The story of the unmade bed

The Ordinary Lovely: Unmade bed

Once upon a time, our bed was made mere minutes after we'd thrown off the covers and pressed our toes in to the soft carpet below. Almost unthinkingly, I would pull the bottom sheet tightly across, easing out any lumps and bumps with my hand, plump the pillows, and then settle the duvet and blankets in to a neat row across the end of the bed. All this before my eyes had fully opened and I'd smoothed back the hair that had inevitably stuck up or stuck to my face during yet another night of broken sleep. And that was it for the day. A beautifully made bed that no one dared sit on or lie on until night had once again fallen and it seemed acceptable to add the odd crease or two to the almost still-life image.

I have no idea when or why I became so protective over our perfectly made bed. Maybe, subconsciously, it was my way of feeling organised and in control right from the get-go. Bed made, face washed, teeth cleaned, let's get on with the day! Days often take unexpected twists and turns when you have a two and four year old. Plans are made and then broken when one or both are sick, appointments are booked and then cancelled because we tried to fit too much in to too small an amount of time, and fun things are cast aside because they're no longer fun and something else is deemed more exciting instead. But all that's okay because the bed is perfectly made.

Maybe it was a sugar-high from one to many chocolate oranges, but over Christmas, I finally gave in to the big eyes and pleas to, 'jump on the bed, mama!'. The blankets were thrown on the floor, the pillows used to rain down soft blows in a battle of epic toddler proportions and the sheet, once resembling a sleek blanket of snow, creased beyond the capabilities of even the most sophisticated of steam irons. It was positively joyous. For those doing the jumping and the two parents standing, staring in awe at the smiling, little faces and the chubby legs a bouncing.

And the bed? Has not been made since.

Yes, the sheets are regularly washed. And on occasion, they're even ironed too. But then, they're thrown on and are a crumpled, sweet-smelling mess rather than a pulled-tightly joy. It's become a place that we retreat to in the day for cuddles, for stories, to watch cartoons, to chat, to lie and look out of the window, to eat breakfast (toast only allowed on my husband's side), to play, and yes, to bounce, jump and squeal with joy. It's the untidiest place in our whole house but I've fallen in love with it and the time we spend there. Maybe I'm relaxing in to the chaos that is our lives. Maybe it's because I'm aware that as the boys get older, battling their mess could potentially become a full-time job. Or maybe it's just because there's nothing nicer than getting in to a bed that smells of fun, laughter and baby powder.

The story of the unmade bed.

The Ordinary Lovely: Unmade bed
The Ordinary Lovely: Unmade bed
The Ordinary Lovely: Unmade bed