Tag: Depression

Water We Going to Do?

I briefly touched on this leaky subject, but since I can’t remember what I said and this blog is mainly for me, I will reiterate because I want to.

I noticed a black spot on the vinyl flooring in the kitchen roughly eight years ago. It was at the door/wall to the water heater, so, obviously, I was concerned there was a leak there, and Adam unscrewed the door/wall and checked for a wet floor and water damage. We didn’t see any. I thought it was from ice cubes that my cat, Phin, liked to play soccer with and didn’t eat when he was done. The spot never grew, and I eventually forgot about it, wishing to replace the vinyl flooring (at least that section) in the future when possible, but nothing pressing. At that time, it had been two years since a plumber replaced our water heater tank.

Fast-forward to last September, when I noticed the floor from the water heater and furnace alcoves, which are opposite each other, and coming into the kitchen felt more like rubber than OSB. We have a few weak spots in the entire house, which didn’t surprise me for a 20-year-old foundationed double-wide with no renovations to date, and only general maintenance. The spots are in high-traffic areas, with one being where the house halves meet in the middle of the living room, which has been weakish since Mom was alive pre-2014.

Of course, this concerned me a great deal because we don’t have the money for major repairs, so I start mentioning to Adam that I want him to check under the house for wet areas. After several months, I finally put my foot down and got him under there, where he found some wet-ish pipes, but nothing accumulating on the ground. And so the research begins; typical AuDHD fare for me when faced with a problem.

I decided the leak had something to do with the water heater (but no clue what) and I wanted to get a tankless water heater, which I had low-key wanted for months. I’d seen them mentioned before on Reddit and they sounded cool and were supposed to be more energy efficient and take up a lot less space. It would be a win all around. After more research, some Home Depot shopping, and confirming Adam could do the task himself, I became the owner of a new tankless water heat that was so cute and compact, and I was very excited to get it installed, but I needed some additional parts from Amazon, as they were $70+ cheaper than Walmart (Weird. Weird.), and Amazon usually has reasonable shipping times.

Just like what happened after buying Black Betty, we had a massive snowstorm with feet of snow and state-of-emergency weather after I got the vital parts ordered. These things took three months to get here because the roads were so bad, and I had to reorder them three times due to Amazon saying my items were either delivered or lost in transit. The order was broken up into three or four separate deliveries for some reason, so I had to wait for the refunds before reordering. It was a very stressful and lengthy process. The floor situation in the water tank “house” had escalated fairly quickly in those months, considering something had been leaking for a decade unbeknownst to us.

Leaning tower of water tank

All the parts finally got here by the beginning of 2025, and my excitement was back. Adam did his manly thing and, miraculously, removed the water tank by himself, got it walked outside to the porch, and installed the tankless.

Much better, and more room! Maybe some painting later.

While removing the water tank, Adam discovered that the plumber who installed the tank had cut a pipe too short, and the overflow, or whatever it’s called, was going directly under the flooring and on/into the subfloor. For ten years. The circle of floor seen above should not be sunken; hence, the leaning tank.

Just like with Mom’s car, I have no options or means to right this wrong that the “professional” committed. The floor from the side door (the utility room with the washer and dryer and standalone freezer) to some of the kitchen is ruined, and subfloor and flooring needs replaced. No home insurance because I still don’t know how to get Mom’s deed and get my name on it, not that I could afford the insurance, anyway.

The coffee tabletop has been very helpful to walk on.

And…that’s just the one leak that raised our bill roughly $20 a month for 10 years, which I attributed to inflation and greed. The next one is a lot worse and a crazy huge coincidence, which I will cover soon.

Catching Up…A Little More

I hurriedly tied up the last post, as I had started it in February after getting Black Betty (the truck), then promptly forgot about it until I logged in to create a catch-up post 😒. Anyway, our nephew’s friend came to change the struts on Black Betty (bam-a-lam) and was concerned about what he saw when he jacked her up. He told Adam it was a good thing Adam didn’t take the truck down to the fire department to replace the struts — which I had suggested since we don’t have a paved driveway — because the spring could “go” at any minute. He didn’t even want to back the truck up in the driveway.

