Just as I was screaming to M that we have to find somewhere to “put this baby,” our problem seems to have solved itself. Sort of. We have four bedrooms, but one is my office, which I’m (for obvious reasons) loathe to give up. So, we planned on bunking Sidney in with Francie and Fiona… at some point. I’ve been waiting for Fiona to outgrow the crib so I can put Sidney in it, and put the big girls in bunk beds. In the meantime, she hops between our bed, a pack and play in our room, and a pack and play in the boys’ room which is the darkest, quietest place to be during the school-day (and the exact opposite on weekends). So here we were, waiting for Fiona to be bed-ready.
Which apparently, she is.
Two nights ago she followed her big brothers and climbed right out of her crib, marched upstairs into our room, and screamed, “I’m awake!” (Francie didn’t dare leave her crib, but Bennett leaped out as soon as he could and we once caught Efram balanced on his crib rail, chubby toddler toes curled over the edge, wild eyed like a crazed surfer.)  If we didn’t have Francie I wouldn’t believe that there are kids who aren’t dare-devils, toddlers who don’t climb the walls and dismantle the hardware on the window treatments (Bennett), scale bookshelves and leap to the floor (Efram), attach pulleys wired with dental floss to the rafters of their room and attempt to fly (both).  And for the first few weeks of Fi’s life I prayed that girls aren’t wired to pull crap like that, but she quickly proved me wrong. (As I write this, Fi is currently holed up in a tent in her room and is refusing to budge.)
So, M and I are going to one of our favorite date-night spots to buy a bunk bed small enough to fit in the girls’ tiny room: Ikea. (Awesome froyo, and pickled herring only the Swedes could make, and only Ashkenazim would drive 20 miles for. We do not consume them at the same time.)
In other news, almost (gulp) thirty years ago my sister and I watched the royal wedding on TV. Last week Francie and I tried to watch the highlights of the latest Royal Wedding, but I’d forgotten that I’d downgraded our cable package and we apparently don’t have BBC America anymore (no big loss). So, while I thought I’d taped the wedding.. I hadn’t. Luckily, it was being re-aired left and right, and we managed to find some highlights. Bennett got wind of what we were watching and leaped onto the bed — there’s no pomp too pompous for that boy, and he watched about 30 minutes before he turned to me and asked, “So, who do I have to marry to get a wedding like that?” It took a while for me to explain to the two of them that we are unlikely candidates for a royal wedding. After all, a commoner is one thing; a Jewish commoner is another thing entirely. They seemed confused — especially because in light of Mr. Obama and Ms. Clinton we’re always going on and on about the possibilities available to all children today — even ours. At some point I gave up trying to explain and distracted them: “Hey, look at that hat!” (A friend of mine, another blogger — perfectly noted that one hat in particular looked like a giant blue vagina. I only have to think about that to laugh.)