Memior

Mom’s Room

            As a young girl, I always liked to go to my parents’ bedroom. My mom and I have a very rare relationship and I have always enjoyed being with her. I probably spent more time in her bedroom as a kid than in any other room in the house. The room stayed warm and cozy and usually quiet. I almost feel like I grew up in that room, where all the little things in life happen, the little things that don’t feel like big things until years later.

            Mom and Dad’s room felt like a jungle gym. At a young age I climbed the bed frame as if climbing a mountain. It was at least as tall as I was. I had to put  one leg up as high as I possibly could just so that I could barely catch the ledge enough to push myself up as I grabbed onto the bedding, since that’s all I could hold onto, and pull myself the rest of the way on. Once I reached the top, I expected something else. I always thought of sinking into a mattress like a cloud, but instead, the mattress was very firm. It always took a few minutes to find a comfortable position since the mattress wasn’t the cloud I had imagined. After I quieted down and quit moving, ninety percent of the time a snoring dog laid under the bed.

            As mom and I hid in the bedroom, chaos filled the rest of the house. Dad, usually on the phone with clients and talking so loud that everyone in and around the house could hear. Carter always had his music blaring, so we listened to a concert from the floor above. And Miss Piper was never doing the same thing; she liked to leave trails of absolutely everything behind her. Mom’s room made it easy to avoid everything. It was our time to be lazy, to watch T.V. to read, to do homework, or just to visit.

            I basically lived in this room. I only slept in my room the whole night a handful of times before the first grade. I fell asleep in my room and migrated in the middle of the night into my parent’s room. Because my dad made me at least fall asleep in my own room I always hid from him in the evenings. Mom would say “Shh, maybe he’ll think it’s a pillow.” Of course I believed her and acted as a pillow under the blankets almost every night. Sadly, he found me every night and tucked me into my bed. I never figured out why though. I thought of it as a waste of time knowing I moved anyway.

            My mom’s room started our relationship we have now and has always made it better. It’s where we laugh until we cry, where we talk about everything, where we hide from all of dad’s crazy friends, where I get some of the best advice, it’s where I grew up.