My Parent's Bed...

I'm 39 years old and I still remember the warmth from my parent's bed. I can't tell you how many times my mom and dad would run us out of their room at night when we were little. No matter how many covers I had on my own bed, I could never seem to find the same warm spot like my parents had. Their bed felt softer and cozier. I didn't have nightmares in their bed even when they weren't in the room, I felt safe and protected.

Here I am decades later, and I find myself running my own kids out of our room. I've even tried to hit below the belt by saying to my children "Do you know what your dad and I do in this bed?" to which they reply "We don't care." Just today, my son jumped in our bed, wrapped himself under the covers and said "Mom, what is it about your bed." I looked him and I smiled but I didn't run him out like I usually do because today I remembered.

I'm pretty sure some of you can relate to where I am coming from. When I was younger, I wondered if my love for my parent's bed was because they had better mattresses and sheets. Today I understand, that had nothing to do with it. I was simply feeling the warmth from their love.