When I was little, mom always wanted me to make up my bed in the mornings. I resisted so much. “What was the point?” I would argue. “I’m just going to get back in it and mess it up. This way, it’s waiting for me.” The only time I would make up the bed was when I changed the sheets.
Even then, though, I loved the feel of a fresh set of sheets. Making it all nice and pretty, and then being able to slip between nice cool sheets has always been one of the small pleasures in life. But I still resisted making the bed every morning.
As an adult, and maybe even younger, I love being in bed. I resist getting up in the morning because I’m just comfortable. “Five more minutes,” I’ll beg Larry. “Just five more.” Eventually, after about three such requests, he kicks me out.
When I get home, the first thing I want to do is crawl back in my bed. I can do anything there – watch tv, read a book, talk on the phone, work on the computer. It’s most definitely my nest.
But I still resisted making it up in the mornings. Until recently.
For some unknown reason, Larry began to make it up on the mornings. I would get out of bed, and he’d smooth my side down. Then later, when he got up, he’s finish with his side. I only partly noticed -after a shower, I usually crawl back in for just a bit to talk – and I’d notice I had to pull the covers back. But I’ve not asked him yet why he started this new habit.
It’s dawned on me slowly over the past few weeks – I’ve been making up the bed every morning. Beyond recognizing that I really like crawling into a freshly-made bed in the evenings…it seems that it helps set the tone for the day. I’ve always tried, especially when under a lot of stress, to find one task I can accomplish easily so that I can see some kind of progress. It helps push me on the bigger projects.
I think making the bed in the mornings is something like that. I’ve accomplished one thing already, and can move on to the next. And I can finish the day by crawling into that nice, cold, perfectly made up bed.
This may or may not have been mom’s intention when she would get on to me about making up the bed. I’m willing to bet it was more about trying to keep the house looking nice. And it only took 40 years for me to figure it out. That’s how moms do it best – life lessons desguised as chores. 😏😋
This morning, as I made the bed, I sent out a thanks to mom – because tonight, I will get to crawl back into my favorite place, and rest, knowing that if everything else falls apart, I accomplished one thing.
Love you mom. ❤️