Despite the holiday-status of this day, my teenagers had to go to P.E. at the YMCA. While they were gone, I cleaned up the kitchen, then decided to clean their room. They have a loft bed with a second bed underneath, but that bed’s metal bed-frame bent a week or two ago, so the box-spring had been sitting directly on the floor. Since I had some spare time today, I screwed together the wooden bed-frame that matches the loft bed. I bought the set at a garage sale, with full knowledge that the lower bed-frame would need a repair. The previous boys who owned the bed broke the wooden support when one of them dived from the upper loft bed onto the lower bed.
But I’d had the wooden frame repaired and so today, I put it together. After vacuuming the carpet and pushing the bed into place, the room looked fairly decent. I’d also vacuumed the family room and done some laundry before my husband liberated me from my happy home and sent me into the rainy world at 2 p.m.
Today Value Village had a half-off sale, so I perused books and second-hand clothing. I spent twenty bucks before heading to the movie theater where I saw “Breach.” (Good movie. I recommend it if you like spy movies and promise not to be too distracted by the lump on Ryan Phillipe’s forehead. What is that all about?) I returned home at 6:45 p.m., fifteen minutes before I was expected home. I exercised, then settled in to watch “24.”
And somewhere between 10:00 and 10:30 p.m., one of my twin boys appeared at the doorway with a sheepish look on his face. “Uh, mom?” he said.
“Yes?” I said.
“Um, [my brother] uh, broke his bed.”
“Broke the bed?” Heavy sigh. Do I even want to know? No. Then, “Fine. Go to sleep.”
Of course, when I went in there to investigate a few minutes later, I found the wooden support slats broken in two places (the repaired place, plus a new, previously unbroken place). I said, “How did this happen?” and he claimed he merely sat on the bed, which we all know is a complete lie.
He admitted to “plopping” on the bed and honestly, I am so sick of my boys being so rough on belongings that I was speechless. I told him to pull his mattress alongside the frame and to just go to sleep. Tomorrow I will have to disassemble the bed and return it to the storage room until I can beg a woodworker to fix it again–at which point I will use it in my daughter’s room where it will be safe from teenage boys “plopping” on it.
I hate it when my work is immediately undone by the folly of children. But there’s no point in going apoplectic over a broken bed.
Also? I’m not going to shave my head over this.