When you are a kid, camping out on the floor in the living room is a lot of fun. It is NOT a lot of fun when you’re an adult.
My elderly parents built a tiny bungalow just a stone’s throw from my sister’s home on the side of a mountain in the upstate. The little house is adorable and so charming. But it lacks two major things: a second bedroom and a second bathroom.
Several years ago, I knew this would pose a problem, so when I would travel to visit my parents by myself, I took a cot. But after several uses, the cot began swooping in the middle and my poor arthritic hips just couldn’t take it any longer. So I began to look for other options.
One option was an automatic inflatable/deflatable bed. I made sure it was queen sized so that my husband, my little dog, and I could sleep somewhat comfortably. We sleep on a king-sized bed at home, but I knew a bed of that size would not fit in their miniscule living room. So I decided we could rough it on the queen bed for two nights.
I was wrong.
The evening started when we pushed back furniture to make room for the bed. I plugged it in, turned the knob, it loudly inflated, and down we went for the night. Or so I thought. When we are at home we also cut the air conditioning down and sleep under three fans. We like it cold and noisy. But my parents’ idea of cutting the air conditioning down at night is to set it on 72 instead of the usual 78 where you just sit and sweat doing absolutely nothing. So right off the bat, we were hot and miserable.
To make matters worse, I had told my parents to leave one of the doors to the bathroom unlocked so that we could go at night. I mean, let’s face it, my husband and I are old people, too, so we have to get up in the middle of the night and go to the bathroom. Their bathroom has 2 doors, one to the living room and one to their bedroom. So we could use the door that connects the bathroom to the living room with no problem, and we wouldn’t disturb them in their bedroom. At least that was the plan.
So my husband, my dog, and I lay down on the bed and prepared to sleep. But as I said, we were hot and miserable, so my husband got up and cut the air conditioner down lower. Then he lay back down. Now I must say, that every single time he moved, got up, or rolled over, I went bouncing all over my side of the air mattress. I was just about to backhand him when he got up and plopped down in the nearby recliner, his CPAP hose hanging from his nose and making him look like a small eared elephant.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.
“I can’t sleep. I am hot and your mother’s oxygen machine is making a racket,” He complained.
Was he kidding? At night our bedroom sounds like an airplane jet is landing and we are in a wind turbine, not to mention his cpap machine that makes its own special racket. I just rolled my eyes at him and turned over. But a little later I heard him get up again.
I suddenly went bouncing up all over the place and realized he was trying to lay back down and go to sleep. But minutes later he got back up and I rolled to the middle of the bed.
“What are you doing now!” I demanded.
“I have to go to the bathroom!” He snapped back. But when he went to the bathroom door, it was locked. Dad had forgotten to unlock it after his shower. My husband just stood there with his hands on his hips wondering what to do next. That’s when I saw him go out the back door and stand on the deck. Minutes later he returned, lay back down, and I bounced inches into the air.
Finally, we got some sleep for about an hour when suddenly a terrible cramp got me in the leg. When I sat up to massage it, I realized that I was pretty much laying on the floor. The air mattress lost its air. My husband was already awake and frustrated, and dragging his CPAP hose around the room with him. I turned the knob and put more air into the mattress. It made an awful noise. But we managed to sleep a few more hours.
The following morning my husband was asleep in the recliner when my mom asked if we’d had a good night. I responded with no, that we had not had much sleep, and I needed to make a confession.
Now, my mother has always been rather dignified and ladylike. She is 85 and still sets the table with a knife, fork spoon, and napkin. She refuses to go anywhere without her makeup, a nice outfit, matching earrings and pretty shoes. She raised three daughters and always made us dress up just to go to the grocery store. She said she didn’t want us looking “bummy” out in public. So I was kind of worried about telling my classy mother this important and yet rather bad news. But it had to be done.
“Mom, the bathroom door was locked last night, so my husband went out on your back deck and peed,” I said with fear and trepidation. I really thought she would think less of my husband or have a hissy fit.
But she just shrugged. “That’s OK,” she said. “Your dad does it all the time.”
The next night we stayed in a hotel.
