The joy of a well-made bed

Look, this is sappy. It might be better represented on my Loveblog. But you know what? I’m posting it here. Take that, Internet.

Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve lusted after the ridiculously well-adorned beds from catalog bedrooms. You know, with a gabillion pillows and comforters two sizes too big and things called “shams” and the like — well beyond the scope of what feels like a justifiably normal bed. But I wanted SO BAD for my own bed to be all excessive and overly-pillowed and put-together like that.

My husband is terribly indulgent. In my grown-ass state, I’ve started insisting on this fancybed thing. I can’t purchase a duvet cover without also purchasing matching shams, sometimes also necessitating the purchase of auxiliary pillows. Sheets must be attractive, and must be applied (like my mother taught me) such that the decorated side faces the mattress, so that when you turn them down the pretty parts show. Those grandparent-evoking Side Sleeper Memory Foam Tempurpedic monstrosities we both sleep on must be covered in silk pillowcases and hidden behind much prettier non-medical-looking pillowry. I’m like two notches short of being a Ruffled Neck Roll lady. (Okay, not quite, but you know what I’m talking about.)

So check this baby out. We actually sleep in that. That’s a discount West Elm duvet cover and sham set he kindly let me buy on clearance even though we truly don’t need it, paired with an Amy Butler organic sheet set I scored for $30 (and which retails for like $200). I was so pleased with myself over how cool it looked that I made the bed all fancypants like this with interesting color combinations (shut up; ignore the wall; shut up) to show every bit of neat flowery trim. So, yes, this particular installation is my work.

But you know what? Ever since I whined at Grant about how sane and put-together and calm and anti-insomniac and deliciously ADULT having a well-made fancypants bed makes me feel, he’s gone out of his way to make up the bed like this nearly every morning since we moved into our new house in March. (That’s the first time we’ve really had a bedroom that *deserved* it.) And sure, he likes it all pretty, but HE doesn’t get into a tizzy if it’s sloppy. No, that’s all me. But I get up earlier. So he takes time out of his Rushy McImportantMeeting mornings to make it look like this every day.

How friggin’ great is that!? He’s willing to indulge me in this one irritatingly specific thing on a freakishly regular basis, even though he’s quite likely to trip on a pair of shoes I’ve left in the entryway on his way out the door. I’ve got it good, that’s all I’m saying. Off to go scour discount stores for more bargain designer sheets now. Love ya, honey. ♥ Don’t forget to make the bed.