My mother’s house is small. There are two bedrooms and one bathroom.
The TVs are located in the bedrooms. One bedroom is my sister’s bedroom and one
is my mother’s. We have two permanent dogs and often we have boarding dogs. My
sister sleeps alone in her bedroom. Do the math. That leaves two adults, one
six year old, a springer spaniel and a golden retriever in the one bedroom that
is left. The one bedroom that is left has a twin cot and a maybe full sized bed
in it plus a dog crate. When I do not live here, my Mom is in the big bed with
her springer spaniel and the room is cot-less.
When we discussed moving here, I originally suggested putting my son in
the laundry room. I thought it might be a good opportunity for him to have his
own room with all his stuff in it. Mom nixed this idea. Instead when we arrived
she had obtained a small folding cot from my Aunt and put it on the far side of
her room next to the bed. In my mind, I was going to sleep on the couch or
somewhere. Clearly, this had not been thought through. The couch in my mind is
a loveseat in reality. Mom assumed that I would just sleep with her in her bed.
I think my immediate comment was, “I don’t want to sleep in bed with you for
six months.” And here we are, six months later. Like hillbillies. My secret
For some reason, quite recently, I feel as if I can’t stand this
sleeping situation for one more night. Like if a pinky toe so much as touches
any part of me I am going to explode (think Johnny Depp being liquefied in the
first Nightmare on Elm Street movie). I don’t know why now. I don’t know why it has taken me so long to feel this way. Maybe because it embodies all the wrong things about this trip. Or maybe it is because I am such a short timer in NY now and soon will have polar opposite feelings for my bedmate. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have enough pinky
toes to put on him. Soon Keanu is going to so be stuck with me, to me, in bed because
I am going to squeeze up against him every waking and sleeping moment. Before I
left we had Lucy and Ricky sheets in our bed. We slept together but we each had
our own sheet. This mostly had to do with the fact that he uses his sheet as a
giant Kleenex and it grosses me out. I already told him that there will be no
more two sheet action on the bed. One sheet, everyone under it, together, the
way it should be with a box of tissues at hand at all times.