Bunkmates

Last week we made and executed a big decision.  Okay, maybe not that big.  But it felt big to me.  Our "baby" moved from his crib into his big boy bed.  And he moved into the room next door with his brother.

The transition out of the crib was nothing for him.  He didn't really seem to care- other than the handful of times he came into the room when his dad and I were assembling the bed and making it and he remarked, "Makin' bed." and then went about his way playing.  But the night before the jump, I cried.  A lot.  I may or may not have ranted a bit about how the State of Kansas was forcing him to grow up too quickly (Because even though he is in fact two and a half, he didn't care that he was in a crib and I would have kept him there as long as possible- to give him (but if I'm being honest, to give ME) longer to be a baby, since he didn't have that chance so much in his baby months) and robbing him of precious developmental months by requiring that he be in an actual bed.  I may have tucked him in and stood outside of his door allowing my sweet husband to console me as I cried and cried.  And cried. 

As the week has gone on and the boys have adjusted to (and LOVED) sharing a room, I've had chance to recall the precious years I shared with my different bunkmates.  The boys have done a fantastic job and have only needed to be asked gently a handful of times to stay quiet and to quit being silly- but I've loved standing outside of their door in the hallway listening to their giggles, their growls as they communicate through their stuffed animals,  their conversations- which I don't understand- but they completely understand.  It's clear that this transition is only hard on me at this point, but the Lord has used their joy and my memories to comfort me.

I remember being summoned into my sisters' full-sized bed and cozying down between them, whispering, giggling, scratching backs-feeling like their most-admired pet and revelling in it.  I remember staring up at the underside of the bottom bunk, singing- harmonizing with my sister as she taught me new songs she's learned in youth group.  I remember passing notes on the far side of bunk bed- up and down, up and down.  I remember talking about baptism and angels and eternity.  I remember praying together aloud before sleeping and desiring the sincerity and confidence my sisters had as they spoke to our God.  I remember the night after the tragedy at Columbine- my brother and I flocked into my sister's room and shared the sad night together after we'd prayed and pondered the terrible events.  Years after we'd been bunkmates, we returned to that comforting place of togetherness to sleep. 

That first night Bug slept in his new bed- the one with the tears I cried for their years of neglect- Grant held me and reminded me that we get to create new memories and celebrate all of the milestones to come.  We will celebrate milestones and work to make memories for them, but I can't help but think they are already off to a great start of doing this on their own.  I dream and encircle their new relationship as bunkmates with the romantic notion that they'll make memories like the ones I share with my siblings. 

And then I hear a giggle and a growl and I know that they already are.