My boys can no longer share a bedroom. It was good while it lasted. They didn’t have to share. We have four bedrooms. However, their grandparents are constantly buying them shit and we needed a toy room. Anyway, (I ain’t the grammar police, but please stop putting an s on that word.) I spent three hours clearing out the toy room. Most of the toys were transferred to my younger son’s bedroom. The ones they’ve outgrown went into the basement. Eventually, I will donate the boxes for a tax write-off. I mean, to the less fortunate out of the goodness of my heart. First, I need to come to terms with the fact that another chapter is over. I know I won’t be having a damn garage sale. I had one several years ago. Basically, you spend six hours in the scorching heat to earn less than $100. People try to negotiate the price of items marked a quarter. It’s not worth it.
My husband would have helped with the move, but he is dying. I mean, he has a head cold. Every time he gets a virus he says, “I think I need to go to the emergency room.” Really?! Really?! (Seth Myers where are you when I need you?) So, I moved shelves, containers, a desk, dresser and a chair while he struggled to watch Sports Center.
If there wasn’t such a big age gap my boys could coexist in one room. However, I have one child entering kindergarten and another puberty. My 12-year-old needs privacy and I need medication. The room is ready, but i am not.