Home Training

This morning, I made my bed.

Once upon a time, that wasn't such a rare thing. Every single morning, my bed was made. The sheets were changed on schedule every Saturday morning. Laundry was done daily. The sink never spent a night with a dish in it.

There used to be a routine. It was a good routine and it kept Ma Maisonette and me on track for a good long while.

Honestly, part of it was the mock-terror that Annushka would descend on me at any moment and berate me as she did E for sitting around in my pajamas while the house was a mess. Of course this never happened. Annushka would never have shown up at my door unannounced.

And so I've learned that I could sit in my pjs until 1 pm and not feel gross.

The house, my once-beautiful little house, is showing signs of neglect and the results of no major upkeep. Part of it is money, of course. But not that much of it.

I like sleeping on the couch. The bed has felt so unfriendly. The sheets are tattered by Phoebe and Dylan playing on them. Once upon a time, thread count didn't matter to me. When I was at Target the other day, I felt a sample of 200 vs. 400 vs. 600 thread count sheets. I like the 600 ones. They feel exactly the way I want sheets to feel. But Target had knit jersey sheets on sale for $15, so I got a set and will crawl into them tonight. I'm hoping they'll feel wonderfully cuddly.

I have let myself go. In more ways than one.

I just read Hyperchondriac by Brian Frazer. His family was chaotic after his mother became ill. He was too young to remember any time before then. His father used to get various kinds of fast food and put it on the table for the kids. However they portioned it out and ate it was up to them. I don't know if Mr. Frazer is pulling my leg, but he said the first time he went to a friend's house to eat, he started scooping up the mashed potatoes with his hands. He just never thought anymore about using silverware. Or plastic ware.

I was getting way too close to that. It was, um, kind of gross. And I was afraid that this behavior was going to become ingrained and me and when I went to the home, I would take to using my shirtwaist dresses as dinner napkins while I was wearing them or pulling out a plum with my thumb when the gruel went around the table.

It's hard to live like a regular human being and have a job, too. But I think I'll have to find my way through it.

And sleep in the bed tonight. I know it'll make Phoebe happy. She hasn't abandoned the bed to find me and seems awfully lonely in the morning when I go greet her. It's okay, Peewee. Everybody on the bed tonight.