Last week my family travelled to Indiana for a family reunion/wedding/celebration of grandparents weekend. It was amazing to have all those great grandchildren together. My kids found instant connections with my cousins’ kids. In all, there were 43 of us who are descendents of my grandparents - a tribute to them and their nearly 60 years of marriage.
We stayed at my aunt’s house. My kids, husband and I were assigned to the “bunk room,” and like it sounds, it had bunk beds. Rewind to August when we took a family trip and I fell off the top bunk of bunk beds while sleeping and broke my nose. As soon as we walked into the “bunk room,” I was banned to the floor.
Yes. Not even one of the lower bunks. The floor.
“Mom, you can’t sleep up there. You broke your nose,” my 6-year-old said to me. “Mommy will fall off,” my 3-year-old said.
“No way. No how,” said my husband, adding that the kids were banned as well.
I gave up. I laughed though, too. I know it’s their way of loving me, caring for me, and taking care of mommy. But seriously!
So I grabbed a few comforters and threw them on the floor. My son took up one bottom bunk, my husband the other. I could have pushed my son to the floor, but I didn’t have it in me. My daughter and I cuddled up close and crashed on the floor. Two nights later a bed opened up in the house when my sister left, but my kids didn’t want to break up the sleeping arrangements. So, to bed we all went.
And when everyone was asleep, guess who snuck out to a bed elsewhere!
