It is not the kitchen

The heart of the home is always the kitchen. The place where your family congregates is the kitchen. Your most meaningful discussions will be around the kitchen table.

Well, the Huckablog clan may be odd, we may be unsanitary, our home may be an anomaly, but it is not the kitchen.

It is our bed.

Quick story. Our wedding gift from The In-Laws was a mattress. We were in the store, there to pick out a nice queen sized bed, when we thought for the heck of it we would try out that divine Sealy Posturepedic pillow-top, king-size extravaganza. We were sold as soon as we lay down. And, The Father-in-law knew the store owner and it was on sale. Ta Da! The best bed in the whole wide world would be ours!

We were too broke to afford the stunning upholstered head board that I wanted, so being the DIYers that we are, we made one. I put twice the amount of batting in it than the instructions called for and it is nice and squishy. I caught gel feels-like-feather-but-will-not-kill-The Husband pillows on sale and bought four king size and two standard size pillows on clearance at Kohl’s. When I was pregnant I had this crazy hyper-sensitive skin thing, and so The Husband went out and bought super soft 900 thread count sheets. They were so worth it. It is our nest, and my favorite times as a family have been spent on it.

When The Son comes home from school we head straight for bed to nurse. We lounge around and read, and talk, and read blogs on the laptop, we cuddle, oh, and sleep too, on it. For at least a quarter of every night the bed has the three of us sprawled out (The son is ejected to his crib for the rest of the night) and The Dog is curled up at our feet underneath the down comforter.

The bed has had a rough couple of years for sure. (tmi upcoming) I lost my ew! ew! ew! what the hell is that!? Mucus plug in it. The son has spit up, peed, pooped, thrown up, and wiped his nose on the sheets. Breast milk has been leaked all over it. One time The Son poured my entire glass of Cranberry juice all over it. The Husband drools like a camel (do camels drool? I think that, yes, they do excessively) (Sleeping!! Only while sleeping!! Not, like while at work or anything ((durrr)). The Dog once rolled on a dead bird (I think, it had feathers and smelled like death.) and then got in bed. She sheds in the spring and has muddy feet every time it rains. I have to wash the sheets with two cups of bleach almost every other day. It is the heart of our home, and I love it—germs, drool, and all.

So tell me, where is your favorite part of your house? Or apartment, flat, grass hut, teepee, wherever you call home.

Filed under Family-blame the DNA, Parenting for Dummies, Photography, The Husband, The Son |