If you've ever met my mother, I suppose you know that it was just a matter of time. But here we are.
My mother has a ritual that soothes her. It's a little peculiar, but it certainly doesn't harm anyone and it makes her happy. She is kind of obsessive about her bed. Making the bed is a huge big deal. She irons the sheets (and not just the top edge that shows, thank you very much). There are two dust ruffles. The pillows are just-so. The mattress pad is so tight that this tiny little woman has to kneel in the middle of the bed and tug to get it to go around the corners. Yet, once she's done all that, she sleeps better. (No kidding. She probably wore herself out. But just wait... I'd best not be casting verbal stones.)
So, I moved back into my house over the last few days. I still have stuff strewn across the country, but I'm sleeping in my very own house. I went upstairs to the bedroom and saw the huge king-size bed that we have because Dave is so tall. I stopped dead in my tracks. WAY too many memories there for a good night's sleep! So I slept in my daughter's bed (she doesn't live here... it's not like I kicked her out or anything), which is where I've been for the past few nights. It's been quite comfortable, actually.
But then I remembered that there is an antique bed that I bought at an estate sale several years ago. It's up in the attic; we couldn't use it because Dave wouldn't fit in it. But I can use it now! And I can have a girl-bed. I want to have a girl-bed, complete with all the silly pillows that no one is actually allowed to sleep on. I want to take that king-sized bed out of that room and turn the room into my space.
So yesterday I bought a mattress. It will be delivered on Tuesday. Now I get to go shopping for girl-sheets. But if I start ironing them, you'll know I've crossed a line. Feel free to stop me!