Well, that just gave me another problem to solve, so I was off to the races to find a solution, which entailed Google and Reddit. I posted the picture (above) Adam took of the broken strut in a mechanic sub on Reddit, and the replies were terrifying. Everyone was very kind and patient, which is incredibly surprising for Reddit, but a lot of “grenade,” “bomb,” “dangerous,” and “kill you” were being thrown around, which had me shaking in my boots. They all said getting the spring out was scary work because it’s under so much tension. There is a spring compression tool, but many of the Redditors said it’s scary to use it and could be dangerous.

The helpful, yet discouraging information deflated my excitement balloon I’d had about having a truck. I looked up the cost of getting struts changed professionally and it was estimated to be between $1,500 and $3,000 for parts and labor. More than I paid for Betty. We have the new struts, and I read mechanics will work with supplied parts and only charge for labor, but labor would still be significant, especially with the condition the broken strut is in because getting it out is the problem. Adam has replaced normal struts before. The complicated labor is in addition to having Betty towed to a shop. I just…It just sucks. Not a lot has gone right since Mom died.

Next, I’ll tell you all about the water leaks and how we are using 13,000 gallons of water a month (our average use is around 1,300/month)!

All the Small Things

I still find it weird to navigate life with Adam without Mom. Adam and I have been married for eight years, together for fifteen, and I have been without Mom for ten years, but consciously unmasking around Adam is a chore. There is always an adjustment period when living with someone(s), but living with someone with AuDHD, Dandy Walker, anxiety, etc., is a little (LOT) more challenging. I am making an assumption because I have no problem living with me, but I am thinking of being in other people’s shoes and trying to be objective.

I never had to mask with Mom, and since we lived together until she died, she knew me better than I knew myself. To reduce stress and be more open and communicative with Adam, I have undertaken the unmasking process, which is quite extensive and intensive, considering I have been masking my entire life outside of the home, and that includes masking with non-Mom family members, which I still do because I believe they find me weird enough.

In doing all of this, and with Adam paying such attention to me, I am discovering things I do subconsciously, and I am compelled to explain the reasoning behind these things to Adam so he won’t think I am a freak and run screaming from the house for being too difficult. Being insecure and guilt-ridden (and AuDHD), I over-explain constantly and do so apologetically since I feel like I am a burden to the entire human race by just existing.

This morning, I was pouring vanilla extract into my Diet Dr. Thunder (fake Diet Dr. Pepper), which made me think of this topic. Bear with me and my oddities and branched thinking. On this latest bottle of vanilla extract, Adam removed the little foil seal, and he did it in true Adam fashion – crudely poking his big bear finger through the seal and leaving all the foil/plastic down in the bottle opening. Obviously, this is a criminal offense, much like removing a mattress tag.

But, since I don’t want to seem crazy to anyone outside my head, which includes Adam (although I think he should be in my head most of the time, as should everyone I come into contact with, but that is another topic) I thought of why the entire seal should be removed. For me, if I am given a good explanation that I understand on how and why to do something, I will normally remember to do what is being asked of me, i.e., put the knives in the dishwasher blades down so someone does not slit their wrists or arms while loading or unloading the dishes. There are caveats, but I am interrupting myself. So, the foil…

Bear Adam pokes through the seal with his bear finger, removes said finger from the bottle opening but not the foil/plastic, and pours the vanilla for me and goes on his way. Well, when I go to use the vanilla, which I am the one who uses it most, I open the bottle, pour it into my can, and that’s that, right? No. The foil and plastic inside the bottle opening catches the vanilla as I am pouring it and it dribble, dribbles all over the can top and pees down the side of the bottle. It smells great because it is vanilla, but it gets icky sticky and ants like that, so I can’t very well go around with vanilla splashed on surfaces.

This teeny, tiny little thing that I do without thinking is added to the ten-year-strong list of other teeny, tiny little things that I do without thinking that I must share with Adam so he can do them as well and I don’t lose my 💩. With Mom, this would have been a thing already because of me being “particular” and “OCD,” i.e., AuDHD, and living with Mom since birth. This has become very wordy for a story about vanilla extract. Now, the caveats…

Back to the dishwasher. All sharp and poky things should be sharp and poky ends down so people won’t cut themselves, right? Well…no. Forks and kebabs or the like need to face up because the tines and pointy ends go through the silverware basket and prevent the dishwasher rack from rolling back into the dishwasher. I guess people’s safety does not extend beyond knives; I don’t make the rules. Actually, I do, but not well, audibly, or coherently.

