I’m currently washing pillows. Because I had a thought, “How long has it been since I washed our pillows?”
And I didn’t know the answer. So I asked Nat.
“Um, I don’t know. Have we ever washed them?” he asked.
I’m sure we’ve washed them sometime in the last 10 years we’ve been together (actually, I’m not sure we have, but don’t tell anyone that).
So! Instead of feeling shame about my grossness, it was tout suite to the washing machine, where they are currently spinning around in the dryer.
Finally washing them is bringing up so many questions: How old are these pillows? Where did they come from? Why do we have so many? Did I steal these pillows in some sort of drunken adventure in 2005? Do I even like these pillows? Why have I never, ever thought of our pillows before this point?
I mean, I would love to shop for pillows. I love sleeping. I would write poems on how much I love my bed if my brain still worked enough to think about of anything other than the diapers I need to reorder or permission slips I need to sign or actual work work I need to do in order to keep my children resplendent in Crocs. I would like for my pillows to be clutch. (In the idea of full disclosure, I do have two new pillows I bought from Casper online on a whim and I love them. I should just order more of them but what if there are better pillows out there I haven’t discovered that would make sleep even better?)
But how can I discover them? I order most everything online as the thought of going into a store with two children breaks me into a cold sweat. However, with pillows, you really need to try them out before purchasing. They are IMPORTANT, my friends. And I’m just not going into a store to try out pillows with my kids. No way, no how. I can barely survive a 10 minute trip to the grocery store with them without first taking a Xanax.
Because I’m a terribly exciting person with lots of great, interesting things to talk about, I recently brought this up with a friend. She understood. But she had an interesting spin:
“Dorothy, remember: When you are actually free to go pillow shopping, you will have kids who hate you.”
Meaning, I guess, that when your kids are old enough to leave on the weekend in order to go to Macy’s to press your face against a cool, soft Polyblend without them climbing all over the stroller and tipping over into a pile of Ralph Lauren comforters, it’s because they are okay with you leaving them. And they will be hormonal and surly and say things like, “I hate you.” Which, of course, my children never will but what if.
So this, my friends, is what I refer to as The Pillow Conundrum. You want to do things, you long to do things. Anything, really. But you can’t. Because every bit of extra time and energy is spent on thelittle beings who want nothing more in the world than to be with you. When you can leave them, it means they aren’t cute and adorable any longer.
A conundrum indeed, Sherlock.
So, alas. I will hang out with my sweet kids who want to hold my hand and cover me in sticky kisses and draw on my feet and give me kisses while every night I will sleep on pillows that are basically held together by decades-old dead skin cells.
And when my kids say they hate me, which I guess they eventually will, I can escape and bury my feelings in buying new pillows. And maybe new carpeting because, wow. WOW. Do not ask me the last time I cleaned my carpet.