The Bunk Beds

The boys’ bunk bed is beautiful.  I carefully selected it from several bunk beds from several stores.  It took weeks.  It’s dark wood with matching dressers.  It’s solid, sturdy, strong, and should last us until college, barring any major catastrophe.  If the catastrophe is boy-made, well, they will sleep on the floor until they get a solid, sturdy, hard dorm bed.


The bunk bed means many things to each of us.


To my husband, it meant a rather large dent to the check book, but I informed him that these beds were meant to last.  Besides, he was more than welcome to come with me, AND I even told him the amount before I purchased them, before they loaded me with discounts. 


To me, the bunk bed reminded me of my childhood.  I spent a few years on the top bunk, sharing the room with my little brother.  When my baby brother was old enough for the bottom bunk, the room became a boy-only place.  My brothers never used the ladder, preferring to climb like monkeys up the dresser and into the bed.  We always envied the top bunk, and some of our fondest memories were around that bunk bed as well as some of our non-fondest too.


To Evan, the bed equaled freedom.  He was moved out of the crib into the bunk bed a week after Sean was born.  (IF someone hadn’t decided to come early, Evan would have his new bed a day or two before his brother came.)  It took two days before Evan realized he could leave when ever he wanted too.  He could get out of bed when HE felt like it, not when that mean, old mommy came and got him.  Unfortunately for Evan, that mean, old mommy still believed naptime was two hours, but fortunately he was big enough to climb into the master bed without anyone knowing until the 6 am feeding.  He could give anyone a run for their money as he challenged bedtime over and over and over again.  This too he lost to the mean, old mommy.  Evan loved that bottom bunk, so it was had for him to give it up to Sean, until he learned he was taller than everybody when he was in it.


To Sean, that bed was the key to freedom.  In the new house, he settled down perfectly content without his bars and with his brother sleeping above him.  While he learned the first night he could get out of bed by himself, he also got lost and cried for his mommy in the kitchen at 2 am.  (Please note: We’re talking about a small three bedroom house; it’s quite a talent to get lost in it.)  The best part of the bed for Sean was he could get in it at anytime.  If he was tired, he would just crawl right in to snuggle with his blankie and suck on his binky.  If he didn’t want to wait for his mommy, he just hunkered down a little early.  If he didn’t want to wait for storytime, he just get into the bed and go to sleep.  Sure, getting out was great, as Sean entered the master bedroom at dawn to take his mommy’s hand to drag her out of bed, but choosing one’s own naptime and bedtime was better, much better.


Now the bunk bed is what it was meant for . . . a nest, a fort, a castle, a tree house, a sanctuary. 



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