From the day I was old enough to do so, my mother taught me to make my bed when I got up in the morning. She liked a clean and orderly house and this included her children's bedrooms. If I grumbled, she would tell me that when I had my own home I could live by my own rules. I took that first step in personal responsibility, that small act of making my bed, and I brought it out of my chidhood and into my college years, from dorm living to my first apartment, my second, my third, and into every house I've lived.
It's a rare morning when I do not make my bed before my coffee and reading the newspaper, before setting out in my day. The flipside is that I enjoy it being made when I return in the evening. But every now and then, there's a weekend morning where I get out of bed and think, Go on, leave it undone.
Sometimes, I listen to that voice. And oh the heaven it is to leave my bed a welcoming tangle of where slumber once was!