Every morning, I tumble out of bed, usually before the sun comes up. After coffee, breakfast, meditation, and news review, I take myself back upstairs to the bedroom to shuck the jammies and dress for the rest of the day’s activities.
That’s when I glance over at the bed I share with my spouse, who is, by that time, elsewhere in the house. The covers I left rumpled are smoothly drawn up. The hem of the bedspread is aligned parallel to the floor. The useless decorative pillows are neatly arranged. The bed is made.
The bed made (not by me) demonstrates someone’s caring attention to orderly routines that bring a sense of peacefulness to the disorder of life in general. Every morning, I feel a sparkling moment of love and gratitude for the one who performs this small, intimate housekeeping chore.
It’s not a small thing, the made bed. 
Not infrequently, in the advice columns (eg. Dear Abby), I read about marriages on the rocks—not because of differences over finances, childcare, politics, or in-laws; I mean over things like who empties the dishwasher, who picks up the socks, who wipes the sink, and…who makes the bed. Often there’s one who doesn’t care whether the bed is made or not, and one who does.
If I were counseling would-be couples, I might ask: Are you in agreement over Made or Unmade Bed?
Am I judging? Maybe. I grew up in a well-regulated family. That is, my father had a career in the USAF and my mother was a preacher’s kid. Certain civilities were strongly encouraged. However, in the wider world, if any number of co-habiting people agree that rumpled bed(s) can remain that way all day, I’m fine with that. Random college roommates—please relax! An unmade bed isn’t a sign of moral decay.
However, as I may have set out to say, a daily domestic life consisting of countless courtesies among partners and family members is, in my opinion, the starting place of world peace. In short, kindness begins at home.
Lucky people take for granted that our loved ones love us in spite of ourselves. But that’s no excuse for overlooking tiny, precious, everyday increments of thoughtfulness and love.
Thank you, my love, for the made bed. And I’m sorry…terribly sorry…for the scratches I made backing the car into the gate.
I will share this with the marvelous bedmaker with whom I live. What a treasure she is. And what a treasure you have in Bill.
Very interesting. Sometimes this is a dilemma for me. My husband brings me tea while I am still in bed but if I have a meeting after my tea I get up and to shower and dress. In the meantime he makes the bed before he leaves for work. Sometimes I feel badly about this because he will have done double duty. But when I think of all the other chores I will do during the day I soon get over it.
We are all very blessed.
The finishing touch, of course, is a cat on the made bed.
I love the notes. I have a feeling from these and other comments that I’ve hit on a sweet spot–and a sad one, too, from some who are experiencing loss, and maybe a little regret.
A friend shared a link to a relevant YouTube video by Navy Seal William McRaven where he counts Making Your Bed as the Number One key to success in life. You might enjoy his perspective as well.
Finally, please note that Gail White, who mentions the Cat comfort of the Made Bed, has just published her most recent collection of poems–about cats and much else–titled PAPER CUTS. You can find it on amazon. I commend it to you. Thanks for being here!
What a delightful read – and so true. Early in our 60-plus years of marriage (in fact, we were both still in college) we discovered a difference of opinion in whether beds should or should not be made. Thus began one of the hundreds of tiny, but necessary, compromises that ultimately create a good marriage. Our compromise: we would have a made bed during the week and on weekends it could lie gloriously unmade….unless company was coming. Knowing my spouse liked a made bed, I made it most times due to our schedules, but he certainly has taken his turns over the decades. Now, making the bed is an unthinking routine …. except for Sundays when I still get my way and it lies unmade all day. There’s something about an unmade bed and lots of leisure time that belong together.
Thanks, Barbara, for reminding me to go make the bed.
My mother insisted on my making my bed every morning, and I kept up that habit until I was in my 60s or so. Then I got chihuahuas. I would make the bed, and they would paw the covers off again, then burrow back under them. No one could tell that I had ever made the bed, so I stopped doing it. My mother has probably been rolling over in her grave every morning for many years now!
My husband kicks into gear faster than I. When he says he’s ready to go to the kitchen to make coffee, I roll out of bed so we can make the bed together because I don’t want to do it alone. I enjoyed your reflection.
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