On a lighter note, when I was (unfortunately, literally) jumping into bed last night, my boxspring and mattress crashed through my bedframe and landed with a decisive thud on my bedroom floor.
I moved into Max's vacated room for the night, surprising Clint when he came over at 4 am looking for a bed to use. (He took his bed but not the frame when he moved out last Fall.) "What the heck are you doing in here?" he asked (loudly and maybe a little bit annoyed.)
"My bed is broke." I mumbled.
"WHAT?"
"My bed doesn't work." I suggested.
"WHAT?"
"Go sleep on the couch." I said clearly.
So now I'm looking for someone who has a hammer, a screwdriver and some wood glue to come over and fix the broken bits. Man I wish my dad was still my dad.
Threeeee things I'm thankful for:
1. There IS a spare bed in my house. (And it had freshly washed bedding on it.)
2. There are 4 full length couches in my house for when my sons unexpectedly drop in looking for a place to spend the night.
3. Snappy, crunchy grapes.
Shalom,
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