Sweet Respite

Eight-thirty and the baby is blissfully asleep. I've put her in Monkey Boi's bed downstairs, not wanting to take her up to the sleeping loft until I retire for the evening as well.

"How is that big old bed working out?" I hear you asking.

Mojo enlisted Monkey Boi's help to bring it in from the hallway and haul it up the steep stairway to the bedroom while I entertained the baby in the living area. I studiously ignored the bangs, swearing and occasional cries of pain and let the boys do their thing. (The fact that I grew up in a furniture store and can move furniture like a pro is often lost on large men intent on "Doing Things Their Way" so I am content to sit and giggle if the situation calls for it.)

After the bed was set up, the bedding had to be laundered. Once again, I let the boys do their thing, only asking that they put an extra quarter in the machine for the bonus wash, since the sheets and comforter had been sitting in a storage shed for the last two and half years.

Eventually I cuddled up with the baby on Monkey's twin bed and fell asleep.

"Wake up." Mojo is shaking my shoulder. "Bring the baby upstairs and come to bed."

It is past midnight, but the bed is finally assembled, made and sits in splendid glory waiting for its occupants. And glorious it is, a lovely rosey-hued wood with four tall posts that taper gracefully at the top and head and foot boards with clean, arched lines. The bed is tall, almost three feet off the ground. I actually giggled climbing into it.

"I feel like the princess and the pea," I told Mojo.

The mattress is a delightful change from my ten year old futon and 22 year old metal bedstead. I sunk into its pillow-top and sighed. Mojo settled beside me, the baby in the middle.

Cut to the next morning. I am on the edge of the bed with my butt hanging out in the cold. I spy Mojo across the immense landscape of the bed, mirroring me. Arabis has moved herself sideways, her head under my chin and her feet in Mojo's armpit. Both cats have joined us and take up prime real estate in the center of the bed.

But the creme de la creme? It's Monkey Boi. Wrapped in a fleece blanket and stretched out at our feet.