What are the odds?
There are situations that should have an infinite number of possible results. Like putting a drop of water on the back of your hand -- everything else being equal, the drop should roll off in a random direction that would be impossible to predict. And yet there are those situations that should have an infinite number of possible results and yet they really have only one. Like stepping on the solitary lego in the middle of an empty floor. Based purely on probability and the total area of the floor compared to the area of the single lego, you should be able to navigate that floor for years without stepping on that lego. And yet, like a moth to a flame, your foot is drawn to it so that the most tender part of your arch hits the upturned edge of the lego to inflict a curse-inducing amount of pain. It's just going to happen.
So let me set the scene for you. We have a lovely powder room that doubles as a laundry room on the first floor of our home. I'm very grateful for this because given the amount of laundry I do, it saves me a huge amount of time in our basement which is not the most pleasant place -- damp, 5 foot clearance, uneven floor, weird low hanging heating ducts that love to attack unprotected heads -- fairly typical old house basement. Here it is our powder room/laundry room:
Remaining element of the scene: My much loved, three year old son, potty training. (Note don't-want-little-person-to-fall-in insert on potty.)
Scene coming to its inevitable conclusion:
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See? An entire room that could have been a target zone and yet the only possible mark really just had to be the basket of clean laundry. Of course. Sometime you just have to laugh in the face of probability.
So let me set the scene for you. We have a lovely powder room that doubles as a laundry room on the first floor of our home. I'm very grateful for this because given the amount of laundry I do, it saves me a huge amount of time in our basement which is not the most pleasant place -- damp, 5 foot clearance, uneven floor, weird low hanging heating ducts that love to attack unprotected heads -- fairly typical old house basement. Here it is our powder room/laundry room:
Remaining element of the scene: My much loved, three year old son, potty training. (Note don't-want-little-person-to-fall-in insert on potty.)
Scene coming to its inevitable conclusion:
See? An entire room that could have been a target zone and yet the only possible mark really just had to be the basket of clean laundry. Of course. Sometime you just have to laugh in the face of probability.
I spy with my little eye a hoops or yoyo in the picture.
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