For towels, which is a big issue since Adam has been folding them for me, they should be tri-folded so they will fit in the bathroom closet, but why stop there? They all need to be folded in the same direction and the open seams should be pointing toward the same side of the closet, because I cannot control 95% of the things going on in my life, but those damn towels will be neatly folded with the seams all facing one direction when I open the closet door, and that helps me stand to fight another day.

Bless Adam, the man tries, and I know he does, but my mind is running all of the above through it times a thousand constantly without my permission or desire, and I just try to exist day-to-day without becoming overwhelmed and crumbling over the most insignificant things when I have gone over my limit. I have yet to be successful at that, but I am working on it while also trying to keep Adam sane since he has to live with me.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Even though I strongly dislike both female leads, I watched Wicked because I’m a Wizard of Oz movie fan. I’ve never read Wicked or seen the play, but had heard good things about the play. I have to say, I love the new movie, and it quickly became my latest comfort movie. Because of it, I started reading the Oz books by L. Frank Baum, which are offered for free on Apple Books as part of their classics collection. There are a ton of classic books for free there!

Due to my writing classes, this year has been one full of thinking about the past and finally trying to work through it and sit with the emotions the memories evoke. Unfortunately, Wicked makes me think of how I was treated by my dad and his second wife (the Ogre – she looks just like Fiona, but ugly).

Dad and the Ogre didn’t really care for either of us kids, but my brother was treated marginally better than I. Dad did steal $12,000 from my brother (of which he used a portion to purchase the Ogre’s engagement ring), after convincing him to not trust banks, and my brother stayed in contact with him after that because of my nieces, so that is where we differed because I went no contact after yet another birthday was missed/forgotten by Dad. For the record, he made zero attempts to contact me after I decided to not chase after him as I had done my entire life. Actually, he never attempted to contact me my entire life…

Presently, watching how Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West, is treated by her father in Wicked, and how Elphaba’s sister Nessarose is so favored, really stirred up memories and emotions. Posting these memories and thoughts on social media has been interesting to me since I come from a family that considers “airing dirty laundry” a bad, scandalous thing. I find it therapeutic and like I am seen 🤷‍♀️. My family is mostly on Facebook, so I have my site, IG, and Threads to speak freely, but, honestly, why can’t I speak freely wherever I want? I went through it and live in the aftermath, so I should be able to share it. Plus, I chose to air this dirty laundry because it is directly connected to my poetry and writing that I have chosen to publish. I think sharing some life stories provides context for my published work. It’s not like I have a fan base, anyway, so who’s really going to be reading what I write?

I have been kicking around posting the beginnings of my memoir here that I started in class and continuing it in the blog. Again, I have no readers/online presence to speak of, but I can pretend I do and work through some pent-up feelings in that way. I don’t know what it is, but some people find it helpful having, or imagining, strangers read about their lives and care on some level. I am one of those people. As a writer, there is no feeling quite like when someone tells you they can relate to something you have written and that it has impacted them. I’ve had this happen several times on All Poetry, especially with my latest poems about my childhood, and it just feels like I am connecting with people and making them feel things, which is so cool.

Going back to Wicked, I would recommend seeing it, especially people who love musicals and/or Broadway shows. I don’t like some popular musical movies, like Hairspray, Grease, Mary Poppins, The Sound of Music, to name a few, but if I like the songs, I will watch the heck out of them. I love Sweeney Todd and Repo! The Genetic Opera and The Devil’s Carnival and Cry Baby. Okay, those are pretty dark ones. I also love Disney animated musicals, i.e., Enchanted, Snow White & the Seven Dwarfs (which should be Dwarves, but whatever), Frozen, Tangled, The Little Mermaid (the good one), Beauty & the Beast, and the like.

As mentioned, I am not an Ariana fan and am no longer a Cynthia fan since her uncalled-for outburst (I had only seen her in that El Royale movie, anyway), but the story, singing, songs, acting, and sets are just awesome. Even though I’m a stickler for canon and knowing the narrative, I love the storylines of Wicked and Oz the Great and Powerful (completely separate from the Wicked material). Of course, neither follows the books. Oz… does well as a prequel to The Wizard of Oz. Wicked gives another viewpoint with completely different character names and explanations from Oz…, so I consider it more a fanfiction book/musical/movie. Since they are all entertaining and visually stunning, I have been pretty lax in trying to smoosh them all together.

