The Bedding Wars

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Our bedroom color scheme is black, white, and grey: a calming oasis of neutral tones in an otherwise chaotic household. I scoured Pinterest for ideas while simultaneously letting our budget remind me to simmer down when I feel like channeling my inner Joanna Gaines (I want to hate her, but she’s so freaking amazing).

I found a set at Kohl’s that I thought would be perfect for our space at a reasonable price. J had a business trip this week and the new bedding was set to arrive the day he left. I was psyched; I’d be able to have our new bed set up by the time he got home. When the new set arrived, reality of the situation hit me:

We have a king size bed.
I’m home alone.
The set includes a new bed skirt.

Fast forward to me, tipping the mattress up on its side while shoving the new bed skirt under it. Then the mattress fell on me as I got too close to the foot of the box spring. The additional weight on the unsupported box spring meant I was suddenly surfing my bedroom. I had to run to the head of the bed to right the box spring with the weight of a king size mattress on my back. The dog looked at me like I was crazy.

Eventually victorious, I made up the bed and basked in my adulthood and fancy linens. As bedtime rolled around, I faced a new problem.

The sheets felt like sandpaper.

After a restless night and a quick Google search, I found out that washing your sheets with baking soda and rinsing them with vinegar can slough off the manufacturers starch that makes new sheets feel rough. Simple enough. I unmade the bed and treated my new sheets to a 3rd grade science experiment.

Night two — a slightly finer grit sandpaper, sleep evades.

Four o’clock Friday morning (the sheets arrived on Wednesday) I decided that enough was enough and I was going to return the whole lot. I also found a beautiful set at Macy’s that happened to be 60% off during their One Day Sale. At 6:30 am I ordered the new bedding for in-store pick up later that day, and by 9:30 am I got an email saying my order had been cancelled. Apparently, if you order from Macy’s for in-store pick up outside of business hours, the system automatically cancels your order. I called customer service:

Her: Well, how are they supposed to fulfill your order if the store is closed?
Me: Um…wait until the store opens and then fulfill it?
Her:
Her: I guess that would work. But that’s now how the system processes things.
Me:

Order resubmitted (once the store opened) a sinking feeling hit me: I had to pack up the original bedding to return it. That’s me vs. the damn bed skirt again.

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I was able to shimmy the bed skirt loose and even fit all the pieces back into the original package. I began to wonder if a king bed was really worth it. Maybe Ricky and Lucy slept in separate beds to make laundry easier. The return was simple (blessed relief) and I picked up the new bedding with no issues.

Bed skirt: Round 3. By then, I was an expert and it only took me like…17 minutes to wrestle the stupid dust ruffle into place.

Our new sheets are smooth and soft and glorious. I finally have a grown up bed; I even have shams and throw pillows (aren’t they adorable?!) By the time I finally made the bed back up and the exhaustion of two terrible nights of sleep caught up with me, I slept like a log and woke up refreshed.

And if we ever have to change the bed skirt again, J gets to do it by himself.

I’m out.

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Confessions of a New Wife…

After the hours planned, dollars spent, and stress endured, J and I finally walked down the aisle a couple of weeks ago. The day was perfect and beautiful: our friends and families were on hand to enjoy the gorgeous venue, delicious food, and amazing atmosphere. Everything was wonderful and we were beyond thrilled that all of our hard work paid off. Plus, we were Mr. & Mrs.!

Wedding Photo

We spent the week after the wedding getting the gremlins ready to head to their mom’s house in Texas and entertaining J’s parents. If you’ve never tried to get three boys to pack for a month long trip, you’re better off than I am. We also spent time trying to excavate our home from the mountains of gifts and mayhem.

Since J has been single-parenting for a while and I’m no spring chicken, we each had a house full of stuff. Combining the best of our existing possessions and integrating the BEAUTIFUL items gifted to us by our nearest and dearest was akin to a game of twister: shift a little here and a little there and hope that the whole thing doesn’t go crashing to the floor.

J’s mom spent a day helping me clear out the contents of the kitchen to make way for our new shiny things. We cleaned and organized and arranged. We broke down boxes and hunted down matching sets of food storage containers and corralled collectible cups from various baseball stadiums (stadia? stadii?). We ruthlessly discarded and filled my car with donated items for Salvation Army.

With in-laws gone, kids on a flight, and a holiday weekend to ourselves, J and I finally had time to just be married.

Just the two of us. Alone. All by ourselves. No distractions. At all. Nothing to do but let the weight of the enormous life-changing thing we just did wash over us. Like a tsunami. Oh boy.

Here’s the thing: In my head I knew, I knew, that getting married wouldn’t really change anything.  Oh, sure, I have a new address and a new name. I have a new *ahem* extra-curricular activity. But J and I are still the people we were before the ceremony. We still have the same weaknesses, the same flaws, the same insecurities and neuroses. I knew that putting a ring on it wouldn’t actually change any of that. I knew that only God has the ability to take on my imperfections and redeem me and that getting married wasn’t going to change my struggle.

But maybe, just a tiny part of me thought it might. The tiniest part down in the deep recesses of my heart, the part that I keep to myself, the part that is scarred and hurting and broken thought that just maybe, when someone committed to me for the rest of our lives, I would finally feel worthy. I would feel lovable. I would feel like enough.

Spoiler alert: I still don’t feel like enough.

My husband (!) is the love of my life. He is a good a godly man and I am proud to be his wife. I love him so deeply and truly that it’s astounding to me. I want his welfare above my own and I am constantly seeking to be the partner for him that God called me to be. My husband loves me completely. He is strong and kind and generous. He worries about me, prays over me, and he has gone out of his way to learn how to live with and love someone who lives with anxiety so that he can carry me through in the moments when my brain won’t let me function correctly.

But he can’t complete me. He’ll never make me enough.

I’m still selfish and insecure. I’m still anxious and bossy and stubborn. I still worry about things I should give to God and let my feelings get hurt too often. I still hate waking up in the morning and going to bed at night. I still hate doing laundry and foods that are too squishy and not getting my way. I’m inconsiderate and single-minded and I get impatient when someone wants to talk to me about a topic I’m not interested in.

There’s still work to be done, and there’s only one guy who can do it. It’s not my husband’s job, it’s my Father’s.

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