I don’t make my kids make their beds.

There, I’ve said it.  It’s like admitting a dirty little secret.  So I’m airing my dirty laundry, and there you have it: I don’t make my kids make their beds.

I grew up being expected to make my bed daily, and I am actually quite a neat-freak, so this fact is a bit out of character for me.  But truth be told, I don’t make my own bed either (unless tossing a duvet across it counts….. and even that only gets done half the time).  The reality is, it’s just not that important to me.  Life is very full and very busy and I am having too much fun going to the park or heading to work or reading with my kids to be worried about unmade beds.

It took me awhile to become comfortable with this fact.  I often get stricken with the ‘I-shoulds’, and being okay with unmade beds seemed to go against what parenting books would advise.  But as life got busier, one child turned into two, and my caring-what-other-people-think declined, I came to peace with my choice.  I do have some stipulations with this decision; I have taught my children how to make their beds, and I will quickly pull up the covers on a disheveled mess before company comes over.  But the reality is, in my day-to-day normalcy, unmade beds are a staple.

And I’m okay with that.

This sign hung in my laundry room for many years, and sums up my parenting philosophy quite nicely…