As you may have guessed from the title, this post is not funny. If that’s what you came here looking for today, read at your own peril.
For here, there be memories.
Post move, we were falling asleep.
We lay in a bed.
Boss Lady’s bed.
Remembering other beds we’d slept in along the way.
The floor of my sister’s apartment in Scottsdale. The futon. My sister shrieking in the night “No skin on skin!” because she can’t sleep with people touching her.
I thought of how lucky I was.
The beds I’d shared with my husband.
The years we’d shared.
How short and how long they were.
A bed in a rented condo of the beach of Waikiki. Slipping out of bed to sit on the balcony and listen to the Hawaiian night. Being careful not to step on my sleeping sister when we slipped out of bed.
A bed in the hotel across the street from the airport. A bed we rented specifically so we didn’t miss our honeymoon flight. Which we missed anyway. And then laid in that same bed a good while longer, reveling in being newlyweds. A bed where we celebrated not having to plan a wedding anymore.
A bed on a cruise ship after we’d eaten Thanksgiving dinner.
A bed with an ocean view on our much delayed honeymoon. A bed where we could hear the waves.
Those were good nights we shared.
I’m looking forward to more good nights in a new bed and under a new roof.
But I miss each of those other beds, those other lives.
I’m worried that in this new life my sister may not be underfoot. I’m worried that we may not have epic fights with Mickey Mouse in a new bed. This move leaves me in limbo: longing for a life we are starting, missing a life we are leaving. Unable to reconcile that they are the same life.
I look forward to making new memories. I just marvel at how many beds we’ve lived already. I’m just intimidated by how many may exist in our future.
Then I remember: my husband invited my sister and her soon-to-be-husband to live in our new house. So they’ll still be sleeping near us. And that warms my heart.
It makes me sure that while this new, old life will include a different bed, the people are the same. My husband is the generous man who wants to help our family. My sister is the goofy girl who begs to watch my son. Wild Thing will continue to push the limits of his strength. I will continue to long for a book.
In this new house, we will continue to love and laugh.
Hopefully, we can also continue to press our legs against Lauren’s and watch her writhe in terror.
No skin on skin, people.
No skin on skin.