One morning, completely drained from a lack of sleep, I turned to my husband and suggested that our two boys should share a room. Looking back, I must have been running on empty—my blood sugar had probably hit rock bottom—because this bold decision has led to a whirlwind of chaos, yet I remain hopeful.
Let me share why we took this leap. Growing up, I was compelled by my mother to share a room with my sister for what felt like an eternity. We battled over everything: her side of the room always seemed to be a disaster zone inching closer to the duct-taped line I used to claim my territory. I was too noisy; she was too goofy. I was bossy; she was always complaining. Our sibling wars continued until we finally got the sweet relief of our own bedrooms.
To avoid the same kind of conflict that plagued my childhood, my husband and I decided to eliminate the concept of “mine” versus “yours.” Inspired by his laid-back parenting philosophy, we envisioned a “shared kid space” where everything would be communal, using this as an opportunity for our boys to learn problem-solving and diplomacy.
For a brief moment, it seemed like our dream was coming true. Then reality hit hard.
Our kids, like any others, have distinct personalities along with their unique wants and needs. And of course, those wants rarely align. One child might want a bunk bed, while the other insists on a bed on the opposite side of the room. If one prefers green walls, the other suddenly detests the color and wants it painted ketchup red. The struggle for a carpet or bare floor added to the chaos.
Somehow, we managed to find a compromise. There are bunk beds, each kid has their own bedding theme, and the carpet covers a portion of the floor while the walls remain beige.
Just when my husband and I thought we had navigated the toughest part, the kids’ first week in their shared room turned into pure pandemonium.
By “pandemonium,” I mean this:
They started a pillow fight that escalated to a full-blown battle with stuffed animals, culminating in a ceramic piggy bank flying off the shelf, bursting into pieces, and scattering a whopping $43 worth of pennies all over the floor.
One child decided to tackle the beige walls himself and used leftover paint from the living room—a bright butter yellow—to “work” on his side. Meanwhile, the other child developed an irrational fear of the dark, opting to crawl into his brother’s bed every night. In retaliation, the older brother whispered scary stories, leading to tearful outbursts at 2 a.m. and furious knocks on my door. Ah, the joys of sibling life!
Amidst the chaos, there are glimmers of hope. When I ask them to clean their room, they collaborate to shove everything under the bunk bed or stuff clothes and toys into their overflowing closet. Problem-solving at its finest! I often hear them chatting quietly at night about “important” things, which warms my heart. Bonding moments! And when they want something from me that I deny, they huddle together in their room to devise strategies to win me over. Teamwork!
Childhood is fleeting. My boys have a limited time to absorb the lessons that will shape them into respectful, responsible, and adaptable adults. Sharing a room is an excellent opportunity for them to learn these valuable skills.
In the meantime, while I dream of a future where my sons flourish as independent adults, I will continue to mediate the most absurd disagreements—and I’m perfectly okay with that.
For more on parenting and home insemination, check out this great resource and learn more about the journey of family-building at Make a Mom. This is one of our other blog posts you might find engaging as you navigate this journey.
Summary
In this light-hearted reflection, Emily Johnson shares her decision to have her two sons share a room, drawing from her own childhood experiences. While the boys’ differing personalities lead to chaos, the arrangement promotes teamwork and life lessons. Through their antics, Emily remains hopeful about the valuable skills her children are learning together during this shared space.