To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
Away back in January we took them shopping, our daughter and our granddaughter. We wanted to buy them beds, for their new house. A housewarming gift from us, you might say. Our daughter chose a Queen-size bed, medium-firm, more expensive than she had imagined a mattress set might be. We explained that a hard-working professional woman and mother needed a good night's sleep to keep her sharp. She agreed, but decried the price it would take to achieve that purpose. Our granddaughter selected a mattress set not quite as firm as her mother's, and she knew what she wanted; anything but a single-size, so she opted for a double. And for both of them wrought-iron canopy-style beds in appropriate sizes.
We're now well into April. Our granddaughter has slept not one day in her new bed. Her bedroom is lovely, with large built-in pine closets, built-in pine desk and shelving. She has a nice large set of windows looking off behind their new house into the sloping woods and wetland beyond. She has a skylight so that, should she wish to look up, up, up during the night she can see, on a clear night a myriad of swirling stars, the Milky Way. She has lace curtains on the windows, a froth of sheer curtains on the canopy, sweet pastel-flowered quilts and cushions on her bed. She has shelves of soft plush toys, books and other childish paraphernalia dear and familiar to her. Yet, she fears to sleep alone, not yet accustomed to the long reach of nature beyond her window.
She sleeps yet in her mother's bed. Her mother doesn't really mind, although she would prefer the bed to herself, since her daughter, not quite ten, but almost as tall as she, takes up quite a bit of room in her tossing slumber. Still, she is in no hurry to insist her child leave the comfort and perceived safety of her mother's closeness throughout the long dark night.
But even if the child slept alone in her own bed, she would have ample company. Live company, not only the soft plush animals which surround her. There is Tibby the cat, who enjoys sleeping on her bed. There is gallumphing-big Abby, a German-Shepherd mix always protective of her. There is Jordie, an even bigger beast, at 95 pounds of goofy musculature German-Shepherd mix as well. And sleek little Stevie, the Sheltie, as well as Zoe the white Pomeranian yapper. They would all gladly share her bed.
On Friday she had a schoolchum over for the week-end. Where, I asked our grandchild, would she sleep on Friday night? In Mom's bed she promptly responded. And, I filled in, Eden will sleep in your bed? Yes, she affirmed, that's how it would be. Then, turning her head aside from the telephone to address Eden, our grandchild hooted "I just farted on the bed, and you're going to sleep in it!". Quietly, I groaned in appreciation of the fact that little boys are not the sole owners of scatological delight.
So when, on Saturday, we were over at their house we discovered that Eden was not at all agreeable to sleeping all alone in Angelyne's bed. She insisted that Angelyne sleep with her.
And here's the rub: neither little girl felt like sleeping in the new, as-yet-unslept-in double bed. They craved adventure. They wanted to "camp out". Well, in a manner of speaking. They determined that it would be a whole lot more fun to sleep on the floor. Yes, the floor. So our daughter obligingly piled the floor with quilts and blankets and lots and lots of pillows.
I imagine, although I didn't ask for confirmation, that the children muffled their shrieks of mock outrage at one another as each did her utmost to outdo the other in mock petards-and- tickles through the wee hours of the night. Which might perhaps explain the fact that they woke, rather bleary-eyed somewhat late into the next morning.
posted by Pieface @ Sunday, April 09, 2006
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