It was small. Almost microscopic in relation to all the other LEGO components.
It really shouldn’t have mattered, but, oh, did it make my blood boil.
To keep things completely honest, this tiny LEGO part that I am referring to belonged to a gigantic guilt-induced, we-are-moving-you-away-from-family-and-friends LEGO set Mad Dog and I had purchased for T.Puzzle.
It’s a rollercoaster.
The LEGO set, not my emotional well-being.
Both are a rollercoaster.
Look out, world!
To get back to the tiny part that was missing, let me explain why I was ready to lose my mind.
As you know, moving = chaos. There are boxes. There are boxes. Let me repeat, there are boxes.
And they are everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
And the stuff! It’s everywhere yet you cannot find what you need to save your life.
So, as T.Puzzle began construction on his rollercoaster, I explicitly said to him:
“Please put these tiny, teeny, very-small-indeed rubber bands SOMEWHERE THAT YOU WON’T LOSE THEM.”
He lost them and with them, my last remaining shred of sanity.
Even as I was disproportionately overreacting to the loss of these rubber bands, I allowed myself a freak out.
I even said out loud, “I realize my reaction does not match what is happening, but, it can’t be helped.”
What added to the comedy (tragedy?), is that all three of my boys kept throwing each other under the bus. Lots of accusations about what had happened to the lost items were bandied about.
Guess how much personal accountability was offered?
Eventually, after some CSI-level maneuverings, the missing pieces materialized.
Mad Dog had ‘stored’ them in our kitchen garbage can.
Moving forward I have two options:
- Never buy another LEGO set again
- Never move for the rest of my natural life