The other night I retreated upstairs to the bedroom where I drank a glass of wine and watched Private Practice in an attempt to drown out the sound of sawing.  When Tom entered the room, he looked like he had been in a fight.  He assured me that excluding two small marks on the walls I would be unable to tell that there was at any time a large piece of furniture stuck in the stairwell.  When I finally mustered the nerve to go downstairs, I was pleasantly surprised to find that he was right.  Tom is choosing to file away this event as a teachable moment for our 14 year old son.  I guess whatever he has to tell himself I’ll go along with.


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