Adam mentioned Wicked being my new comfort movie, which I found sweet that he noticed. After Mom died, the poor guy had to listen to Frozen multiple times a day for months, then Bob’s Burgers. He knew the songs for both as well as I did! I think we live a very immersive life, and being in the same room 24/7 really solidifies that.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes!

We got a party going on here!! There are some aesthetic changes and new pages here for my new media class, which is a very interesting class about expanding one’s online presence and creating a website. If I mentioned all this before, I apologize. I already have my site, but I never had a WiP page or author page. Okay, this all seems really familiar…

Anyway, sadly, the pink font had to go due to being hard on the eyes, so I chose yellow and I don’t know if it’s better, as bad, or worse. It doesn’t bother me, but I read what I write in the WordPress editor in black and white. White is just too “blah,” so I can do a super pale yellow if I need to. If it’s hard to read, just drop me a comment!

I’ve named my second poetry collection, and I think it’s a catchy title! I also created the cover, which I really like except the title may be hard to read as well. Color me autistic, but somebody who followed me on Threads commented on my first poetry collection and asked if I minded telling my readers where I got my cover art (Canva, purchased from the artist, btw – which is awesome and an indie author’s dream). I said, “No, why would I mind that?” They didn’t answer me, so I don’t know what that was about. Maybe don’t ask if you don’t really want to know 🤷. I’ve been busy getting in trouble, which is a lot easier and more frequent when you don’t look autistic and your filter is no longer alive, so that’s been fun.

I begin my last term in a couple of weeks, and I have the same guy who (falsely) accused me practically every week of using AI. He was “reporting” me to the school, but since he was merely on an AI witch hunt, like a lot of the professors since AI became public, and I do my own work, nothing came of it except I don’t like him now. People can and do write one way in forums/discussions and another academically in papers and projects. Duh. I emailed my advisor and told him I really don’t care if I graduate if it means I have to take his class. I am already suffering from major college burnout, and I don’t know if I can tolerate eight weeks of him again.

Adam’s next classes are intermediate poetry workshop and context of writing. I didn’t like the context of writing one because it’s query letters and drafting an author bio, but it wasn’t too difficult. I had a crap teacher for the workshop but I had the teacher I liked for the advanced workshop after that, so I was cool. If it’s not noticeable, I hold grudges, even though I don’t mean to.

Invisible (Social) Disabilities in a Chronically Online World

As a society, online and in person, people from many countries are on a mission that I won’t get into, but the themes are unity, tolerance, and acceptance — unless you’re overweight, unattractive, disabled, or disagree with the popular narrative. As a whole, the disability angle seems to be improving except for those with invisible disabilities and/or disabilities that affect social and communication skills. Online, people get nasty (that seems to be the default now), and if you mention suffering from one of the socially-impaired disabilities, you’re accused of making excuses or outright lying. As an agoraphobic hermit, I’ll be referring to the online community.

In short, people don’t like being disagreed with or someone being objective. My PDA (pathological demand avoidance) and ODD causes me to be a devil’s advocate, and even suggesting a different view places me as the enemy to whomever I’m speaking with, and they respond with the typical name-calling and labels instead of engaging in actual discussion or, Heaven forbid, acknowledging a different point of view.

I’m neither liberal nor conservative, meninist nor feminist, and I couldn’t care less about someone’s sexual orientation or transgenderism. However, I argue both sides of the coin because of my PDA/ODD. Those arguments say nothing about my views, as I will not discuss my views on social media. Objectivity does not mean choosing a side, and people can certainly be in the middle on any societal issue.

Take abortion for example. Being in the medical field for almost 20 years, I know for a fact that some women use abortion as a form of birth control (many have admitted it to the doctors and medical staff). It’s not hyperbole or extremism; simply fact. It would probably be less of an issue with abortion pills, but surgical abortions pose a serious health risk to women and that risk gets higher with each abortion performed. So, when someone is 100% for abortions for any reason, it’s easy to argue against that validly. Likewise, I am a firm believer in staying out of women’s healthcare and uteri. When someone is 100% against abortions and cites their religious views as the reason, it’s easy to argue against that as well. And I will argue both at any given time because of that pesky defiance part. I strive to disrupt the echo chamber.

