Bunked

Brace yourselves. This week, I had to get out my tools. It was my job to stack my children. The result was far scarier than anything I experienced at the amusement park. There’s nothing riskier than putting your life at the mercy of my precarious craftsmanship.

Bunk beds are unique among furniture. There’s nothing else that’s meant to hold people in a two-story configuration. Even Ikea has yet to propose a double decker couch. When it comes to sleeping, though, the more children you can warehouse in a single area, the better. Raising kids is most efficient when you can pile them on top of each other. When we first moved our kids out of their cribs, they were all in deconstructed bunk beds. We got one set from Lola’s parents and one set from mine. Early in our marriage, we were not above accepting hand-me-downs from relatives. We’re still not. If something’s not good enough for you anymore, it’s just right for me. I like my possessions like I like my people: free and slightly damaged. We had an advantage when it came to inheriting stuff. Lola and I had all four of our kids before our siblings had any of theirs. We won the race to collect our parents’ surplus child rearing junk. To date, it’s the only thing I’ve won in my life. You’re looking at the reigning champion of the Garage Sale Derby. Well, you’re reading the words by me. If you’re looking at me, I need to do a better job of keeping my curtains closed.

Exploding Unicorn by James Breakwell is a reader-supported publication. It’s like PBS, but completely unhelpful and slightly evil. Join today!

My oldest two daughters were the first to leave the ground. Lola and I miscalculated when pumping out children as quickly as possible. We had too many kids for the size of our house. Even after we renovated the attic to add a bedroom, we were still left with four sleeping spaces for six people. Lola and I claimed one room for ourselves, although I’m sure she would have been more than happy to split us into two. That left us with three rooms for four kids. Rather than giving two kids their own room and forcing the other two to share, we elected to make all of the children equally miserable. We put two kids in two of the bedrooms and turned the third bedroom into a glorified storage closet, also known as a playroom. The idea was that by putting all of their stuff in one room, they would have enough space to sleep in the other two. That approach was naive to say the least. Like goldfish, children grow to fill the size of their container. They didn’t physically expand, but they added stuff until all three rooms were equally packed. No matter how fast Lola and I got rid of things, items came in faster than it went out. Eventually, we were left with no choice but to send Betsy and Mae into the sky. It was either that or make them sleep in the backyard. I would have gone with that option, but that’s where the pigs poop.

Although Betsy and Mae slept in twin beds that were meant to be stacked, I never considered bunking them. Their beds were extremely old and unstable. Lola’s parents got them used many decades ago. I’m not sure if anyone in either of our family lines has ever bought new furniture. If you plan on having kids, you’re best off to get all your furniture pre-destroyed. The other reason we didn’t stack them was that the kids were getting older and homework was doing a better job at ruining their lives. They needed a flat surface where they could keep up with it. Rather than bunking the beds and then adding two desks in the space where one of the beds used to be, we opted for a far more complex solution. Lola found a used loft bed for cheap. It had a desk and a dresser built in. It seemed like a quick and easy solution to both of our problems. Predictably, it was the opposite of both of those things.

Anything built with a hex wrench isn’t really meant to be disassembled. Getting the loft bed from the other person’s house to ours proved to be a monumental task. The massive, partially deconstructed pieces barely fit inside my minivan. It took me multiple trips between suburbs to get it home. Once it was inside my house, I had to move it up our twisty grand staircase by myself. Those ninety degree turns were designed so that wives could collect on their husbands’ life insurance policies. When I finally had it in the room where it was supposed to be, I couldn’t get it back together. I had to call in my father-in-law, Bob. He had to drill new holes and add extra support after I shattered a key piece of load-bearing particle board. Despite its reputation, Ikea-style furniture is not the adult version of Legos. It’s meant to go together once and never be taken apart again. If you make the mistake of trying to assemble it a second time, you better have a manlier relative who’s good with tools.

The loft bed didn’t end up saving us any money. After we reassembled the used one for Betsy, Mae wanted one, too. We couldn’t find a second used set. We ended up having to buy a matching one at full price. It was cheaper than a new car, but not by much. Mae has yet to realize that her options were to get that loft bed or to go to college. Things only got more expensive from there. As soon as Lucy and Waffle saw how awesome those loft beds were, they wanted them, too. I told them they could have them when they were older, which is my default way of saying no. I hoped the newness of the loft beds would wear off and Lucy and Waffle would give up on wanting them. They never did. Fads come and go, but envy is forever.

