I’ve been spending a bit of time at my mother’s in recent months. Initially because I just needed a break away from my four walls, desk and own mind; then she had some technology problems and I was helping out; and then this week I hung out here because I’d been unwell and she picked me up in my nearby town and took me back to her place (which is also my childhood home). I think she worried if I collapsed at my own place no one would be there to find me and I’d be discovered weeks later, half-eaten by dachshunds. Or similar.*
Anyway… my mum is a busy person. She does U3A (activities for *ahem* older people) classes several times a week plus she does a lot of church and volunteer stuff. Indeed both mornings I was at her place this week she was up at sparrow’s fart to prepare breakfasts for homeless people and make morning teas as a fund-raiser for her church. But… #asithappens none of that has anything to do with this post. 😉
What intrigues me is that SHE MAKES HER BED EVERY DAY. Like EVERY day. Even when she leaves home at 5.30am to pick up bread for the free breakfast.
Like her cooking skills and religiousness, I think the bed making gene skipped a generation. Cos I NEVER make my bed. Unless of course I have visitors who may think poorly of me because of my dishevelled bed linen.
I think she eventually got over the fact that I don’t make my own bed sometime back in the 1990s, but when she stays at my place and left to her own devices she pulls up my sheets / doona cover so it looks more socially acceptable.
I talked ages ago about certain ‘tells’—signs we’re not coping with stuff. For me it’s unopened mail, unstacked dishwashers, messy counters. For others it’s unmade beds. But they’re the people who usually make them in the first place.
Like I said I never make my bed unless I’m expecting company and even then I’ll just yank the sheet and doona up haphazardly.
As I’m prone to overanalysis I’ve been wondering if it’s a generational thing. Mum’s from the pre-doona generation where you had to pull your sheets up, tucking edges in hospital-corners-style and then pull the lovely chenille bedspread up before folding it slightly under the pillows. In fact I’m fairly sure she still puts the top sheet on inside-out so she can fold it back to display the nicely-stitched side.
I’m trying to recall if my friends are bed-makers, as further evidence that Gen X and those-who-followed just can’t be arsed with stuff like that. Although perhaps I’m wrong. It may not be an age thing. Perhaps it’s all about the care factor. Or—gulp, worse still—perhaps it’s just me.
Am I alone in not making my bed every day?
Do you remember the chenille bedspreads?
I’m flogging my blog With Some Grace today and would love to hear where you stand on bed making.
* I have no pets but am fairly sure I’m mostly at risk from dachshunds nonetheless.