My husband told me yesterday that a handy-man friend of ours would be by this morning to look at the boys’ room. He’s going to build some platform beds or something to solve our dilemma in that room. The boys have bunk beds, but the top bed is too short for our increasingly tall son and the bottom bed no longer has a frame since that boy broke not one, but two frames. The tallest boy chooses to sleep on the floor rather than the top bunk.
The boys and all their neighborhood friends spend their time playing video games and watching television in that room–we put an old hide-a-bed couch in there which is now stained and disgusting, but sturdy and that works for me. But when I open the door into that vast cave, I shudder. I half expect bats to wing their way into my hair. No matter how much I vacuum, the floor looks like a street after a parade.
So, despite my bedtime last night (1 a.m.!), I wearily rose from bed at 8:00 a.m. and showered. I cleaned up the kitchen, folded two loads of laundry, picked up the living room and the phone rang. Oh, it was a misunderstanding–no one is coming over at all.
I should be grateful to be awake and in my right mind at this hour, yet I’m thinking seriously about a nap.