The struggle is real. It’s the middle of the night, you’re half-asleep and you get up to stumble through the darkness to the kitchen for a drink of water.
And then the mind-searing pain shoots from the tender insole of your foot all the way out the top of your head. You stifle the string of profanity spewing forth from your lips so as not to wake everyone in the house.
But you’re most definitely awake now. Because your kid left a LEGO brick on the floor and it’s now deeply embedded in your foot.
Fast forward quite a few years. Now you find yourself living in a 200-square-foot toy hauler with your dear man, not a LEGO brick in sight. But the drama isn’t over. Because damn it if those little bits of gravel in the campgrounds won’t stay outside. You cannot possibly sweep enough to keep them at bay. Their determination to enjoy the “luxuries” of RV life is unparalleled.
They litter the ten feet from the bed to the sink—LEGO wannabes—prolifically breeding in the night when you’re not watching. That ten feet might as well be a hundred feet of hot coals. Countless little nuggets of pain await.
And they aren’t bright, fun colors like their plastic counterparts to draw your attention to them before tragedy besets your tender insoles. They’re lovely, muted earth tones that blend in with the floors, camouflaged and waiting to strike at your unsuspecting, unprotected feet in the wee hours of the morning.
What hasn’t changed over the course of the years is the need to stifle the profanity behind gritted teeth to keep from rousting those still peacefully sleeping.