The crisis became apparent when I found my husband sleeping under a pink flowered comforter with a poster of Hannah Montana on the wall above his head.
It was not a good look for a 40-something man.
But it did drive home the point that it was well past time to end the revolving door that's become our bedroom.
It started when Elizabeth, now 7, was about 3. Early each morning, she would bound out of her little pink toddler bed and jump into my bed with me. This never was a problem: John usually was up and gone well before the crack of dawn and I enjoyed the time alone with my sweet little girl. Even when John was there, there was plenty of room for Elizabeth to squeeze in between Mommy and Daddy.
Our morning routine continued for a couple of years, until about 18 months ago, in fact, when Sally moved from her crib to the toddler bed. It didn't take long for Sally to figure out what was going on and soon she was pitter-pattering her way into my bed right behind Elizabeth.
Trouble is, our morning cuddle time began starting a little earlier and earlier all the time. It went from about 6:30 every morning to 2:30 - as soon as, I presume, they heard their dad's alarm clock go off. Slowly our morning ritual morphed into a middle-of-the-night ritual.
Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if Sally didn't insist on sleeping parallel to the headboard. Granted, at 3, she's still relatively short, but it became increasingly uncomfortable to have one child insufferably close on one side and another child kicking me in the stomach on the other side. Throw in a couple of cranky senior citizen cats jockeying for position and we had - or at least I had - a pretty uncomfortable sleeping arrangement.
Then there was the fighting. Sally, a creature of habit, threw a fit if Elizabeth arrived at my bedside first and secured the left side. And she wasn't afraid to vocalize her displeasure at having her birthright taken: She would scream and holler until Elizabeth gave in and moved to the other side, but not without waking baby Christi in the process.
And this is how we spent our early-morning hours - hitting, kicking and screaming, punctuated by an occasional scolding from a displaced cat and a baby crying from her crib down the hall.
It was not particularly restful.
And it was far worse when John had the day off. Between the queen and the princesses, there simply wasn't room for the king. John, no longer master of his domain, resorted to slinking out of what was once our bed and into Elizabeth's.
I decided to lay down the law and issue a royal decree: There would be no more minors in Mommy and Daddy's bed in the morning. Anyone under age 18 must stay in their own beds.
Elizabeth was crestfallen. Sally was perplexed.
I sweetened the deal. Sally was promised a set of press-on Winnie the Pooh earrings for each morning she followed the new rule. The bribe for Elizabeth was an extra quarter a day on top of her normal weekly allowance.
I didn't really expect it to work, but I felt I should at least attempt to exert my motherly authority.
The next day I awoke alone. It didn't even occur to me until, while I stumbled my way to the shower, I spied Sally through her open bedroom door, laying on her stomach on her bed and leafing through a picture book. Elizabeth was also awake in her bed, silently reading her own book.
"Good morning, girls," I called out.
"We stayed in our own beds, Mom," Elizabeth answered quickly, on the off chance I hadn't noticed. She was also quick to report that a little earlier, Sally was heading into my bedroom, but upon being reminded of the deal by her big sister, climbed right back into her own bed.
I was delighted. So delighted that when bedtime rolled around again that evening, I gushed over my princesses and how well they followed directions - and reminded them another quarter and another set of press-on Pooh Bears awaited for a repeat performance.
"Did you miss us this morning?" was all Elizabeth wanted to know.
Strangely, I did. It was peaceful, without a doubt, but it didn't seem quite right.
How many mornings had I awoken to these two girls, almost on top of me, vying to see who could get the closest to me?
And how many mornings did I sneak into my own mother's bed, cuddling up to her while my father showered and shaved in the bathroom? It's one of my favorite childhood memories - and maybe someday my girls will remember feeling just as safe and happy and loved when they slipped under the covers with their mom.
A few days later, I awoke to Sally sitting on the bed, staring in my eyes.
"Now what can I do?" she asked, with the sweet little angel voice that makes me forget her occasional deviltry.
I looked at the clock - it was just after 6 a.m. "Crawl in here next to me," I said, lifting the covers for her.
On cue, Elizabeth appeared in my doorway. "It's not fair!" she protested as I pulled back the other side of the comforter.
And with that, the girls' banishment from the kingdom was quietly revoked - at least on days that Daddy is at work. But this time, the rules about no fighting, no yelling and no parallel parking will be strictly enforced.
We may have to adjust this a little. When the day comes that Christi moves from the confinement of her crib to the freedom of a big girl bed, she will undoubtedly fall right behind her sisters in their beeline for our bedroom. We could have a serious space issue then.
Anyone have a king-sized bed they want to trade for a queen?
- Mary Jane Grenzow is features editor for The Monroe Times.
