It’s about 5:30 a.m. as I type this. Tim is asleep on one side, Ella sleeps between us, and I’m typing on my laptop. I can hear my son, Alex, cough in his sleep in the next room; he has a summer cold that’s in the beginning stages.
If all this sounds wacky, this is an example of the new normal in the O’Neil household—life with two kids. Most days, I dream of going back to bed. No fancy sheets. No big, fluffy pillows. In fact, if I run my hands across the comforter, I can feel the crumbs from Ella’s morning toast. We do everything here. Some people think the kitchen table is the center of the home. But for us, it’s the bed.
With all of this craziness, our bed has been the wellspring of my creativity. After everyone drifts off, I open the laptop and start typing. Since April, this spot has given more inspiration that anywhere in the house. In fact, I penned this Father’s Day poem last night while watching Law and Order: SVW.
Actually, I have a whole series of pictures of Tim, Alex, and Ella asleep in this bed. (Hmmm, maybe I’ll frame the series and hang it—where else—over the bed!)
We’re in the process of buying a bed for Alex so Ella can have his crib. Tim and I desperately want to reclaim this space for us. Let’s just say that Ella makes things a little inconvenient when Tim and I need couple time. Right now, she looks like a frog lying on its back, arms and legs outstretched and floating. (Note to self: buy Alex a set of Wiggles sheets to make new bed more appealing.)
And then there’s my nightstand, stacked full of books that I’m dying to read: Money: A Memoir by Liz Perle; Different Hours by Stephen Dunn; Gathering Ground, the Cave Canem anthology. So many words travel over and through this spot. The most important words, I love you, begin and end here. In our bed, problems are solved, ideas are hatched, and plans for the future are created, right here, fleshed out night after night in our dreams.