A few years ago when Big Daddy and I had to buy a new mattress, we briefly toyed with the idea of a king size. We have small nightly visitors. I know you know what I am talking about. Like me, when you’re together with the parent-friends you make loud self-righteous statements against the “family bed.” You claim that your children always go to sleep in their own beds.
That’s how I wake up in the morning. I am clinging to the edge of the bed with one kid in my back, one kid poking my feet with toenails that need cutting, and a dog across the whole lot.
So you can see my secret delight when booking my hotel for Camp Catalyst, I booked a king room — for my little ol’ lonely self. Oh, yes, I did. In my vision, I woke up in the morning having 9-10 hours of uninterrupted sleep as I spread each and every limb over the entire width of that bed.
The first night I woke up clutching the edge of bed, like normal.
The second night I — I don’t know what to tell you — I rolled out of the king bed. I think I just kept rolling thinking I would run into a kid.
The third night — the third night I just didn’t sleep at all. I think I was overloaded with information from Camp Catalyst. I think I’d been drinking too much coffee. I think I was excited to see a long-time friend the next day. I think I was lonely in the big bed.
Back home Sunday morning I woke up clinging to the edge of the bed with one kid in my back and another kid poking my feet with toenails that need cutting, and a dog across the whole thing.
I hadn’t slept so well in a long, long time.