At the age of (almost) seven, The Blonde Bombshell admitted she didn’t really like being alone at night.
Considering the age of the house, the unblocked chimney in her room, the squeaky floorboards and high ceilings, I can’t say I really blamed her. My four year old was quick to repeat exactly what her older sister said, if it meant she got a roommate. As such, we made the decision to move our two eldest girls into the same room.
So as soon as school holidays started, they began ‘practicing’ sharing a room. The mattresses and sleeping bags were dragged out and each night they would move them from room to room, never wanting to favour one room over the other.
We kept waiting for the world to implode, but it didn’t.
In fact, the girls got up less in the evenings (for random drinks, cuddles, strange noises or banana sandwiches) and began sleeping later in the morning. Astonishing.
After a week of ‘practicing’ we began to finalise the room shift. Rugs were rolled up, chests of drawers migrated from one room to the next, toys and books were consolidated in one room, and the beds neatly lined up in the other.
The girls began to practice saying ‘our’ room, rather than ‘my room.’
‘So Mum,’ the Bombshell began. ‘This is now going to be our private play room. Just for us, right?’
‘Sure,’ I replied.
She turned to the Mop. ‘This is now our private room. We sleep in that room, and this is where we play. Okay?’
The Mop looked a little confused, but she nodded.
Almost a week on, things were going reasonably well. Even when they were fighting, they still wanted to continue sharing a bedroom, and they would often wake and go quietly into their private play room without us even realising.
Then the other day the Mop came to me.
‘Mum, would you like to play with me in the pirate room?’
‘Ummm, the what room?’ I asked her.
She gave me that puzzled look again. ‘The pirate room, the room that is just meant for us to play in.’
I considered correcting her, but these little word-slips are becoming increasingly rare.
And I’m going to miss them when they’re gone.