Secretly, Secret Vlog
You Know You're From Jersey When...

The Boy Who Lived, Without
A Bedroom Door?

Barnes & Noble Gnome

Hopey's puppet of a mean principal that's supposed to be a clown (says, she was told to think out of the box) displayed at the coffee counter (or, caw-fee, if you're from Jersey)

Last week (I think) our school district held a book fair at our local Barnes & Noble and my two youngest children were invited to read their persuasive writing pieces.

"So, what's yours about?"

My almost-9-year-old daughter wrote about being tall enough (FINALLY!) to experience her first ride on "a real roller coaster" during a visit to Casino Pier in Seaside Heights, NJ last June.

"Aaaand, what did you pick?"

My 11 year-old son's piece was a little closer to home.  

"Mine is about convincing you and dad to give me a door!"

We have doors.  Lots of them.  There's the front door, the back door, the bathroom door.

[takes breath]

There's the door that leads to the girls' bedroom and the h...e...double...hockey...sticks that is [gulp] their bathroom!

"Because, you know, everyone ELSE has a door."

My son's bedroom is upstairs, like mine, but his is at the top of the stairs and, well, long story short (you're welcome!) no, he doesn't have door.

[gulp]

"You didn't write anything that would, you know, embarrass mom, or dad, right?"

Because, heaven knows, I sure as heck wouldn't (ahem!) and, well, everyone knows that karma is a witch, right?

Riiiiiiight.

Even longer story, shorter (seriously, you should be thanking me!) oh yes, there was lots of lamenting about stuff, like:

(a) Being the only boy, stinks.

(b) Having a bedroom without a door, stinks even more.

(c) Having the litter box...in his room...you guessed it...stinks, BIGTIME.

(d) His sisters are barging in all the time.

(e) Refer to (a) above.

In hindsight, I should be glad that their readings were held in the cafe.

"What did he just say?"

Aaaand, that the blender was really, really loud.

"He can't keep the girls out of his bedroom!"

[eyes go wide]

"No, I don't think he means regular girls...dear."

[one beat, two beats]

"Oh, well, no wonder his parents won't give him a door!"

Not for nothing, but you gotta love senior citizens (they were sisters, I think) but, I don't believe a hearing aide would have made a difference, either way and I shudder to think what the sweet old lady meant by "un-regular" girls.

"What is your boy's name?"

[bites lower lip]

"Harry...Harry Potter."

Aaaand, he's moving...to the closet...under the stairs...next week!

"Oh, that's nice dear."

The Closet Under the Stairs
I mean, it DOES have a door (sort of!)

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