Anyone who knows me will know just how much I love my bed. Having spent the weekend away I breathed a sigh of relief when I fell in to it on Monday night.
It’s perfectly lumpy, creaks when we move about, we stub our toes on the frame more times than not but I wouldn’t change a thing about it.
It’s the small things I miss most when we’re away from home…no armchair is as comfy, my stash of fluffy socks is far away, a perfect sized mug is impossible to find and the comforting creaks as the house settles are absent.
But most of all it’s where I rest my head that feels wrong.
Tuesday morning came bright and early with a cheeky visitor to our bed. Whilst we mostly consider it to be our bed, our children have very different opinions on the matter. It’s a place to hide during a game of hide and seek, a trampoline, a safe place for late night cuddles when things appear scary and somewhere for breakfast in bed and random chats over cinnamon toast.
As much as I love our little trips away, there is nothing quite like coming home to the lumpy comfort of our own bed.