This summer we redecorated Gracie’s bedroom that she shares with her baby brother. She wanted to bring in a matching twin size bed that goes with her furniture. She planned to use it when friends spend the night. I reluctantly agreed.
Garrett soon began to ask, “Can I sleep in your room, just for tonight?” Well just for tonight has turned into weeks. Somewhere between nine and ten o’clock, Gracie can be found in her bed, Garrett in the other twin size bed and Luke a few steps away in his crib.
Whispering and cackling can be heard between all three, way past their bedtime. Luke jumps up and down like a caged monkey, throwing his arms in the air and shouting out every word in his sparse vocabulary.
But once everyone has finally succumbed to the long day; I tiptoe in the moonlit room. Garrett lays crooked on the bed, half his leg hanging off, free from the floral Ralph Lauren bedspread. Gracie stretches out on top of the covers, her hair falling out of a swept up ponytail. She manuevers her arms around a pink poodle and a webkinz. Luke is collapsed on his stomach, clutching one of three blankets that have found a home in his crib since he was an infant.
I stand at the door and watch all three sleep.
Peaceful. Content. Quiet.
I can barely hear their breathing over the hum of a fan.
I know the sun will come up soon. One will want waffles; one will want muffins. One will want to watch a movie and the other play a game. A roll of the eyes or a disagreement will likely ensue.
But there’s something about bedtime that makes the irritations of the day disappear. Jokes are funnier and moods are lighter. And “I love you’s” said with tired yawns are sweeter.
J asks how long we’re going to let them keep doing this. All three of our children piled in one bedroom. I smile. Until they pick up their pillows and go somewhere else.