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Bed Time Rules

I have lost control of my bed. What was once a wonderful source of escape, relaxation and beauty is now occupied at any one time by four live bodies, only two of which are human. Black pet hair abounds on the Egyptian cotton sheets.

The new duvet set I got before the last holiday season made me very happy. It was a present I bought for myself, and I eagerly brought it home. When I lovingly stretched and smoothed all of the pieces on my queen size bed, I swear I could have had the crew from Martha Stewart Living magazine take a picture for their cover. It was beautiful. Puffy, soft and sumptuous, with matching curtains, this was the way I had always envisioned my bedroom looking. It actually modeled the picture that came with the set, something that has never happened before, no matter how hard I tried. I am one of those people that always have at least one thing wrong with any type of home dcor. I have great intentions for every project, but somehow I rush the process, or I try and get something on clearance and it just does not seem to have the same effect. It has always been my goal to have something in my home look as if it were actually planned, as if Better Homes and Gardens would come in and take some pictures as an example of how to decorate.

So I gave the strict orders. And it was my intention to stick with them at all costs this time. After all, I had spent quite a sum of money (at least for me) on this set, and it deserved to look its best at all times.

"No pets are allowed on this bed!" I told my husband. "I do not want it to get ruined!" I added.

"Of course not," he stated, "that wouldn't make sense." I got the feeling he was mocking me, but I let it go.

I was vigilant at first. I kept the bedroom door shut during the day, and shooed the dog and cat off of the bed at night. They sensed my excitement and made every effort to get to that bed. If I turned my back for even one second, one or the other would race in, pushing open the door for the other to follow. I would turn around and see them scratching the quilt and jockeying for position. I scolded and made them leave, their forlorn faces making an imprint in my memory. If they could not get in, I could hear their cries from downstairs as they rubbed against the door. Gradually, their pleas got to me. I made bargains with myself, such as, ok, just this once. What could it hurt? It is the holiday season; they just needed to feel loved and part of the family. Pets are important too, aren't

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