Yes, I know that in the grand scheme of life,
needing new sheets is not that big of a deal. I know that there are people the
world over, some even here in our home town who would willingly give everything
they had for a bed, let alone one with comfortable sheets and blankets. I know
this and I realize that needing sheets is really no big deal, but in a little
way right now for me, it is.
Yes, I get that this is totally crazy and maybe
a little self centered. BUT, my bed is
the only thing that I have in this entire house that I can say is mine. Yes, I do share it with my husband, and yes
he does have a say in what linens are on it.
That is why I have a quilt and not a comforter and which is why there is
no leopard print on it. BUT, the sheets
were all mine. They are a light golden
tan with flowers and swirls. They are
soft Egyptian cotton, luxury at its best for me in a home surrounded by rough
and tumble men and boys. There are no
horses, no FL Gator emblems, no roosters, and no deer on them. There are no dirt splotches, no stains from clay
or mud, and no bleach stains or marks from permanent markers. Even Maggie
climbs into my bed, snuggles down, and sighs that these sheets are super soft
and perfectly comfortable. They are my
solace on hard days, the place that I lay my head when I am down, the bed where
I forget about all our troubles, they are my safe haven; and I’ve discovered
some holes
Yep, my favorite sheets are threadbare, and they
are only three years old. Oh, don’t get
me wrong, they are probably used more than sheets should have been used. They are washed faithfully every week, dried
lovingly in a dryer that has more smart settings than I know what to do with,
but always on the bed linen selection.
Then they are always put right back on my bed. Every week for the past three years this has
been our loving routine, my sheets and I.
No wonder why my poor sheets are threadbare, that’s no less than 156
washings. Don’t forget to add the extra
washes if someone has crawled into Mama and Daddy’s bed who has been sick or
wet through their diapers. Yep, that’s a
good reason why my bottom sheets are starting to have holes appear.
In spite of this and yes I will readily admit to
the silliness of this, I am not ready to give them up. Everything that I truly love has been
regulated to be hidden in closets or inside of cabinets and high shelves. Oh don’t misconstrue me, there are touches of
me in my house all around, but they are touches; I don’t have an area that is
just mine. Even my bathroom makeover now has bath toys and baby tubs sharing
its space. And no, I wouldn’t have it
any other way, but sometimes it’s nice to have something that is just for you,
your own space, your own special thing.
For me that is a set of queen sheets and maybe just maybe that is why I am
so bummed about this.
Being a wife and a
mother means a lot of sacrificing.
Oftentimes I am referred to as so and so’s Mom or Robert’s wife. A lot
of people don’t even know my first name!
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t complain and I do love my life, but I miss “me”
time and “me” things! In many ways
learning how to die to myself and sacrifice who I am to be the wife and mother
that I am supposed to be is hard, really hard, and I just want a place in this
house that is mine too. Maybe one day I’ll
have that space for my scrapbook stuff, for my own desk not covered in school
related items, for a kitchenette, and my bubble bath to be on display. Maybe one day, but for now I’ll use my bed as
my solace and place of refuge and show off who I am in my sheets.
No comments:
Post a Comment