Saturday, May 17, 2008

My Bed Bugs Don't Bite

My kids are finally sleeping in their own room. Started more than a month ago. They have a sleepover in my bedroom on the weekends, or when they explain, "But we miss you, mom."

I was unsuccessful in making my firstborn sleep in her own room six years ago when she was still our only child. She was willing to try it out, but I was the one not quite ready for it then. My husband worked late nights and it didn't make sense to me why my daughter and I had to sleep in separate rooms. It was lonely.

The compromise came shortly after, when the family bought a pull-out bed that was supposed to be for the kids. Tiny but sure steps, right? Well, the kids hardly used the bed; it became my husband's crib, much to his dismay. He'd complain every morning of backaches, but what could he do? The kids always beat him to his spot on the main bed.

This summer has been the perfect time for the big move. The kids are discovering more things to do together. Sure they fight like they'll never speak to each other again, but still. They're free to stay up and rise later than usual. They read their books and play their mellow music to lull them to sleep. It's amazing how well they took to this new arrangement, like clockwork. Everything in its own place and time.

The weekend sleepovers are just as interesting. They announce on Thursdays that tomorrow is sleepover night, and nothing is going to get in the way of that. There's always a discussion, a battle as to who gets to sleep beside me. The 10-year-old argues it's always you, while the second-born defends himself but I'm just five! We agree on a pattern: he, she, he she, he, she. That does not fully solve it because both kids need to physically connect with me, whether arm to leg, foot to foot, hand to face, or hair to hair. While the three of us are busy figuring out our choreography, their dad sets up his pull-out bed.

Some things will never change.

I'm feeling: like wearing a hair clip for dinner out with my family tonight.

I'm listening to: myself thinking, "if I could only remember where I put that clip..."

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