I am the MOM and I was here FIRST!
- I am the MOM
- I am a 44 year old mother of three children and grandmother of one. I am divorced from my children's father whom I share joint physical custody of our youngest two children with. I have been married to my fabulous husband for over 9 near-perfect years. I LOVE this man! He is a wonderful generous, affectionate, tolerant and all forgiving husband. He is also a terrific step-dad/male role model to my kids and an even better grand father to our two year old grand daughter. My oldest daughter attends college to obtain her nursing degree. She has been on her own for over three years now (no longer part of a shared custody arrangement like her brother & sister) My middle daughter is in high school and plays on the freshmen volleyball & soccer teams. She's really creative and talented. My son is in middle school and plays hockey and lacrosse. He is a sweet sensitive boy who still says "I love you Mom" frequently. I work part time running an online ebay store. I have terrific and supportive relationships with my family, friends and of course my kids. I am extremely close to my sister, my Mom and my sister-in-laws. They are my best friends.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Blame it on the Pillow
See that pretty little pillow, with the roses on it, gracing the middle of our bed?
Well... let's just say...
If my husband and I were to ever divorce...
We can blame it on the pillow.
I acquired that pillow from an auction on ebay. It was made from a salvaged vintage Wilender rose patterned tablecloth. I really like the way it ties our light blue gingham comforter and bedding to the little pink roses in the dark blue wallpaper, that covers the bottom half of the walls.
We have a beautiful, queen size, mahogany wood, four poster bed. It sits so high off the ground, that I will require one of those little sets of steps to get up into, when I get a little older. It has an excellent mattress set, covered with a down mattress protector, followed by Egyptian cotton sheets, followed by a lightweight down comforter, with yet another decorative comforter on top of that. The end of the bed holds a vintage popcorn chenille bedspread with an heirloom style quilted blanket throw on top of that. There are 6 pillows at the head of the bed and two layered white eyelet lace bed skirts, under the box springs, to cover the enormous space between the frame and the floor.
Most people could and would do without ALL that stuff on their bed, but I truly like the way it looks, and more than that... the way it feels. All the fluff makes me feel safe and cozy.
My husband makes that bed everyday. I kid you not... he makes our bed every single day. He pulls the flat sheet up and folds it over the the two comforters, making sure that each layer is shown. He picks up and straightens the two blankets that have inevitably slipped down onto the cedar chest, at the foot of our bed sometime during the night. He fluffs up the pillows and even arranges them so that the three different sets of pillowcases match up side by side as they are stacked three deep.
But... he won't pick up, and put back, the Wilender roses pillow that he "flicks or swats backhanded" off the bed every night. I find it every morning, on the floor, next to my side of the bed.
I've asked him about the pillow in a joking manner a few times. I always get a vague, slightly unresponsive answer, as to why the pillow remains on the floor day after day. It doesn't make sense to be able to put together a bed that most men would find intimidating and challenging, yet leave that one little ole' pillow behind.
Every once in awhile I will find the pillow on the bed, but turned vertical like the picture below.
Now, don't get me wrong. I am not complaining. I could never be mad at him about the pillow on the floor. The guy makes the bed. I can pick the pillow up. No problem. I just find it humorous.
Like a cat that shows it's protest by peeing outside the litter box... I believe that leaving the pillow on the floor is my husbands way of saying...
There's enough shit on the bed.