If you were a reader in 2008, you might know what I’m about to blog about. If not, let me explain briefly.
In the early 90’s, my parents gave my brother a magical Christmas gift. Actually, Santa gave him the gift. He went to sleep in his bed and woke up in an amazing new bunk bed (on the bottom bunk as no one wanted him to fall out and break a bone). I helped pull that off as I’m eight years older and was already aware of Santa’s non-existence. FireDad and I decided to carry that over to our children. We did so with BigBrother in 2008; he went to bed in his toddler bed and woke up in a twin bed featuring a Very Hungry Caterpillar bed set. And this Christmas, LittleBrother got his magic.
After my initial panic that FireDad would be at work and I’d have to do it all myself, I began to panic that maybe it wouldn’t work with LittleBrother. They’re both great sleepers, but of the two, LittleBrother wakes more frequently and sleeps lighter than his older brother. The boys went to bed around 8:30, and I waited until 10:00pm to call FireDad home from the fire department to help. I wanted to make sure he was asleep when we transferred him to our room and built the bed in his room.
He stayed asleep during transfer. And slept through banging on walls. And me stepping on the bed frame in bare feet and muffling a yelp. And the repeated sounds of feet up and down the stairs. And our voices — quiet, but voices all the same. And the sounds of packaging being torn off of box springs and mattresses and mattress covers and so on. And he didn’t hear my camera snapping, snapping, snapping across the hall.
And he slept through the transfer back to his — new! — bed.
And he slept all night.
And he slept and slept and slept.
He didn’t even wake up when my alarm went off three times because I kept pressing snooze as I went to bed at 1:00 and the Spanish Buzz alarm on my phone started going off at 5:30am. Yawn. He didn’t wake up when I showered and dropped the shampoo in the shower. Or when I dried my hair — which woke up BigBrother. He didn’t wake up when I set BigBrother in our bedroom in front of the TV with very firm directions not to walk down the hall to the living room. He didn’t wake up when FireDad pulled in the driveway, home from his 24 hour shift at the fire department.
In fact, we had to wake the child up. On Christmas morning. What a silly kid.
He stretched. And sat up. And climbed out of bed. And kind of stood there, facing away from the bed, blinking as if he was thinking, “Wait, did I just climb out of bed?” And he turned around.
He was definitely pleased. As was BigBrother — both that his little brother got a Big Boy Bed and that Santa is so entirely awesome that he can magic a bed under you while you’re asleep. They exchanged Santa bed stories while FireDad and I stood by and smiled the smile of parents who pulled it off.
We eventually made our way to the living room and opened presents and went about our day. But let me tell you, LittleBrother is pleased with his Big Boy Bed. And I’m so pleased that we passed a family tradition on to both of our sons. I will treasure the memories of their smiles, their awe and wonder, their joy for the rest of my days. Someday, when they learn that Santa isn’t real and put two-and-two together that their Mom and Dad managed to pull off the magic without the help of the bearded white guy, I will put those faces of confusion, awe and amazement in my mental photograph box as well.
I hope your Christmas was just as magical. Though I do have to ask: Why are the boys’ beds more comfortable than ours?