Our vacation in Maine was great, filled with lots of lobster and lots of laughs. It ended last night with all four kids singing karaoke – a clear sign that it was time to go home. Although we were sad to pack up and leave this morning, I was really excited about two things: seeing the dogs (does anyone make you feel more loved than a dog who hasn’t seen you in a week?) and sleeping in my own bed.
As my mom grew older and traveled less and less, she claimed it was because she just wanted to sleep in her own bed at night. I thought she was being ridiculous until I noticed that I, too, no longer sleep well in any bed, no matter how soft and comfy, except my own. I sleep marginally better if I bring my own pillow, but not enough to keep me in la-la land all night long.
My pillow is a strangely shaped contraption specifically designed for side sleepers. I don’t want to sleep on my side, I want to sleep on my stomach with my face buried in a fluffy, normal looking pillow and one knee hitched up to my waist, but somewhere along the timeline my back let it be known that that was no longer an acceptable position.
I’m also the proud owner of an airplane neck pillow. It’s pretty much the human equivalent of those embarrassing cones that dogs wear to keep them from licking their wounds. My ego is slightly wounded when I wear my human cone – I do feel like an old lady -- but the thing is, it’s really comfortable and it keeps my head upright so I don’t drool on my neighbor’s shoulder and my neck isn’t frozen sideways for the next 48 hours. Its ugliness also has a hidden benefit. Not too long ago I was happily snoozing away in the passenger seat while D was driving. He got pulled over for speeding but, oddly, he didn’t end up getting a ticket. I’m pretty sure the cop looked in the window, saw me with my human cone around my neck, and figured D was having a bad enough day as it was.
Maybe another reason I don’t like sleeping in any bed but my own is a fear of bedbugs and lice. We haven’t made the acquaintance of any bedbugs yet, but I’ve had to deal with lice five times. FIVE times! That’s more than my fair share. I’m a little paranoid. Also, the mattress salesman who sold me H’s new mattress a few months ago told me that the reason a mattress gets heavier as it gets older is that it’s basically a repository for all your dead skin. Oh my God, sell me the dead skin-proof mattress cover now! As H says (yup, she’s still saying it), “That’s disgusting!”
Ah, home sweet home. Only 8 more loads of laundry and then I can climb into bed. My bed.
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