Online, none of the above is acceptable to 98% of people. Now, I don’t do this stuff on purpose to argue and be a contrarian; it’s part of my social disability. However, that doesn’t stop me from being labeled as some kind of -ist or -phobe or bigot; whatever buzzword of the day to make others feel superior. The ones doing such don’t know my views; they only know my valid arguments and what I want the online world to see, but that never matters, and it’s really annoying.

Adam gets and accepts it because he’s used to it, but does one really need to justify someone who can argue both sides and be objective? Is one’s fund of knowledge so small and conceit so large that they can’t take even reading a different perspective without lobbing assumptions and insults?

One More for the Road

I am now at four works in progress and I’m beginning to think I am the problem 😏. I don’t think I have it in me to write a full-length fiction novel. I get bored and “stuck” very quickly and throw what I’m working on to the side so I can start something new. I mean, I never could read an RL Stine book without skipping to the last chapter, so why would I think I could write all the way through?

My “voice” is strongest and most authentic when I’m writing non-fiction. I have masked for so long that it’s hard to allow myself to come through, but I am learning to do that and it’s most evident in my poetry and new WiP. But even with poetry, I get feedback that I use a lot of classic and traditional words and phrases. I’m not totally sure what that means, but people agreed with the analysis, so it wasn’t just one person.

Anyway, for my advanced creative writing workshop, I have to write a “primary piece” that is not my normal genre (which is poetry). I chose non-fiction because I am most comfortable with that, and I started writing about my life. I’m about 2,000 words in and it’s already painful. I’ve been sitting here crying out of hurt and anger.

We Need to Talk About Luke

I briefly mentioned writing about Luke in one of my recent posts and then forgot all about it. Adam and I are on a wonderful new journey known as perimenopause, and why didn’t anyone tell me about this?! I call it Luke, aka Luke “Peri,” but it’s definitely not cute or sexy. So, this crap can start way before menopause (I’m not close to menopause) and last up to 15 years, from what I’ve read. And it hits like a ton of freakin’ bricks. I was fine and dandy one day with my minor aches and pains, and the next day, I can’t put my arms above my head, can’t turn my wrist, and I’m shooting eye lasers at anyone who looks at me, husband or child. WTH?

I know why Mom didn’t tell me about this and it’s not her fault. She had endometrial cancer and had to have a hysterectomy before Luke. My sister-in-law and aunt both had hysterectomies young, so I was completely in the dark. Thanks to Google, I discovered that so many women are uninformed as well, and that’s not cool. No one tells you Luke can start in your 30s even if you don’t reach menopause until your 50s! I made a FB status about it and several of my high school classmates are going through the same thing.

I’m showing my ignorance, but I thought menopause was your period stops, you get hot when others are cold or comfortable, maybe get a little moody here and there, and that’s it. That is not the case. I am in so much flippin’ pain from increased inflammation (I have rheumatoid arthritis like my dear ol’ mom), I experience PMS for, like, two weeks; I’ve gained 40 pounds without a proportionate change in my diet; and my legs and feet are so swollen it’s not funny. Why would we need to lose the ability to reproduce when all this happens? Who wants to have sex with someone going through all that? Why do women have to go through all this crap and men merely experience occasional wonky willies and leave their wives for convertibles and 25-year-olds? Something’s not adding up here. As an AuDHD extremely resistant to change, it’s not been great. Unfortunately, I can’t do hormone therapy because of my family’s heavy cancer history.

Per usual, Adam has been a gem about women’s issues. He’s always been sympathetic and attentive during my “time of the month,” and now he listens to me gripe and cry and complain about all the changes I’m experiencing and how it has blindsided me. He offers massages and cuddles and doesn’t get mad when I’m swinging through the moods. Given his severely abusive childhood and trash family, I honestly don’t know how he came to be so sweet and patient and have such a huge heart. I try to show him he doesn’t need to treat me like I’m going to break, then I proceed to break over an incorrect order or missing items or crappy food. The unmet expectations thing is a huge trigger for a meltdown. And noise! The sound of the boys drinking makes me murderous. Mom told everyone who would listen he was a Godsend for her and he has been the same for me. And he’s really cute to boot, so there’s that 😊😊.

