There were many times when mum made her bed that I would, as a younger child, insist on helping. I remember that, more often than not, my help was more a hindrance and helping turned into playing.
I have fond memories of sitting on mum and dad's bed as mum threw the sheet over my head, persistent in her efforts to get done what should have been a quick job. As the sheet floated down the outside world disappeared and a light filled vacuum of sorts became my only world. I enjoyed just sitting there, being the lone occupant of this space. I guess at some point mum made me come out from under the cream sheet. I am sure she would have then tried to have me help, bless her heart.
Once the bed was made, it was all on for jumping on the bed. Mum always protested, but there is nothing like jumping on a newly made bed!
As a married woman, making my bed rates really low on my chores of importance. For Dal, it rates really highly. Because I love Dal so much, I try to get the bed made before he arrives home each evening.
LQ has, intuitively, continued the ritual that I once owned. The moment I pull the sheets down to straighten the bed, she insists on being thrown on the bed. The cream sheet floats over the top of her head and a game of peek-a-boo is instigated. Once peek-a-boo has lost it's flavour, LQ scrambles over the sheet and blanket as I try to pull them up. It is then on to stomp on the pillows that have been thrown to the floor. The bed is made and LQ and I are on top wrestling and tickling each other.
Evening comes and Dal is greeted by a not so well made bed. It is ok though, because we had fun making it.