So I’m going home on Saturday to help clean up my room for my mom’s impending move out of the house I grew up in.
Mom, of course, chose this as the best time to trip over a box and fracture her wrist, so that she can’t lift anything heavier than eight ounces.
I got the following IM from her today:
mom: greetings from the home for the frustrated–so much to do and so much i can’t do. glad you’re coming–very glad. love, mom
Shit.