There are days when I feel like a decent parent, and then there are days when I question how I managed to leave the hospital with a tiny human—four times! Today was definitely one of those latter days.
It had been ages since I last tackled the task of changing bed sheets and making the beds. I mean, it might as well have been during the Ice Age. With one queen bed, two sets of bunk beds, and a crib to deal with, let’s do the math: that’s 2 + 4, plus the 500 stuffed animals and 15 stray socks that seem to appear from nowhere. It’s a mountain of bedding, trust me!
I usually dodge this chore like I do exercise or those community service events I sign up for but never attend. I was just putting the last touches on my three-year-old’s bottom bunk when my seven-year-old piped up, “Mommy, can you make my bed too?”
“Of course, sweet pea! Yours is next,” I replied, feeling quite proud of myself for a whole three minutes. That is, until I attempted to scale the top bunk, which felt like I was climbing Mount Everest. The ladder seemed to laugh at me, as if saying, “Look at the big one trying to climb! Does she even know how?” Once I reached the top, I was hit with a harsh reality.
It was a complete disaster up there. No sheets, 15 books crammed under the pillow, and a mattress that was more of an afterthought—just three thin toddler bed pads that may as well have been a paper towel. I was mortified. “Umm, how long have you been sleeping without sheets?” I asked.
“I don’t know. A while, I think,” she replied nonchalantly.
“Why are you on these tiny bed pads?” I continued, baffled.
“I think something happened when you were fixing the beds last time. You couldn’t finish? I don’t really remember.”
Her memoir titled “I Don’t Remember, It Was a While Ago” is bound to be a bestseller in the parenting genre!
The top bunk looked like a jail cell, and I half-expected to find a metal cup for her to bang against the rails. To make matters worse, the top bunk of my son’s bed was ridiculously plush—double mattress, eggshell topper, sheets, pillows, and enough blankets to keep a small army cozy.
I spent the next two hours hauling mattresses, fluffing pillows, and rearranging bedding. I was determined to turn Cinderella’s shabby bed into a cozy sanctuary. How did I let this slip for weeks—no, months? Yeah, blame the ladder. That pesky thing!
As I gave kisses at the foot of the bed, I realized that nobody should ever be stuck in a corner, especially not on an unmade prison cot of a bunk bed.
On the bright side, I walked away with a newfound admiration for my daughter. She’s the epitome of resilience—never once did she complain about her bed situation. She kissed us goodnight and climbed up to her barren bed without a fuss.
While the old fable tells of a princess who could feel a pea under layers of mattresses, I’m convinced a real princess would do just what my daughter did—kiss her family goodnight and make the best of a rough situation.
So despite my parenting blunders, I’ve got myself a true princess. I hope she marries royalty one day; we could all use some Egyptian cotton around here!
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