The Beauty of Darkness

Our whole family stayed in the same bedroom during our recent travels. We placed the bassinet for Kerrington beside our bed. We situated an air mattress for Reese beside the dresser. Given Brooke's recent track record with sleep, we assumed that she'd be fine on the floor. Then we opened the door to the closet. Jackpot. It was long and narrow, the perfect length and width for the air mattress, and there was just enough extra room for Brooke's blanket and pillow. Our girls would sleep in the closet.

On the first night I tucked them in and stood outside of the closet door for a few moments, doubtful that they would stay tucked in. Reese whispered to Brooke, conspired some plan, and soon both girls began bouncing on the air mattress, occasionally thudding into the walls or colliding into one another. Within a few moments they simmered down. Brooke quietly sang to herself, and then there was silence.

The next morning they emerged from their closet bedroom with tousled hair and small hands rubbing away sleep, reminding me of moles unaccustomed to the light. They staggered. They squinted. Best yet, they slept in. Oh, they slept longer than a child in our household has slept for the past five years.

The closet had an advantage that their bedroom at home did not have: pitch blackness. I never knew darkness could be so beautiful, so beneficial. How had I been missing this?

We wasted no time upon arriving home. One $9 curtain rod and a $14.99 room darkening panel later, and we were in business. It's revolutionary. You can't put a price on sleep, but if you could, $24 is one I'm totally willing to pay.

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