No, it's not about that.
It's about a place to sleep. Specifically, one of the several lightly used bedrooms in our house now that we are empty nesters. It's not a new state of affairs for us: our kids have been out of the house and on their own for a number of years. Like many parents, when they first moved out we kept their rooms pretty much as they left them. It was partly sentimental, partly bait, partly inertia. Why changed what worked for so many years, especially when it might induce them to visit, and no one was forcing us to change anything?
Not surprisingly, they preferred their new lives and digs, and came back to stay infrequently. Their rooms started to look more like museums, with old trophies and certificates gathering dust, and cracked and peeling paint. All in all, it was time to clean them out and up, throwing away boxes of school projects ("The History of the Submarine") and awards ("Music Student of the Month/January"). We gave them a fresh coat of paint and shuffled the furniture around to make them more inviting to potential visitors, even if they hadn't earned a Third Place Youth Soccer trophy.
The one upgrade we didn't deal with was the beds themselves. The existing singles had been purchased originally as big-boy beds. At the time those mattresses seemed so large for little kids. But life happened, along with innumerable growth spurts, and they were never replaced as the boys grew older. Their feet might hang off the end a bit, or they would sleep with their knees bent, but no one thought to complain (much). Until they went away to college and experienced extra-long twins, it never even seemed worthy of a discussion. And when they finally came home after school, it wasn't to stay, so those potential user-driven requests for an upgrade never happened.
But with our DIY makeover, I became one of those users. More and more as we are getting older, our nighttime schedules are shifting. Our asynchronous body clocks meant that my wife and I evolved a habit of reading in different rooms and drifting off separately. She took our queen bed, while I squatted elsewhere on an easy chair or one of the twins, eventually returning to our room late at night. And yes, those singles were uncomfortable: my feet hung over the edge, and my knees hurt from bending. It's amazing the boys hadn't had us hauled up on charges of child abuse.
We had an old double in the (official) guest room, but it was really not much better. Wider, yes, but not longer. It was OK for an occasional visitor or if you were under five and a half feet. I found myself going bed to bed in search of the perfect fit, though it wasn't firmness I craved but size. Nothing felt right. The result was that when I came down in the morning I more resembled Papa Bear as opposed to Goldilocks.
We talked about it and considered our options. We looked at catalogs and surfed online. We decided to add to our sleeping inventory, but were overwhelmed with all the possibilities. Then one night on my way home from a meeting in Philadelphia, I found myself passing Ikea. Enough talking. With 40 minutes left till closing, I swung in and raced to the bedroom display area to find a simple frame and mattress. I flopped around on several models like a fish, then scribbled down the unpronounceable all-in-capital names and part locations. I flew to the open warehouse, grabbed a cart and loaded it up with a KOPARDAL frame, LÖNSET base and MORGEDAL mattress. Some Tetris-esque maneuvering got it all in the car, as long I drove slowly and didn't hit the brakes too hard.
The next day we spent several hours hopscotching furniture from one room to the next, then several more with the hieroglyphic directions to put the new queen together. Eventually we finished it off with a SÖTVEDEL comforter, the VÅRÄRT cover and the NATTJASMIN sheets. Exhausted from text-screaming in Swedish, I couldn't wait for bedtime. When it came, I anxiously slipped between the sheets with my book. It was warm. My legs were straight. And I fell asleep and never made it back to our own bed.
Not too long, not too short: just right.
-END-
Marc Wollin of Bedford sometimes takes a nap before bedtime. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.
It's about a place to sleep. Specifically, one of the several lightly used bedrooms in our house now that we are empty nesters. It's not a new state of affairs for us: our kids have been out of the house and on their own for a number of years. Like many parents, when they first moved out we kept their rooms pretty much as they left them. It was partly sentimental, partly bait, partly inertia. Why changed what worked for so many years, especially when it might induce them to visit, and no one was forcing us to change anything?
Not surprisingly, they preferred their new lives and digs, and came back to stay infrequently. Their rooms started to look more like museums, with old trophies and certificates gathering dust, and cracked and peeling paint. All in all, it was time to clean them out and up, throwing away boxes of school projects ("The History of the Submarine") and awards ("Music Student of the Month/January"). We gave them a fresh coat of paint and shuffled the furniture around to make them more inviting to potential visitors, even if they hadn't earned a Third Place Youth Soccer trophy.
The one upgrade we didn't deal with was the beds themselves. The existing singles had been purchased originally as big-boy beds. At the time those mattresses seemed so large for little kids. But life happened, along with innumerable growth spurts, and they were never replaced as the boys grew older. Their feet might hang off the end a bit, or they would sleep with their knees bent, but no one thought to complain (much). Until they went away to college and experienced extra-long twins, it never even seemed worthy of a discussion. And when they finally came home after school, it wasn't to stay, so those potential user-driven requests for an upgrade never happened.
But with our DIY makeover, I became one of those users. More and more as we are getting older, our nighttime schedules are shifting. Our asynchronous body clocks meant that my wife and I evolved a habit of reading in different rooms and drifting off separately. She took our queen bed, while I squatted elsewhere on an easy chair or one of the twins, eventually returning to our room late at night. And yes, those singles were uncomfortable: my feet hung over the edge, and my knees hurt from bending. It's amazing the boys hadn't had us hauled up on charges of child abuse.
We had an old double in the (official) guest room, but it was really not much better. Wider, yes, but not longer. It was OK for an occasional visitor or if you were under five and a half feet. I found myself going bed to bed in search of the perfect fit, though it wasn't firmness I craved but size. Nothing felt right. The result was that when I came down in the morning I more resembled Papa Bear as opposed to Goldilocks.
We talked about it and considered our options. We looked at catalogs and surfed online. We decided to add to our sleeping inventory, but were overwhelmed with all the possibilities. Then one night on my way home from a meeting in Philadelphia, I found myself passing Ikea. Enough talking. With 40 minutes left till closing, I swung in and raced to the bedroom display area to find a simple frame and mattress. I flopped around on several models like a fish, then scribbled down the unpronounceable all-in-capital names and part locations. I flew to the open warehouse, grabbed a cart and loaded it up with a KOPARDAL frame, LÖNSET base and MORGEDAL mattress. Some Tetris-esque maneuvering got it all in the car, as long I drove slowly and didn't hit the brakes too hard.
The next day we spent several hours hopscotching furniture from one room to the next, then several more with the hieroglyphic directions to put the new queen together. Eventually we finished it off with a SÖTVEDEL comforter, the VÅRÄRT cover and the NATTJASMIN sheets. Exhausted from text-screaming in Swedish, I couldn't wait for bedtime. When it came, I anxiously slipped between the sheets with my book. It was warm. My legs were straight. And I fell asleep and never made it back to our own bed.
Not too long, not too short: just right.
-END-
Marc Wollin of Bedford sometimes takes a nap before bedtime. His column appears regularly in The Record-Review, The Scarsdale Inquirer and online at http://www.glancingaskance.blogspot.com/, as well as via Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter.
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