Bunk beds and mowing

Bunk beds and mowing

By Allan Olson

                This weekend marked the annual migration of Minnesotans to the lake in recognition of the spring fishing opener. Like most years, I stayed away from the lake.

Instead of venturing out on the cold, windy lake, I stayed at home most of the day and enjoyed listening to the complaints of children being forced to clean their trashed rooms.

                While it was duly time for the rooms to be cleaned again, the primary purpose of this torture treatment was to make room for their brand new bunk beds that my dad made for them.

                This weekend the girls moved out of a tiny toddler bed bunk bed in which Abigail’s feet hung over the end of the bed if she stretched out; it was still just about a perfect fit for Alivia, although she, too, was starting to get too big for it.

                I had to leave for work at the right time. I left my wife and my brother to set up the beds and move around the items that needed to be moved in order to properly fit the beds in their respective rooms.

                I looked at my girls when I got home that evening and they went from being two little nearly-too-large-for-their-beds into two girls being swallowed up by the large hand-made bunk beds.

                The boys, while they had normal twin size beds which still fit them fine, were given a new bunk bed. Previously we had told the boys that when they get a new bed, Nikolai (who’s always had the top bunk) would be required to give it up.

                We asked Marcus if he knew what getting a new bed meant when we learned that they were on their way on Saturday. He didn’t. “It means you get the top bunk,” his mom said. “Excited” doesn’t even come close to describe how he felt about this new assignment.

                Later, Nikolai was trying to persuade his little brother into letting him retain the top bunk privileges. Not to be pressured or swindled, Marcus would not give in. Only two nights into it, and Nikolai was pleading to us to know when he will get the top bunk back. “Not for a long time . . .” was the only answer he got from us.

                That was Saturday, a day spent cleaning in preparation for the new beds for the kids.

                Sunday, the weather finally cooperated, and that meant I had to work. Not only did my youngest brother bring the bunk beds, he brought a push mower for us as well.

I’m not sure how many miles this mower has on it, but I’m almost certain that my brothers and I used it to mow our lawn when we were growing up.

                I used this opportunity with hopes of teaching Nikolai how to mow (so I won’t have to). He was quickly un-excited about the opportunity. I started him in the ditch, where he found it too rough and bumpy for his little arms to mow by himself. 

                Later we moved to another patch of the yard where he was set-up in a no-fail spot. At least that’s what I thought. “All you need to do is follow the path,” I said. I took a moment to rest, and the next thing I knew there he was, going a full mower’s width away from the last path at a diagonal direction. I just shook my head and let him be, and occasionally offered some physical assistance and tried getting him back on some sort of track.

                It wasn’t long and he was done, and I soon had three other eager helpers. Marcus was the first to want to help mow, and would have continued as long as I let him if his sisters didn’t want turns as well. One thing I’m quite certain of is that there will be plenty of opportunities to mow over the course of the summer.

                One thing that I don’t remember about mowing: Since when does mowing cause my muscles to hurt?