a little gift

Last spring things really came to a head around here. Beds weren't being made or were being minimally made. Somewhat inexplicably, it really, really bothered me. I set-up some rules: no breakfast until beds are made. I nagged, "Don't come out of your room in the morning if your bed isn't made." I threatened, "If I come up and find that bed not made, we are NOT going to do your favorite activity in the whole world this afternoon as we had planned." I pouted, "Why can't you just do a simple thing like make the darn bed?!" And then I stood back and realized (a) what a silly fool I was making of myself, (b) that when I was a child, I did enjoy getting in to a nicely made bed, but didn't care a bit about making my bed and (c) there was nothing truly noble to be gained from fighting or winning this battle.

So I did something revolutionary: I started making the beds for them. Most days. More importantly, I changed my perspective about the whole process. I decided that making each child's bed was an act of kindness, a show of affection, a little gift that I could give them most every day. I continue to make their beds. I make it as smooth and prettily as I have time for each morning and I always make it with lots of love. And on the days that I don't have time to make all the beds, I make a point of offering a small, but sincere apology: "I really wanted to make your bed for you this morning, but I am sorry, there just wasn't time." Usually this is just met with a shrug, a casual acceptance of the apology or a blank stare.

No matter, I have really come to treasure the process of this little ritual. Smoothing the sheets, tucking them in evenly around the sides, fluffing the pillows, arranging dolls and tucking neatly folded pyjamas under the pillow-all readied to receive sleepy little heads at the end of the day.

It puts me in a good frame of mind as the day begins and I am certain I will weep a bit when someday I find those beds no longer need to be made.