Last Friday, I stopped by a garage sale with my two youngest kids. We came upon a bunk bed, a white metal bunk bed, and my daughter began to beg for that bunk bed. I said, “We don’t need a bunk bed. I’m not buying a bunk bed.”
And yet, a few hours later, it occurred to me that I should have bought the bunk bed because then I could move my daughter’s bed to my son’s room and my son’s bed to my other son’s room and then, voila! The teenager who has been sleeping on the floor because he doesn’t like his other sleeping options (an Ikea chair that converts into a bed OR the top bunk of the bunk bed in his room) would have an actual bed upon which to slumber.
I know. It’s confusing. No time to explain!
So I went back to the garage sale and purchased the bunk bed. Then I spent the next hour carting the bed home (one piece at a time in the back of my mini-van.)
That set me up for a lovely Saturday full of cleaning so that we could shift the universe and place each bed in its new location.
Let me just say that we all have too much stuff. And so I had to move lots of stuff so we could move the beds.
Also? I had to use tools to take apart the bunk bed to get it up the stairs. I did so without swearing, which is good since my kids were helping me. And we only put a smallish scrape on the wall.
The project wasn’t complete until Sunday. And I still haven’t quite put the finishing touches on everything.
Why I create this sort of work for myself is beyond comprehension.
Next up? Planning a birthday party in ten days and making the dreaded phone calls to invite the party guests since I don’t have addresses for everyone. I know. I should have already invited everyone but where did the time go? I’ll tell you. I squandered it moving beds from room to room, that’s where.
My head hurts.