a toenail sometime in the next week in a place where you can only really wear sandals and flip flops or you’ll overheat. And of course, Jonathan pooped and just cannot sleep in a poopy diaper, so he’s still awake and crying, so I go in to change is diaper. Which, to him, means it’s playtime. He toddles down the hall, and starts trying to play with everything we’re getting ready to throw out.
This is why it’s so difficult to unpack with kids.
In other news, Paul holds on to the strangest shit from when he was growing up and early days in the Army. No shit, I have a hoarder on my hands. He just now informed me, “I thew out a TON of shit, by the by.” Good lord.