A few days ago Zoey brought home this giant space module project her class has been working on.
Let me rephrase that: I helped Zoey drag this giant double oven range box from her classroom, out of the school building, & down the street (stopping to take breaks along the way), where I proceeded to shove the blasted thing into the side of my van. Mumbling half the way, biting my tongue on the other parts & getting rather hot & sweaty the whole while.
Houston, "problem" is an understatement.
I was half expecting that we'd have to ride home with the van door open & floppy bits of cardboard hanging out. But somehow I managed to successfully give it one last healthy push, & the stupid thing budged into place.
She was one of the few kids that had put her name "in the hat" to win one of 3 giant boxes. The odds were in her favor.
After our trip home, the box had its share of wear & tear. That's for sure. Especially after the Mr. & I wrestled it out of the van, through the garage, up the stairs, into the kitchen, around the hallway & inside our nine year old's narrow bedroom door. Zoey propped it in a corner & proceeded to spend the next hour inside the box.
I should have been more softhearted with her about this whole box thing.
Who would have ever thought that a space module could make me feel so irked?
I could never work for NASA.