It's my dad's fault. I tell him all the time. Growing up in South Dakota, sleeping in a freezing cold basement (well, except for that year after the Window Incident when my bedroom was upstairs) with 47 blankets piled on, wishing that I was Laura Ingalls so that I could have a hot potato, or brick, or whatever she had tucked into the foot of her bed, has ruined mornings for me.
That, and the fact that they come so darn early.
i am hoping i didn't have anything to do with the Window Incident. surely you had many of them, and not just the one i am thinking about and may have possibly told your oldest son about?
ReplyDeleteI can neither confirm not deny your statements. You'll have to talk to my lawyer.
ReplyDelete