Matt wouldn't agree, when we moved here, to let the guest room be the guest room. "No" he said, "It has to be an office. We don't need a guest room."
Well, it turns out we Very Much Do need a guest room, not least because his beloved parents will be arriving Christmas Eve and they need a nice place to sleep. (And It Is nice because my mother spent considerable time fluffing it up.) And we didn't want to loose access to the office by combining it with a guest room.
The compromise was to move out of the proper "Master Bedroom" upstairs and live in the office downstairs off the kitchen. The arrangement is ideal, and I'm not be remotely sarcastic. Our antique old medal bed frame is slotted between his computer and mine. Our clothes are in a cupboard in the garage. The babies clothes are under the bed. The cradle is comfortably along the wall. And I have constructed a clever little device to hold books and my laptop. Like all smaller spaces, we are becoming more efficient and organized in its use every day. Its well nigh my second favorite looking room in the house (after the dining room, which, if you saw it, you would agree takes the prize).
But probably the best part is being able to hear whats going on in the kitchen while lying in bed. I can be here, on this wretchedly cold morning, under several heavy layers, and still tell everybody what to do. "Don't clink the glasses together!" "Sit back on the potty!" "Please go get dressed and make your bed!" "Go play in the basement!" and everybody can hear and obey because I'm so centrally located.
And that's why I love sleeping in the office.