I am not a puzzle-person. It’s not that I don’t like puzzles, I just am really bad at puzzles and, knowing I’m bad at them, I hate the communal thing puzzles seem to bring about. But, left alone with a puzzle, I will give up sleep and food and nearly all creature comforts to make a few pieces work. Not pretty. I used to struggle with putting the boys wooden toddler puzzles back together at the end of each day if that gives any indication of my lack of puzzle skills.
So . . . when my parents started a puzzle with the boys on their last overnight visit, I was happy about it. When the boys brought the unfinished puzzle home, not so happy. Not only was it a Simpson’s puzzle, each little piece had its own picture. And it’s been in my house for nearly two weeks now. All six of us have spent countless hours matching pinks and trying to figure out Bart’s pj’s and Marge’s hair. Last night we finished . . . ALMOST.
How cruel is this? ONE piece missing. We have moved all the furniture, checked every corner of our house (which is now spectacularly clean – benefit!). The piece is gone.
I’m posting this on the off chance that one of you might have found the missing puzzle piece (MOM!).