I didn’t.  In fact, I never do–other than when I change the sheets.  To be honest, my bed doesn’t look like the photo above, there’s plenty of room for me.

 

But what makes someone feel the need to make their bed every day?  Serious question.  When I wake up and leave the room, that’s it.  I usually don’t go in there again until…bedtime.   So why would I make the bed?

 

Flower Child loves to make her bed.  She does a great job straightening the blankets, arranging pillows, and sculpting still life portraits out of her stuffies.  I can’t help but wonder what makes someone find that a necessary part of daily chores, or even appealing.  Wanting the house to be clean, I understand.  Keeping the house neat and organized, also understood.  I wish I had enough room to be neat and organized, it feels good to walk into a space that’s calm and not overcrowded.  But I have never found it to make me feel better or worse to have the bed made.  It isn’t embarrassing to me if someone comes over, because I don’t entertain in my bedroom.  If someone is over, and does have a reason to come into my room, well, it’s my bed.  Is sleeping considered something embarrassing we’re supposed to pretend we don’t do?

 

You know all those “you’ll sees” and “you’ll understand whens” you heard from your mother when you were growing up?  Some of them, I knew I would never see, or understand.  I am a totally different personality than my mother was.  Other things, like being compelled to make the bed each morning, I kept waiting for them to kick in.  Never happened.

 

My unmade bed and I are very happy.

Last night when I walked the beasts it was freezing. The wind gusts were so strong, when I walked towards the corner to throw the poop bag away, the public trash can was actually lifted and flipped upside down by the wind.  Weird, scary, and kind of cool.

This morning before the traffic got heavier, I heard birds.  Not pigeons, birds.  Spring is coming!