When we first got married, we were in a small townhouse apartment a little way off campus. Our furniture was referred to as Early American Attic, because we used whatever anyone wanted to
carry our way get rid of and feel generous.
There was a kitchen table with bright blue legs and a round white top, a few non-matching chairs. An olive green two-seater couch commonly called a love seat. I nursed all my babies there at one time or another. My mother gave us an old washer, which nestled into a closet beneath the stairs, and I hung our clothes on a couple folding drying racks or a line strung across a corner of the kitchen.
There was a desk in the living room, and a metal shelf unit to hold books. Probably a few other things, like my cedar chest, and of course the wedding gifts.
I had a twin bed almost as old as I was, but we put it into the second bedroom because it seemed there was always someone needing a place to stay for awhile.
Someone from church gave us a crib for the baby, and someone else gave us a queen-size mattress, and yet another person gave us a gold print fitted sheet. We thought we were doing pretty good, not actually sleeping directly on the floor.
This little set-up lasted from October until March. My father-in-law was on Spring Break and so he drove down with a pickup truck full of furnishings. Their divorce was in the works, and he was emptying the house.
He carried in matching coffee and end tables. Something my husband lovingly referred to as “the donkey” which looked to me like a storage cabinet. Other things I can’t remember, getting untied and uncovered.
From where I was sitting nursing the baby, it looked like the apartment was gonna get crowded real fast.
That night, Dad noticed we were sleeping on the mattress on the floor. He stayed in the creaky old twin bed, and said he was fine.
The next day, my father-in-law said it wasn’t right, us being without a bed. Husband had to go to work, so we took the baby carseat out of his car and put it into Dad’s truck and off went the three of us to go shopping for a bed.
I didn’t know the town very well, since our primary focus was the college campus. And I had never been furniture shopping before in my life. And it didn’t seem quite right that I should be looking for a bed with a man who was not my husband. Being from different states (and a story for another time) my father-in-law was still a stranger to me. I had been in the same place with him only once before, and that was the church for the wedding.
But he was determined newlyweds should have a proper bed. I could see the connections for where my husband gets his stubborn attitude.
Dad spotted a sign for a SEARS store, and so that’s where we ended up.
As I mentioned, I don’t know about furniture. We looked in a huge room full of beds, and sat on the edge of mattresses, let the baby crawl across, and Dad asked about delivery.
I told him I thought the one with the round knobs on the headboard was nice. Next thing I know, the order is getting rung up, I’m giving my address and directions, Dad paid the tab in full.
It was a bed bought on a whim at a chain store. Dad said it would not have been his first choice, but he was under time pressure for the trip, and he didn’t really know my tastes.
The delivery guys got it upstairs and mostly put together. It had a consistent squeak not welcome by newlyweds in a building with thin walls. And the round knobs weren’t such a good idea either, because of their close proximity to that same wall.
We moved out of that apartment a few months later. When Husband and a friend put the bed back together, a couple of the sturdiness problems got fixed.
The bed got moved to yet another apartment, and then finally here to this house. It has supported 5 mattresses during its 26 years. We noticed the last couple months there was a sagging towards the middle, and a leg/rail connection was wobbly.
Saturday, Husband made preparations for more repairs. He had to take the mattress and boxspring away, put on his breathing filter, sweep and vacuum cubic feet of dust and debris. I don’t know what all he had to do—I was banished from the room for the duration. I put most of the bedding through the laundry, but that was my only contribution. Chris says he admires his dad for fixing an old bed rather than buying a new one. Remember I did mention the stubborn attitude genes.
Late in the afternoon, Husband left the house. I sneaked into our bedroom. The door was closed tight to keep the cats out. The windows were left open to dissipate the fumes.
This is what I saw.
Do Not Disturb bed until 8 pm (Epoxy setting)
At 8:30 pm, we went in together and made up the bed.
Trying it out, there are not so many noises as it was making before, but there is a new one we can’t find its source. The spot under my shoulders provides support, nice and comfy.
The Temperpedic mattress feels like it is getting treated properly again.
There are many references to the marriage bed, but I’m pretty sure this is the first I’ve seen the word ‘epoxy’ written for a note on mine.
And may it give us enough time to expand the budget to include a whole new bed. No matter how good the repairs, I don’t want to put up with the noises for another 26 years. At least the ones coming from the furniture itself.
~~love and Huggs, Diane