broken bed

Ok, before your mind wanders too far down the gutter, let me explain how I broke it.  I got up around 6am to attend to an unhappy child.

The bed in question is an Ikea futon.  We put it together on a Saturday night after the kids went to bed (at the grandparents’ house).  Ikea furniture is not the easiest to assemble, as many of you know.  I blame the wine we drank to assist with the assembly.  Apparently, we didn’t get the futon quite right.  If you sit down (or try to get out of bed) at the spot where the back and the base meet, the bet folds partway back into the futon position.  Fortunately, LBJ has been able to fix it each time I forget and sit in the wrong spot.  However, her patience is wearing thin.

Summer finally arrived in Dublin today.  For the first time in our roughly 10 days here, it rained (drizzled, mainly) on and off nearly all day.

We celebrated this fine weather by spending some quality time at the GNIB, the place where foreigners (i.e. me) register.  Or, as FABJ called it, the place to “make me Irish.”  It was an interesting mix of people.  As in LBJs U.S. citizenship ceremony, the continent of Africa was well represented.  As were the Philippines and the middle East.  Anyway, after a fair amount of waiting and the taking of a picture and lots of fingerprints, I have my Certificate of Registration card, which is “not an identity card.”  But I think it gets me in Ireland the next time I leave.  I can’t wait to repeat this procedure a year from now.