>> Sunday, 21 December 2008
We put the Boys in the same room this weekend. Finally, after 3 years of their being in separate bedrooms, they are in together. I hope it's the right thing to have done. I mean, it's all fine and dandy right now; Boy #1 is so delighted with his top bunk that he will do anything asked of him (bar pick up his shoes, of course), and Boy #2 is equally entranced by his grown-up bed and the opportunity to climb into and out of it unassisted (dear god, what have we done?) after being imprisoned in his cot-bed for so long, that they are behaving impeccably.
Give it a few days though, and I can imagine the mayhem at 5.00am when Boy #2 gets bored with staring at the slats above him and scales the ladder to torment his older brother. Or when Boy #1 decides to start leaning over the edge to drop unpleasantness and insults on his younger sibling. How do I know this? I do have a sister myself, you know. And we used to share a room.
Not for long in bunkbeds mind you; they were soon separated, very probably because of the sort of behaviour I outlined above. And actually, as soon as she could properly put her foot down, we didn't share rooms at all; aged around 11 my younger sister got the hell out of our shared bedroom as quickly as she could to the room formerly known as 'the study'. Can't think why. Might have had something to do with the rotting sandwiches I used to hide in the back of our bedroom cupboard, I suppose. Though surely not... (and if you're reading this, Footballer's Knee's, I would really appreciate your not enlightening me in the comments box...).
Anyway, the deed is done. My Boys are in together. And should you be thinking of making a similar change to your household's sleeping arrangements, I have compiled a short list.
Things you will need to move your sons into the same bedroom...
3 weeks notice to finally get round to purchasing the mattress you have been telling your Husband you will order for around 2 months now, but which just hasn't been top of your to-do list. Perhaps because your overall sense of foreboding suggested some of the points which follow...
A whole working day to sit at home waiting for the delivery people to drop said mattress off. Because we all have that time to spare, right?
A further week to get round to going to the storage facility where the bunk bed not currently in use has been waiting for it's call-up papers.
Two very excited small boys on the day of the collection.
A Husband who decides on the way to collect the bunkbed that a side-trip to B&Q is a good idea on the last Saturday before Christmas.
Whilst the DIY safari is taking place elsewhere, you will also require a photographic memory to recall just how to dismantle the cotbed that you have put up and taken down probably 4 times in the last 4 years, but which is now suddenly a job you have no recollection of ever doing before.
A pen and paper to write down instructions for the next hapless individual to do assemble the cot (we are giving it to charity). Oh, and a digital camera, to look at when the job is done and the drawings and instructions are finished, and say 'Gosh, it would have made sense to take photos rather than to draw those crappy sketches...'
A sense of humour for when Husband gets home from the storage facility with the extra bunkbed, and can't find the screws to put it together.
A sense of calm when, after 2 hours tearing the flat apart looking for the missing screws, you realise there is in fact a box missing. And it is back at the storage facility, 40 minutes drive away.
An entertaining tv programme for the Boys to watch and to keep them out of harm's way whilst their parents finally put the bunkbeds together. Something with blood and guts on Animal Planet usually does the trick.
A sense of resignation when, within sight of the finish-line Husband realises that the beds have in fact been put together wrongly and that you will both be forced to perform a complicated and potentially fatal operation of the frame of the bunkbeds to rescue the situation. This operation involves a screwdriver, an umbrella, and a fair amount of swearing. Oh, and muttering. Of course.
And finally, the cruellest cut of all; the realisation that what everyone has told you is actually true; putting sheets on bunk-beds really is a bxgger.