I do not understand how it is that all three of my children are incapable of sleeping with a sheet.
And by that, I don’t mean that they kick off their blankets and sleep in the open air, which might make sense – too hot maybe, or tossing and turning.
No, I mean that every night I tuck them in, heads on the pillow, a sheet and a comforter pulled up to their chin. And then, by morning, there is a balled up sheet at the bottom of the bed, while the comforter remains pulled up.
So somehow, they are kicking the sheet alone down to the bottom of the bed, while keeping the blanket. I cannot imagine the kind of sleep gymnastics that must be required to make this happen. The contortion required. And if one kid did it, I’d think, okay, they sleep weird, but all three do it, like it’s some kind of genetic quirk that Sir Monkeypants and I have cursed upon all our descendents.
I used to think they’d figure it out eventually, but the Captain is now twelve and still the sheet bunching is going on, so lately I’ve started a solid campaign to teach the three of them what a sheet is for, and why I would like them to use one, and how to use one. Repeat: I am teaching my children HOW TO USE A SHEET.
When the kids were little, my friend Izabela once commented on how the most surprising thing about parenthood is the way you have to teach them every little thing, and even stuff that you’d think would be blatantly obvious, or easily picked up by imitation, or just native to the human race, turns out to be taught. She was so right. “Hey kids – here’s how your bed works. Next week we’ll talk about how to sit in chairs without squirming around or tilting them so far you fall over, and how to work a washcloth.”