Finally, after years of asking, they wore me down. I decided to stack my youngest two children, but only if I could do it as cheaply as possible. I learned my lesson from the loft beds, which had more drawbacks than I anticipated. While Betsy and Mae love them, I hate how much clutter builds up on the desks under their beds. Anytime I try to clean out that area or simply to retrieve an item from the surface of one of them, I hit my head one hundred percent of the time. I can’t afford any more brain damage. Having a set of bunk beds on one side of the room and two freestanding desks on the other would lead to significantly fewer concussions for me. I’m finally wise enough to pick the furniture solutions that don’t require me to wear a helmet.

Rebunking the beds was easier said than done. For starters, we didn’t have all the parts. We were missing the railing for the top bunk and the ladder. I asked Lola’s parents for it. They searched and searched but came up empty. Then I realized this was the set we got from my parents. I have a hard time recalling where anything originated. Remember those concussions I mentioned before? I don’t. We finally got the railing and ladder from my parents. They didn’t come with the necessary bolts. Surely that wouldn’t be a problem. I brought the ladder and railing into my house and left them in the front room. They stayed there for several weeks. The most important part of any project is putting it off for as long as humanly possible. Eventually, I ran out of excuses and had to put the thing together. All of our lives we’re about to become much more dangerous.

The hardest part of the job was everything. Both twin beds were completely covered in stuffed animals. When I cleared them off, there was no space to walk on the floor. I tossed the stuffed animals out of the room. Somehow, the contents of that one chamber took up the entire second floor. It looked like a Squishmallow factory exploded. Then I had to figure out which bed was supposed to go on top. The answer was neither. We had mixed and matched the top and bottom headboards when we assembled the twin beds years ago. When both beds were on the ground, it didn’t matter. Now that I was stacking them, I had to take them apart and start over. That required virtually every tool I owned. None of the bolts matched. I needed hex wrenches, regular wrenches, every type of screw driver, and a crowbar. It’s important to note that Lola stayed in our third floor bedroom for this entire process. It’s the only reason we’re still married.

After equal measures of critical thinking and brute force, I finally got the right headboards on the right beds. All the necessary holes were lined up. Unfortunately, there was nothing to fill them. Of all the parts we were missing, the most critical were the four pegs necessary to hold the top bed above the bottom one. At the start of my procrastination phase, I had purchased a wooden dowel to cut into pieces. Saturday, I measured twice and cut once. I put all four pegs in place. Then I summoned my children to help me lift the top bunk. The bed was lighter than it looked, which doesn’t bode well for its long-term stability. Positioning it was extremely awkward. It took ten hands to guide the bedposts onto the pegs. Once we did, I realized I should have measured twice and cut twice. All of the pegs were too long. We took the top bunk off the bottom bunk. I returned to the basement to saw again. I may or may not have sent one of those pegs rocketing around the room like a wooden bullet. It didn’t kill anyone, so it’s like it never happened. I brought the slightly shorter pegs back upstairs for a second attempt. The top bed fit perfectly over the pegs. We were almost in business.

All that was left was to attach the railing and the ladder. I went into my basement to search through the bin of random screws that every man owns. To my shock and delight, I found two that fit the railing perfectly. It was one of the proudest moments of my life. That took care of one end of the railing. Unfortunately, I needed two more bolts. Three hours into the project, I had to make my first trip to the hardware store. That’s by far the longest I’ve ever made it without having to make a supply run. Either I’m becoming more efficient or I’m working slower. We all know it’s option two. I bought the bolts and came back, thinking I was almost done. The first bolt went in without a problem. The second bolt wouldn’t go in at all. That’s when I realized that the bottom board on the railing didn’t have a corresponding hole that went all the way through the bedpost. It only went part way through. In hindsight, it was probably supposed to have a short wooden peg, which I was missing. Attempting to get one would have required me to disassemble part of the bed and make a second trip to the hardware store. Instead, I drilled the hole the rest of the way through so one of my new bolts would fit. If you’re my wife reading this, I made that up and didn’t have to drill any new holes. Please don’t inspect the bunk beds more closely.

Thanks for reading Exploding Unicorn by James Breakwell! This post is public so feel free to share it.

After that, all that was left to do was to add the mattresses and the million Squishmallows. I left the second part to my kids. It took them the rest of the day to put all their stuffed animals back. Last night, Lucy and Waffle slept in the beds. Lucy was on top and Waffle was on the bottom. The bunk beds didn’t collapse and kill anyone, so the night was a success. This morning, Lucy noted that every time one of them moved, the other one heard it. Welcome to apartment living. Even with their complaints, the kids were delighted. Now they’re asking about when we can get them desks. I’ll see how long I can put off that request. In the meantime, we have a long card table that would fill the role perfectly. The best part is that it wouldn’t require any assembly. Maybe all our furniture should be card tables from now on.

Anyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. Catch you next time.

James

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit jamesbreakwell.substack.com/subscribe