Ever since I can remember, I’ve embraced the day with the “holy morning ritual” of making my bed. Rain, snow or shine. Sick, hurried, hassled or late.
I still do my ceremonial making of the bed.
I’ve come to realize that in my (ahem) older years, I have become a hardcore creature of habit. And I blame it ALL on my parents. Yep, it’s ALL their fault, (isn’t it always? don’t worry, I’m FULLY aware that my girls will say the same thing about me).
Since I was old enough to stand, my mom taught me (or perhaps strongly instilled in me) the “holy morning ritual”. The ritual that entails the making of the bed before the day is able to unfold. I learned to pull up the sheets… and blanket… and comforter. Smooth out the bumps (with both hands, it saves time) and then the final touch – place the pillow (or in my case pillows) at the top of the bed.
I remember the sense of satisfaction, the mental CHECK that would go off in my head as I perfectly placed the last pillow in its final resting position. Simultaneously, an internal sigh would be released and I would think “o.k.- the day can start now- all is good in the world” – at least for that single delicious moment of accomplishment.
And what would happen if I didn’t?
Well…uh, I don’t know. I’ve never dared to mess with the powers that be in dealing with the holy morning ritual. Trust me, I’ve considered it a time or two. But then I get that nagging feeling like something will go wrong, very wrong, something terrible or even catastrophic.
Like…well? I dunno, the bed sits unmade all day until it’s time to go to sleep and I don’t have to pull the sheets down? Hmmmmmm, I MAY be onto something here.
But, for now I bite the bullet and go into make-the-bed-in-a-hurry-but-neat-and-tidy mode and rush off to wherever I’m going and try to think of a better reason for being late than “I just HAD to make my bed.”
Because that would seem a bit strange… to most people…
I am now a grown woman with two darling daughters of my own, and it only makes perfect sense that I have very delicately, very generously, passed down the tradition. The tradition of sheet smoothing, pillow fluffing goodness that comes with the satisfaction of making your bed.
(They can thank me later).
This was my duty, my motherly obligation, that I started when they too, were old enough to stand and reach the covers on their bed. I still remember the day that my Mother-in- law noticed what they were doing. She was giddy with delight and in awe of their ability to pull the covers up and place their pillows on their bed before getting dressed to start their day. She carried on about it for days…even told her friends of the miraculous events that were taking place in our home.
You see, my mother-in-law is Greek and gave birth to THREE charming sons. All of whom, never made their bed one day of their lives (at least while under her roof) it’s unheard of as far as I can tell. (At least in her book). Don’t ask me why because I have no idea…My Yanni (her eldest son) to whom I am married makes a beautiful bed…and it’s a good thing too because you know what they say.
You don’t know what they say?
Well in my book, if you make the bed, you get to sleep in it.
So, there you go.
But I was not born Greek nor was I a charming son. I was a daughter, an OBEDIENT and caring, very UN-dramatic first born…
who made her bed…
Without drama. (wonder if my mom is reading this?)
So you see the ceremonial making of the bed has, thus far, been successfully passed down to yet another generation. Loving Mother to obedient daughters.
Life marches along whether we like it or not and the rituals, or traditions or whatever you want to call them, that stem from our childhood are the ones that make us who we are today.
And Mom, I wouldn’t change a single, solitary thing.
So how about you? Do you choose to make or NOT make to the bed? Please share!