Remodeling shows on the cable channel HGTV always refer to a
person’s master bedroom as
”
a retreat.
”
It’s a place, they say, to forget about the cares of the world
and escape to a tranquil setting where everyday worries are left at
the door.
Remodeling shows on the cable channel HGTV always refer to a person’s master bedroom as “a retreat.” It’s a place, they say, to forget about the cares of the world and escape to a tranquil setting where everyday worries are left at the door.
Can a parent’s room really qualify as a retreat? I guess it could if you lock the door to get away from the kids – but in truth that would make it a hiding place.
“Quick, honey, close the door and bolt the latch. I think I hear the kids coming. Turn off the lights and don’t breathe and maybe they’ll go away.”
That, of course, doesn’t happen in my house (too often) because I actually like being around my kids. I generally prefer to be around them in the family room while we’re watching TV or playing a board game, but it’s OK for them to hang out in our “retreat” every now and then.
The boys are old enough now that gone are the nights of them climbing into bed with mom and dad when they had a bad dream or didn’t feel well. But they’ll still occasionally ask us to hang around their room when they are preparing to sleep to talk about their day at school or how that day’s baseball game went.
Then I leave their respective rooms and head to the spa paradise known as my room. It’s an exclusive retreat, to be sure, complete with a queen bed, AM-FM radio, and television with satellite service. The vanity area of the retreat’s bathroom has mirrored closet doors so that the room’s occupants can maneuver and check themselves out from any angle. The male occupant doesn’t always like having this option, as it reminds him that he hasn’t been to the gym in a while or seen much sunlight.
But much like a car accident that you pass on the highway, it’s hard to look away.
Our bedroom actually does feel like a retreat after a long day, as we settle in to watch the 10 o’clock news and an episode of “Seinfeld” before nodding off.
In the morning, though, the retreat magically transforms into Grand Central Station. The tranquility is shattered when the first alarm goes off and sends me blindly scrambling to stop it from buzzing. Usually, this involves me nearly knocking over the lamp or the telephone as I feel for the snooze button.
Then I have the find the remote, which is somewhere hidden in the bed covers because I fell asleep with it in my hand after setting the timer to automatically shut off the TV. I leave the retreat to try to wake up my teenager and tweenager, usually by exaggerating how late it is so they will hurry and get up.
After we eat breakfast, the whole family descends upon Mom and Dad’s retreat, even though the kids have access to a bathroom of their own. What had been a peaceful setting becomes anything but an escape as the boys try to tame their bed head with water or gel and we quiz them on a study sheet that they need to know for that day’s test.
The retreat is a madhouse, a study hall, a hub. Pajamas and towels are on the ground; book bags are on the chair; a line has formed at the single sink as if it were the only one in the house.
The bed won’t be completely made, but we’ll at least pull the comforter up over the pillows to make us feel like we straightened up. It’s frenetic, it’s fast-paced, and it’s sometimes out of control. It’s nothing like a spa retreat.
But it’s a spot for family time – even with all the craziness – and that makes it one of the greatest sanctuaries from the real world.
