Bunk beds are in my sons' future. Someday. When Matthew is no longer in a crib.
It's been awhile since we moved The Rock Star's bed into the playroom. The Little Buddy started his midnight parties filled with giggling and squealing and Garrett simply couldn't sleep through it.
But then, two weeks ago, they shared a tent with my dad and Matthew did so well that four nights ago we let Garrett sleep on the floor of the bedroom, just to see how they'd do together. The oldest, remarkably, didn't try to sneak into our room to sleep on the carpet next to Troy's side of the bed. The youngest, even more remarkably, didn't throw a party in the wee hours of the morning. Well, actually, he might have. According to Garrett, Matthew woke up and started to play. He claims that he said, "Matthew, go back to sleep." Whether that happened or not will remain a mystery. There's a video monitor but after four years of learning to tune out the small noises of sleeping children, a symphony could probably drift through it's speaker without waking me.
The next night we did it again.
And the next.
"Garrett," I offered tonight, "would you like to move your bed back into the bedroom?"
Oh. Boy. Did. He. Ever.
So after dinner we spent an hour rearranging both rooms. Every five seconds The Rock Star would ask me if he could please go to bed right then. Every five seconds The Little Buddy would grin and babble something that I think had something to do with his big brother's bed being in his room.
I lowered the railing on the crib thinking that maybe we'd just see what happened. Go big or go--uh--to bed, right? After I'd read the boys their Bible story and we'd prayed I laid Matthew down in the crib and I crawled into the bed with Garrett. I've been reading half a chapter a night out of Little House in the Big Woods and I knew we were going to finish it tonight.
The moment I started reading, Matthew sat up, looked at us, and was over the side of that crib in record speed. So much for that. Garrett giggled, "Uh oh." His baby brother toddled over to us, climbed up onto the bed, and laid directly on top of him. Garrett smiled and scooted over, allowing enough room for the three of us to fit--incredibly snugly--in the bed. I read. They listened.
I was thinking of what a sweet moment it was, of how peaceful our nights have been since they've been sharing a room again, of the way my heart skips a beat when I'm blindsided by a snapshot of perfection with these brothers.
I was already having a moment, is what I'm saying.
Pa's strong, sweet voice was softly singing:
"Shall auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Shall auld acquaintance be forgot,
And the days of auld lang syne?
And the days of auld lang syne, my friend,
And the days of auld lang syne,
Shall auld acquaintance be forgot,
And the days of auld lang syne?"
When the fiddle had stopped singing Laura called
out softly, "What are days of auld lang syne, Pa?"
"They are the days of a long time ago, Laura,' Pa
said. 'Go to sleep now."
But Laura lay awake a little while, listening to Pa's
fiddle softly playing and to the lonely sound of the wind
in the Big Woods. She looked at Pa sitting on the bench
by the hearth, the firelight gleaming on his brown hair
and beard and glistening on the honey-brown fiddle.
She looked at Ma, gently rocking and knitting.
She thought to herself, "This is now."
She was glad that the cosy house, and Pa and Ma
and the firelight and the music, were now. They could
not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It
can never be a long time ago.
-Laura Ingalls Wilder
I will not forget the fourteen months leading up to Matthew becoming a permanent part of this family. Like stones from the Jordan river, I will remember what the Lord has done for me. But I am thankful--ever so thankful--that now is now.