Every Good Plan

Starts with a bad night's rest. Implementation comes later, after the fun part is done. Or, if you're like me, you'll just order another toner cartridge and get right back to the sleep deprived planning stage. Because, really, that is the fun part. (And it is NOT an illness. Nuh-uh. Shut up. I checked. Or, at least, I put it on my list of things to check.)

The boys and I tried to work in the basement today. Yeah, the basement I spent two weeks fixing up last December. That work was shot by the time the Pinewood Derby was over, and it's simply deteriorated from there. However, we've got things that need doing that can't be done without the basement. Well, they could, technically, but I've paid my dues with sawdust in the kitchen and projects dangling from the shower rod while the glue dries, thank you. It's not that those weren't wonderful days, but... yeah. We're not going back there.

We weren't down there ten minutes before John walked right into two lengths of all-thread which just happened to be jutting out from the wall, at eye level, eye-width apart. I cannot tell you the thoughts that zipped through my mind in rapid succession. And it's probably best that way. I can tell you that he escaped with only two cuts on one eyelid. No damage to his eyeballs. No other ruptures, swelling, internal bleeding, or any of the many other horrid possibilities that came to mind. He doesn't even have black eyes. And he still lets me snuggle him when he's not feeling well. *sniff-sniff*

So, realizing that our home is filled with punji sticks and Burmese tiger traps, I figured it's time for a Real Plan. One that involves printing things, and... and... hole punching them. Checkboxes, and perhaps even a grease pencil. Something. We need a written plan of action! Mainly, it's because I forget. But also because, um, I forgot. Regardless, if it's right there, in black and white, none of us has an excuse. It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye, right?

This week we'll be sorting, cleaning, trashing, bribing, burning, donating, mending. Whatever it takes to get this place bomb-proofed, we're going to do it. I'm sure the boys are thrilled. Fortunately, we have Netflix and popcorn and M&M's, and nothing says, "C'mon, you know you want to," better than bribery. And Neosporin. I'm keeping that on the counter.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy