"Legos hurt!"

I proclaimed as I wobbled to my bed last night, to no one in particular and to whomever was around (which was, again, no one). When my husband came to bed a few minutes later I gave him a stern warning, "Watch out for Legos." He jokingly retorted, "Ooh, watch out!" But I noticed that he instantly stopped and looked down at where he was walking. He knows very well what happens when you step on one. As he moved the blanket to get in bed, I spotted one and grabbed it. "See? They're hiding." He chuckled a bit and got in. Once his legs were fully under the covers, we heard it - the jingling of two or more Legos somewhere in our bed. He kicked the blanket in hopes of propelling them off our space, but nothing happened. So then I tried, thinking that maybe they were more toward my side. Again, nothing. We gave up and turned on the TV, thinking that somehow things would resolve themselves. Well, they didn't. As I turned to face the television we heard them again. Taunting us. Hubby reached down under the covers to feel for them. He felt nothing. I kicked at the sheets, trying to gauge where they might be holed up. I narrowed it down, I had figured it out, and I made my move. Those sneaky little scoundrels had found their way between the sheet and the blanket. I felt my way down until I touched one. Aha! I grabbed the two troublemakers and yanked them out. Victory!

(now, the above story may seem a bit melodramatic, and perhaps it is, but after you have stepped on, sat on, or been hit by as many legos as we have, you'd understand that both your patience and respect for their ability to hurt have decreased and increased, respectively, dramatically over the years. i don't think i'll be sad when my kids grow out of them. i'm just sayin').