My daughter begged me to buy bunk beds at a garage sale quite a few years ago. We crammed the white metal beds into the back of a van and dragged them upstairs to her room. She’s had them ever since.
Last year, she thought it would be better to unstack the bunk beds so she’d have two separate beds. I knew this was a terrible idea because of the lack of floor space but she insisted. Ever since, her room has been an obstacle course, made worse by the fact that she has an emotional attachment or special memory assigned to everything she’s ever accumulated. Also, she has a tiny hoarding problem. (Stuffed animals! Dollies! Head bands!)
Recently, she decided she would like to get rid of one bed. I suggested that maybe we should removed both bunk beds and then move a spare daybed from the boys’ room into her room. So that was the plan for today.
I am a sequential and thorough rearranger, so I knew it would be an ordeal. And since there was no school today, we tackled the chore.
Let’s just say that two hours into the seven hour task, she lost steam. She petered out. She would have flopped onto her bed while I dug through piles but her room had no beds in it.
But despite her lethargy and my eventual exhaustion, we did it. We moved the bunk beds into the garage. I took apart the daybed and then reassembled it in her room. We sorted and purged (a little) and repacked and restacked. It’s not perfect, not quite the thorough job I’d hoped to do, but it’s enough.
And now that I’m thoroughly exhausted, it’s time for a new week of school and soccer and lacrosse and work and driving kids around.