At her request

22 06 2008

In a comment to my last post, my mother insisted I disclose the real reason I stick my feet out of the covers. While this isn’t the reason any longer, it certainly was when I was a child.

I had weird rules during childhood. One of them was that my bedroom door remain open. The other was that if any person passed by my room on their way to bed they MUST stop and tell me goodnight or I love you. This mostly applied to my mother, because I apparently felt that I could control her behavior more easily. I worked out a signal, even, to let her know I was awake and she must stop and say something. I made it very clear: if you pass by and my feet are out of the covers, I am awake. Stop and speak. If I have pulled them in, I’m asleep and you may pass.

Of course, my feet stayed out whether I had fallen asleep or not. I don’t know why this signal/system seemed logical but whatever, I was 6. So naturally my mother stopped saying anything because my feet were always out regardless. But there were many times when she THOUGHT I was asleep and I was NOT so I shot up from bed as she passed and screamed “You didn’t tell me goodnight! I see you!!!!”

Now, though, I just have hot feet and I don’t like covers. I use what I call the “technicality blanket.” It’s a slip of sheet over my hip because to sleep with absolutely nothing feels weird but covers are too hot.

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2 responses

24 06 2008
Bronie

“But there were many times when she THOUGHT I was asleep and I was NOT so I shot up from bed as she passed and screamed “You didn’t tell me goodnight! I see you!!!!”

wow…a YOUNG diva. 🙂

24 06 2008
Nola

I need SOMETHING, even a technicality blanket (great name, btw!), to sleep.

Reminds me of a weird thing I said as a child…. Remember the Schwegmann’s in Gentilly? It must have been their main office–it had an upstairs and was HUGE. It was literally the biggest place I’d ever been.

So, somewhere along the way, someone asked me how MUCH I loved them, and upon reflection, I answered, “Grocery-store much.” It was the biggest thing in my world, the most I could quantify my love.

Damn, I need to blog that, eh?

My dad still likes me to tell him I love him grocery-store much.

Your childhood tale has that same feel. Safe, secure love. Ah.

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