My favorite Andrew memory is when we were little, and we had the white metal bunk beds. He would ask me to tie him up to the bed, and he'd try and get out. I would think and think and try to come up with the most impossible knots and weave the rope through the slats underneath the bed. But, somehow, 5 minutes later, he'd come and get me and ask me to do it again.
Happy birthday, Andrew.
6 comments:
did you just happy birthday me over an internet blog a day later? Welcome to 2007
It would have been on your birthday, but I was sick.
it wasn't even a happy birthday on his own blog. A sad, sad, state of affairs.
Why am I catching so much guff for this? I thought it would be a nice thing to do, I wanted to share this memory where I thought people would see it. Geez.
man, everyone hates you.
Well next time you know that a simple phone call is all he wants. I would like a favorite Amy story anytime. => Preferably not one in which I am yelling, hitting, bossing, or being psycho. Apparently there are a lot of those.
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