Changing Sheets

My back is killing me this morning, and I know why.  I helped Bethany change her sheets last night.

We have an odd collection of beds at our house, gathered from the many places we have lived.  Our first bed, right after we were married, was a king sized affair wedged into a furnished basement studio apartment.  We had to inch sideways to get past it into the kitchen.  The carpet was fire engine red shag, the gap under the front door was large enough to see visitor's shoes before opening the door, and we heated the place by leaving the gas oven on with the door open.  A visitor once asked, "How long are you going to live under here? --I mean, down here?"  Not long, thank heavens.

Our next bed was a mattress pulled from a garbage dump near our second apartment.  We kept it for years, one the floor, without a box spring, until I woke up one morning with cuts on my back from the springs poking through and we decided it really was time to actually buy a bed.  We pulled money together and bought an amazingly comfortable bed that causes us to be late for church and other important commitments because it's so dang hard to pull yourself away from.  Six months later we moved to Saudi Arabia and put our bed into storage. 

We didn't have to buy beds in Saudi Arabia, because our (huge) house there was furnished by the government, tab picked up by the Saudis.  We had nice stuff.  It did not come back to the states with us, unfortunately.

We started serious kids' bed shopping in Korea, ironically enough, where the natives (people from Korea-- not tribal villagers) sleep on yos.  We bought two yos-- thick padded things my husband confuses with European comforters, but much heavier than a comforter.  In the morning, to make your yo, you just fold the whole thing up and set it in a corner.  This would have made that studio apartment much more livable.  But we Americans like our large furniture, don't we?  

We also bought the back-breaking bed in Korea.  It's a trundle bed, and is really cute.  Just like middle school girls, it may look lovely, but watch out!  That thing is a killer.  The *!%^*?#! mattress and box springs are all one piece, weigh about 500 tons, and are set down in the frame that has cute little sides, just the right size and shape for holding fingers in place while the weight of the mattress crushes them.

When I told Rachel that Bethany and I were going to go change her sheets last night (it is at least a two person job) she said, "Mom, be careful.  Under no circumstances should you put your fingers under the mattress, no matter what.  It might seem like the right thing to do at the time, but don't-- under any circumstance, put you fingers under the mattress."  Words of wisdom.  Believe me.

So Bethany and I Heaved and Hoed and shouted things like, "Hurry, please!  Hold this part up with your feet while I struggle under here to lift this other part and pull the sheet over the corner."  "Don't drop it!"  and "Ok, move your hands and feet slowly away while I brace my back against the wall and keep you from getting smashed.  Now on the count of three I'm going to drop it.  Are you ready?"  It took about an hour, and at one point I had to go wake Josh up and ask for his help.  We needed a strong guy.

At the end of it all we stood back to admire our work and I think, "No wonder those Koreans sleep on yos," as I grab an ice-pack for my back, take 800 mg of ibuprofen and collapse into my own comfy bed (retrieved from storage after Saudi Arabia) beside my sleeping husband.

But Bethany has clean sheets-- at least for another couple of weeks.