She can be reached at
mgrenzow@themonroetimes.com.
It was not a good look for a 40-something man.
But it did drive home the point that it was well past time to end the revolving door that's become our bedroom.
It started when Elizabeth, now 7, was about 3. Early each morning, she would bound out of her little pink toddler bed and jump into my bed with me. This never was a problem: John usually was up and gone well before the crack of dawn and I enjoyed the time alone with my sweet little girl. Even when John was there, there was plenty of room for Elizabeth to squeeze in between Mommy and Daddy.
Our morning routine continued for a couple of years, until about 18 months ago, in fact, when Sally moved from her crib to the toddler bed. It didn't take long for Sally to figure out what was going on and soon she was pitter-pattering her way into my bed right behind Elizabeth.
Trouble is, our morning cuddle time began starting a little earlier and earlier all the time. It went from about 6:30 every morning to 2:30 - as soon as, I presume, they heard their dad's alarm clock go off. Slowly our morning ritual morphed into a middle-of-the-night ritual.
Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if Sally didn't insist on sleeping parallel to the headboard. Granted, at 3, she's still relatively short, but it became increasingly uncomfortable to have one child insufferably close on one side and another child kicking me in the stomach on the other side. Throw in a couple of cranky senior citizen cats jockeying for position and we had - or at least I had - a pretty uncomfortable sleeping arrangement.
Then there was the fighting. Sally, a creature of habit, threw a fit if Elizabeth arrived at my bedside first and secured the left side. And she wasn't afraid to vocalize her displeasure at having her birthright taken: She would scream and holler until Elizabeth gave in and moved to the other side, but not without waking baby Christi in the process.
And this is how we spent our early-morning hours - hitting, kicking and screaming, punctuated by an occasional scolding from a displaced cat and a baby crying from her crib down the hall.
It was not particularly restful.
And it was far worse when John had the day off. Between the queen and the princesses, there simply wasn't room for the king. John, no longer master of his domain, resorted to slinking out of what was once our bed and into Elizabeth's.
I decided to lay down the law and issue a royal decree: There would be no more minors in Mommy and Daddy's bed in the morning. Anyone under age 18 must stay in their own beds.
Elizabeth was crestfallen. Sally was perplexed.
I sweetened the deal. Sally was promised a set of press-on Winnie the Pooh earrings for each morning she followed the new rule. The bribe for Elizabeth was an extra quarter a day on top of her normal weekly allowance.
I didn't really expect it to work, but I felt I should at least attempt to exert my motherly authority.
The next day I awoke alone. It didn't even occur to me until, while I stumbled my way to the shower, I spied Sally through her open bedroom door, laying on her stomach on her bed and leafing through a picture book. Elizabeth was also awake in her bed, silently reading her own book.
"Good morning, girls," I called out.
"We stayed in our own beds, Mom," Elizabeth answered quickly, on the off chance I hadn't noticed. She was also quick to report that a little earlier, Sally was heading into my bedroom, but upon being reminded of the deal by her big sister, climbed right back into her own bed.
I was delighted. So delighted that when bedtime rolled around again that evening, I gushed over my princesses and how well they followed directions - and reminded them another quarter and another set of press-on Pooh Bears awaited for a repeat performance.
"Did you miss us this morning?" was all Elizabeth wanted to know.
Strangely, I did. It was peaceful, without a doubt, but it didn't seem quite right.
How many mornings had I awoken to these two girls, almost on top of me, vying to see who could get the closest to me?
And how many mornings did I sneak into my own mother's bed, cuddling up to her while my father showered and shaved in the bathroom? It's one of my favorite childhood memories - and maybe someday my girls will remember feeling just as safe and happy and loved when they slipped under the covers with their mom.
A few days later, I awoke to Sally sitting on the bed, staring in my eyes.
"Now what can I do?" she asked, with the sweet little angel voice that makes me forget her occasional deviltry.
I looked at the clock - it was just after 6 a.m. "Crawl in here next to me," I said, lifting the covers for her.
On cue, Elizabeth appeared in my doorway. "It's not fair!" she protested as I pulled back the other side of the comforter.
And with that, the girls' banishment from the kingdom was quietly revoked - at least on days that Daddy is at work. But this time, the rules about no fighting, no yelling and no parallel parking will be strictly enforced.
We may have to adjust this a little. When the day comes that Christi moves from the confinement of her crib to the freedom of a big girl bed, she will undoubtedly fall right behind her sisters in their beeline for our bedroom. We could have a serious space issue then.
Anyone have a king-sized bed they want to trade for a queen?
- Mary Jane Grenzow is features editor for The Monroe Times.
She can be reached at
mgrenzow@themonroetimes.com.
