Do the Hustle!

Missy always has great ideas.

For my 13th birthday party, she thought it would be fun to have a dance competition to "Do the Hustle." I don't remember if we actually did it, but I remember thinking how awesome it sounded.

I was thinking of that song today because as of Monday, Lily and Eva are in separate bedrooms. I guess I should have said, "Do the Shuffle!" instead, but hustle works too.

We've been prepping Lily and Eva about the change for weeks, for two reasons: 1) so Lily didn't have a nervous breakdown once she realized she no longer had a roommate to torture all night long and 2) so that Eva wouldn't have a nervous breakdown and could endure the week or so of waiting for her new bed.

So, Monday morning, I stripped Lily's bunkbed and threw it all into the washing machine ("Trow it in the wash! It'll be grand!" Name that movie and you will get a prize!). I pulled out the new ladybug blankets and sheets and went to work.

It was at this moment Eva decided to have a meltdown.

"But I want to have new blankets!" She wept bitterly.

I sighed impatiently.

"You are getting an entirely new BED, Eva, so you can just stop..."

She wandered off and cried into her pink fuzzy blanket, no doubt thinking I was worse than a Wicked Step Mother. I was the ultimate Evil Mother.

Lily bounced around the messy room while I was working, completely filled with glee that she had new blankets, and two new and exciting throw pillows in the shape of a flower and a ladybug. Life was great. Especially since Eva was crying about it.

Jeremy rolled into town, bunkbed in tow, a few hours later.

After dinner we began working on building the dumb thing, all while trying to keep five children happy and getting along (Can you say popcorn? Lots and LOTS of popcorn?).

After we were done, we plunked one bed on top of the other, complete with the old blankets and sheets, and started getting the littles ready for bed.

It was at this moment that Lily decided to have a meltdown.

"I get blankets and pillow?" she asked excitedly as she sat on the new top bunk.

"No," I said consolingly. "Lily's not sleeping in here."

She let out some high pitched, yet guttural, bellowing screech (you'd have to hear it to understand the dynamics of a Lily Scream), and positioned herself on the new top bunk where I couldn't grab her. After a minute or two, her desire to be consoled won over her need to sleep on the new bed, and she let me pick her up, her body sagging in despair as she gave herself over to wretched defeat.

Eva danced around the room in pure delight, punctuating her joy with a happy little bounce onto her new bed.

I laughed a sad little laugh in my head at the irony.

We finally got everyone where they were supposed to be, and I sat back, sort of bewildered that I didn't have anybody screaming in their beds.

I had forgotten what it was like to have quiet children at bedtime.

It didn't last long, though.

Lily, with nobody to harass, was at her door within a few minutes, complaining about something.

Jeremy went in and fixed her up with whatever she felt she was in dire need of, and left.

She was back after a short while, and instead of going in to her room, Jeremy put a blanket at the base of the door so Lily would stop peeking out, which resulted in insulted Lily Screams, and she presumably passed out, either from exhaustion, or from hyperventilating.

During this hullabaloo, Eden started calling out.

"HEY!" she said. "HEY!"

I then realized that I hadn't once thought about what Eden had to say about getting a roommate.

I had been so wrapped up in prepping Lily and Eva that I had forgotten that there was another person involved who, as of late, has been known to have strong feelings on just about everything, though it usually is about bananas, popcorn, and shoes.

Her "HEY!" didn't sound angry, though. Merely questioning, like she was saying, "Did I miss the memo?"

She then commemorated the occasion by pooping in her diaper, which sent Eva into a knocking-on-the-door frenzy, and, once again, Jeremy came to the rescue, while I sat in complete docility at this here desk doing something important, like playing a game. I tell myself it's good for Jeremy to deal with these things. It makes him a stronger person. He'll be all sorts of efficient and schooled in household matters when I die of a game-induced brain hemorrhage.