An unexpected piece of pure genius


A few days before Christmas, when MFP was at the height of his fussiness, I heard saws and drills working in unison from our garage.

“You can’t go in there,” said Middle, the chosen envoy sent by MFP.  “It has something to do with your Christmas present…”

I imagined a beautifully crafted jewelry box or a fabulous rack for my race medals, but  eventually forgot all about the noises which served as a backdrop for a chaotic and headache-inducing pre-Christmas days.

On Christmas morning he forgot to give this piece of plywood genius to me, so distracted was he by pastries and kids jumping up and down in their holiday glee.


“Here it is, Rebecca.  The masterpiece you’ve been waiting for,” he said when he finally presented it to me.

“What is it?” I asked, trying not to sound disappointed.

“It’s a plyobox!”

“A plyo Who?”

“It’s for working out!”


(This lady is using one.  This is not me.)

I did vaguely recall a few training videos that had some muscle-bound people jumping on or off a wooden box.  (I usually move on from those rather quickly.)

Though I haven’t used it yet for working out, I am happy to report that it has been put to use in many other ways.

Youngest stood on it just last night to wash the dishes, a chore he usually gets out of since he can’t reach the sink.


I used it just this morning to take a picture of my breakfast.  I know.  I don’t normally take pictures of my food, but I’ll tell you why I did this time.

I wanted to warn you that if you ran out of tasty food as we have, and if all you had left was ingredients for this combination, please, please I beg you, skip breakfast altogether.  Because it was disgusting.

I ate a bowl of leftover cold quinoa with peanut butter, strawberry jam, almond milk and chocolate chips. 

You have been warned. 

Luckily my crew and I are heading over to Costco in a few to buy some proper oatmeal and fruit.


(I take them along because they love to perform  tasks that I loathe such as grinding the coffee in these frustrating machines that you have to call the janitor to punch with his hammer every few minutes to wake them back up after they’ve gone to sleep.)

So off we go on an urban adventure sure to drain my wallet.

If I think of any other good uses for my plyobox, or if ever figure out how to become speedy and explosive because of it, I will let you know.


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