The Magic of Making My Bed

No matter what time I get up—crack of dawn or something more reasonable—after shaking or stretching myself awake and cursing morning, I usually put my bed in order.

If it were possible, I’d make it while still in it, but it only takes a few minutes and I follow my own code. Drag everything onto the floor and apply the fitted, then flat sheet. Can’t bounce a quarter off it, although I do like hospital corners. I take time for linen spray and casually drape my comforter so it appears that a small child or cat has rolled around a few times, fluff pillows and tuck my stuffed monkey, Momo, back in.

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Contrary to the whole muted-colors-in-the-bedroom design suggestion, my bedding is a sea of bright hues and contrasts, currently floral and stripes. I try not to applaud the treatment, although it’s how I feel because the quick visual celebration sets an upbeat tone for the morning.

No one has every nagged me into bed making, but it was the first thing I loved about hotel stays and sometimes I left the room just to get the bed made. Still do.

It’s a surprisingly satisfying treat when the world is still too dark for bigger tasks that suggests thoughtfulness, and maybe on a larger scale, a quiet determination to take a stand about something small that provides a huge measure of joy, comfort, and order as I embrace the day.

Even if the day overwhelms me at some point with other’s agendas, expectations and interruptions and other things I have no control over that drive me to goofy Minion-like Should-I-follow good-or-evil mental threads, I can reach for that earlier bit of bed peace and let it magically reground me. Sometimes I win, sometimes I don’t.

Bed making is not a superstitious habit that never folds. If I sleep through my alarm and the rush means leaving a mussy bed, bad things don’t descend. Nor do I scrounge around in an underachiever haze at a loss for inspiration or purpose. It’s just a missed opportunity to step into the bedroom after a long day and see an itty-bitty gift from me to me, a thoughtful gesture feels like love.

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