Pillow Fluffing

My fiancé and I moved into the same apartment that 20 plus years ago my parents got their lives started in together, a little over one year ago. This apartment was also my home from the time I was brought home from the hospital as a newborn, until I was twelve years old. My Grandma (my Mom's Mom) is our landlord and lives on the first floor. We moved in to be around for her when my Grandpa passed away in January 2010.

When Donny and I moved in, I did like I always do when there is a project to be completed, stayed awake until every box was unpacked and each item was in its' new place. I had a combination of feelings moving in. This was my first home as a child and now it was my first home as an adult, it was strange knowing my Papa would never see the new Cubs picture hanging above our TV or sit with me in our backyard. There was a sense of excitement and curiosity about exploring these once familiar streets of the neighborhood but instead of riding in circles on my pink bicycle I would be walking hand-in-hand with Donny trying out new restaurants and finding the bars with the best drinks specials. I was a grown up now or at least my age reflected I was and I was starting a new chapter, but this time I got the biggest room and I wouldn’t be sharing with my brother or sister.

I went to bed that first night so proud of the decor and satisfied with the furniture arrangement we had finally agreed upon. Looking around I smiled because my Mom had helped me pick everything in the apartment out, all Kohl’s or Target sale/clearance items of course, but nonetheless still perfect. She had been right about those end tables; a pretty tablecloth can make all the difference. Before I turned the lights off I fluffed the pillows, folded the throw on the couch, and finally got some sleep. The next day was followed by work, cooking dinner on the stove my Mom and Dad once used to prepare my siblings and I dinners, a little rearranging of decorations, more pillow fluffing, and bedtime. Just as any couple does, Donny & I developed a routine making sure to keep excitement and adventure present. However, it was not until a few months into living in our old/new home that I realized there was one part of the routine that was not changing...the pillow fluffing and throw folding. "Oh no!" This was my reaction one night as I threw a pillow on the couch as if I had just realized I spilled red wine on my favorite white shirt. I had done it, not once, not twice, but every night since we moved in. I had become a pillow fluffer and what I thought was even worse was that my Mother did that every night in that same apartment and in our house for as long as I could remember. Could it be true? Was I really turning into my Mom? No, impossible. I had tried for so long to be my own person, to not pick up her habits, and had insisted I would be Christine, not Annie. I decided that since I had caught this habit early enough into what seemed to be the first stages of "morphing" into my Mother that I could stop it before it developed into something permanent.

From that moment on I made a conscious effort to not care if the pillows were not as fluffy as they could be or if Donny left the blanket on the floor instead of folding it and placing it neatly over the center of the couch. But one morning before work I couldn't take it anymore, I had to fluff the pillows! And in that instant, when I took a sigh of relief that the couch finally looks neat for, you know, all those people to see (AKA Donny & I), I began to realize I may have been fighting the inevitable and decided to take a closer look at who I am, why I am this person, and could it be that turning into my Mom in some ways could be a good thing? Hmmm....