You have a dining table that seats eight. A couch with spacious seating for five. A comfortable rug. A yoga booster.

Not to mention the beds: The kids’ beds. The guest bed. The fold-out couch.

And yet, on weekend mornings, your little housemates clamber out of their organic sheets, across the furniture, and into the only place that will do: Your bed. Which happens to be where you are. Pretending to sleep.

You could embrace this. You could say to yourself, “This will only happen for so many years.” You could think about how adorable they are, how sweet it is that they want to play with you, how contagious their energy is.

But there’s an elbow in your kidney and a couple toes pressing on your eyes, and—is it even 6AM?—you can’t bear to check.

You. Need. Sleep.

Introducing: The Saturday Morning Gathering Place.

A bed, like parental beds should be.* Designed by parents who’ve been there.

Triggered by jumping children, the bed expands three feet on each side. As you roll away from the epicenter, you’re protected by a rising barrier that keeps the kids in, and you—safely cocooned—out of their reach.

It’s a bed. And a bomb shelter. A haven from the missiles of children’s toys. A sound barrier against screams that Gertie took a doll from Josephine and against screams for the perverse joy of screaming, filtering all sounds except those indicating legitimate terror, mortal danger, or a need for emotional support.

Yes, you’re still a good parent.

Now available at your neighborhood furniture store.

Give them their trampoline. Give yourself rest.™

*Down blanket sold separately.

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