Jumping on a freshly made bed

I bought new sheets the other day, it is winter and I was in need of something warmer than the 5 million count Egyptian Cotton.  I bought hot chocolate colored, microfiber flannel (something I was not allowed to own in my previous marriage, along with silk PJs – totally another story).  Strangely, the sheets were marked down to practically nothing!

So I washed and dried the new sheets and Chloe and I got started on making the bed (purple is her favorite color and is being used to emphasize the excitement with which Chloe tended to her task of “right side of the bed maker”).  Slowly the bed started to come together; and Chloe started to come apart…with so much excitement she could not physically hold it in.

“Can I get on it yet?”
“Is it ready yet?”
“Now mom? Now?”

Jumping up and down, wringing her hands together with a similar excitement as if she were waiting for Christmas morning to arrive.

“Yes Chloe, you can get on”

Up she went, and down she came.  She jumped until she could barely stand it.  Her squeal of delight was like music to my ears.  It got me thinking about jumping on beds and why it is such a momentous occasion: not only do they bounce, but beds are a great way to escape.

I’m the oldest of three girls; we are all about two years apart.  My middle sister and I shared a room, where our two beds were against different walls with a dresser between the headboards and a blue rug in the middle.  I not only LOVED jumping on my bed, but we would jump back and forth to each other’s beds.  Not casually bouncing, but skillfully and with fervor reminiscent of a Gold Medal winning Bed Jumper.

The blue rug beneath was in fact troubled water, infested with hundreds of hungry crocodiles.  We were not jumping for pleasure; we were jumping for our lives.  There was no way we were going to let the razor-sharp teeth eat our feet; we HAD to escape.  In 1974, this was the biggest threat to our precious little piggies.  I had forgotten about our life-threatening jump-fests; which to me were more like the sometimes forgotten moments that bond sisters for life.

My bed must seem a vast ocean compared to the small twin beds we had.  There is a lot of ground to cover and many dimples to make.  Chloe and I may not have had the same purpose in jumping; the outcome was always the same…escape. 

I let her jump until there was no jump left in her.  Finally at rest, she collapsed with a smile that could light the town and said, “Thanks mom, you’re the best”.  No Chloe, thank you.  You’re the best.  J