You all know how much fun Kindsay is. When I say fun, I mean that I can say she is fun three days after the trauma occurs, but not a moment before. As exasperated as I always am about how she DOESN'T keep her room in the remotest possible way of being entered, she managed to add another element of exasperation. I walked by the other day, only to hear a beeping noise, like an alarm, along with wafting food scents, coming from her room. As though I had taken a wrong turn and thought I was actually in the kitchen, I did a double take. Alas, I was only in the hall, just past her room. As I turn to question the unquestionable, she exits her room with a bowl of hot oatmeal, blowing it business as usual, looking at me like, what? She had found Greg's old classroom microwave and installed it at the foot of her bed. I ran to see what other appliances lined the wall and was thankful to find that his refrigerator had not been brought in from the garage as well. Then it dawned on me, she can't get that thing in here alone...unless she figures out that the dolly sitting five feet behind it will easily cart it into the room without effort. So cross your fingers, ladies and gentlemen, that my special little appliance savant doesn't make any connections. Otherwise she'll be wondering how to get a toilet in her room and will thus not have to leave her room for anything but to get on her bus for school. Don't tempt me.
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