Better Keep the Bed

I signed a lease last night. I’m renting a place to live for the first time in 13 years. And to make the experience a complete blast-from-the-past, I have a roommate. Three, actually. The lease-signing was chaos – foreshadowing, no doubt. My new roommate and I met the landlord at the property with our four children, ages 7, 8, 9 & 10. It was my kids' first time to see the inside of the house. Our roommates were already there when we arrived and Ben and Lucy instantly whipped the other kids into a frenzy, bursting through the door at a fever pitch. All four kids ran around checking the place out and discussing who would get what room and the best location for Nerf wars at a volume way beyond 11 while my friend and I asked our questions, discussed some details and gave our deposit checks to the landlord. Our young landlord, expecting his first child any day, looked a little shell-shocked by the pandemonium but didn’t panic and change his mind at the last minute. (Whew.)  It’s official. We move in on the 25th.

By the time we got home it was past the kids’ bedtime. They got ready for bed quickly, we said our goodnights and I sat down fully intending to write. But I quickly decided that what I really needed to do was drink a sizeable glass of wine, watch some mindless TV and go to bed early. And I did just that.

So I was sound asleep when Lucy came downstairs and crawled into bed with me around 1:00 a.m. When the kids were very young I swore I would never let a child sleep with me. I was afraid it would be a slippery slope and I didn’t want to set a precedent. I’m still not one to let kids sleep with me all the time, but I would like to think that over the years (and with all we've been through) I’ve learned when to loosen my rules in favor of making sure Ben and Lucy know they are loved and supported. We’re struggling these days in the Heagler Home – there’s no doubt about that – so I’m willing to relax my standards to give my kids what they need during this difficult time.  Even if that means a kid in my bed.  Or even two.

A couple of hours later Ben came downstairs and also wanted to get in my bed. This is practically unprecedented. I can count on one hand the number of times in nine years Ben has sought my comfort in this way, so of course I let him in bed too. When my alarm went off this morning at 5:51, I turned it off and reset it for 7:00. This morning, spending an extra hour smashed uncomfortably between my peacefully sleeping children was far more important than getting a little exercise.  I can practice yoga tomorrow.

When we were discussing sleeping arrangements with our roommates at the new house, it was decided that my roommate’s 10-year-old boy would give his bunk-beds to the girls who will be sharing a room. He'll take his sister’s twin-sized bed and Lucy’s full-sized bed will not be needed. I first thought I would sell it to help with my share of the security deposit. But then I reconsidered, thinking that a full-sized bed might fit well in my smaller bedroom at the new house. With a little paint it would look reasonably like a grown-up’s bed (not that anyone ever sees it who would care).  I went to bed last night thinking I should sell my mattress and box spring and keep Lucy’s bed for myself.

But this morning I changed my mind again. At seven and nine, my kids are pretty big and the three of us barely fit in my queen-sized bed. And who knows when Ben and Lucy might need to make a Heagler sandwich again in the middle of the night.

I think I’d better keep my bed.