Another Fear Realized

It is with a very heavy heart that I write this. Ever since keeping cats solely inside (since 1998), I have been afraid that one or more would die here and I would discover them. I always hoped Mom or Adam would be the one to discover them (terrible, I know) and would tell me about it after burying them. That was not the case yesterday morning. Gandalf the Grey (Gandi) was sleeping in Mom’s shower yesterday, and since the pups aren’t allowed in the bathroom, it made sense. Since he hadn’t been on my keyboard tray visiting with me after I got out of bed, I checked on him when I got up to use the bathroom and found that he wasn’t breathing and wasn’t warm.

I woke Adam up and told him that Gandi wasn’t breathing, so he got up and checked and confirmed that he was gone. Just like in the movies and shows, he walked back to me and sadly shook his head without speaking. I could only wail and ask “Why?!” repeatedly. We don’t know what happened. Before going into the bathroom, Gandi had briefly been on the bed with us by Adam, and after I fell asleep, Adam said he peed on the bed while lying there, then went to lay in the bathroom when Adam took the bedclothes off. I didn’t get a chance to make an appointment for him to see why that happened.

He and Theo have been staying out of Mom’s room since I got Ollie. Gandi stayed on the table most of the time near the cat food and water. Theo stays on the fridge. He had been to the vet two or three months prior for a urinary tract infection and received antibiotics.

For the past couple of days, Gandi had been in Mom’s room with me, sleeping on my keyboard tray and purring while I pet and loved on him. I figured he got lonely and said to hell with the dogs. He let me kiss his head and brush him and was being his old sweet self. Now, he’s gone and I don’t know why. He had just turned 10 in July. Both of my babies I got after Mom died are gone, and I’m so sad. I don’t know what I did wrong or how much he suffered or how I missed his cries for help. I just don’t know.

Crafting Stories and Managing Chaos

So, it’s been fun here! I’m totally burnt out on school, but I think I only have three classes before I graduate! Plus, one of my classes next term is another workshop, and I really like those. Yay! I was working on my first novel (crazy, right?), a few thousand words in, and just really having a hard time with it and thinking it stunk and I stunk, so what did I do? I started another one! I’ve switched from third person present to first person present and I have more words with this second one than I did with the first, which the former took me weeks. I am enjoying the story more and really want to know what happens.

Oh, and authors, if you want a great program to do your writing on, you have to get Scrivener! It is the best writing/editing program I’ve ever used. There’s a steep learning curve with it but after you get comfortable, it seems like the features are very intuitive. Plus, there are tutorials users have written which are very helpful. I’ll screenshot below, which is the program with a theme I selected (Mellow Yellow). The normal program is normal colors and normal font 😊. For $60, it is a steal, and no subscription! I used it to do my poetry collection, and the ebook and print copies look very professional.

Part of Adam coming back from the dead is him actually giving a crap about things and he’s totally not used to it. He’s started thinking about things I always have to think about to run the house and he’s not too fond of it 🤣🤣. Unfortunately, a couple of negative things have occurred. He’s begun thinking about his past addiction (kudos to him for telling me), which I get because he’s a metaphorical runner and tries to get away from dealing with life in any way he can, and he’s been staying with me in Mom’s room for the past month.

Now, I don’t mind him being in here at all, but having the dogs together all day can get nerve-wracking. I was used to cuddling with Ollie and him sleeping by me, and now he’s always playing with Nev or sleeping with him. Plus, the two bozos are very unaware of themselves and others, so when they come in and have a poop run through the house, they jump on the bed and right on me while I’m sleeping! Not a great way to wake up. They are also very butt-y, and I’m getting hit in the legs with butts every time I’m walking 🙄. A good thing is Neville is so smart and easy to train and Ollie tries to follow his lead when I try to teach him something…sometimes. We are working on them not running ahead of me or bowling me over when I take them out, which they are learning. Nev knows what “get back” means and Ollie watches him and scoots back and sits down, for the most part.

Oh, I also have my cat, Phin, and Adam’s cat, Willow, on the desk all the time that they aren’t in the window. I legit have a small litterbox sitting on the desk in front of me because Willow is skittish around the pups. Oh, oh!! I was cleaning out my desk drawer and Willow decided it would make the perfect bed, so…

I need to repaint my desk 😒.

Then, Phin thought that was a good idea, so…

And I’m happy to report they found a great compromise…

Since I don’t spoil my kids at all, I have the top of our small ottoman on the desk, top down, and a bath mat in it so they each have a place to sleep if they don’t want to share. Ah, family…