I Make My Bed

Every morning, I make my bed. Other things have to happen, first, of course. After my eyes flutter open, after the old dog groans and stretches, after the little girl unfolds herself from my arms and announces, "I'm awake now!" After we all tumble to the floor and, depending on whether we slept through the night, walk or drag myself into the bathroom. Mostly after I make coffee. Usually after I let the dog out.

But before I toss the day's lunchbag and extra mittens into my toddler's tote, before we engage in our daily game of "which shoes/jacket/hat do you want to wear?" and before I remember to grab the travel coffee mug that's inevitably still sitting on the kitchen counter (gotcha!), I make my bed.

It's not a complicated affair. I replace fallen pillows, hoist the blankets back up toward the headboard (a flat sheet only when my husband insists; I could write a whole post on my dislike of this hotel staple) and smooth out the comforter. I brush off the obvious dog hairs and ignore the rest. My great-grandmother would be disappointed not to find the nice, tight corners she loved and demonstrated so well, but it's a tidy job.

If I accomplish nothing else on any given day, I've done this simple chore. Sometimes it serves a simple purpose. But there are days when I really need this morning routine as a springboard. It's a quick hit of pride and confidence, a little checkmark to feel good about.

And of course, when the day is done, no matter what happened or didn't happen, I get to peel back the covers and climb in.

(raw wool blanket from TexturableDecor on etsy.com)