Pillow Mountain

I'm trying to remember how old I was when I was obsessed with forts. Remember the Tetris commercial where Tetris players became so addicted to the game, they would see a brick building and it would suddenly morph into a series of primary and secondary colored Tetrominoes that would fit perfectly into its perimeter? Pre-1989, when we got Tetris on our new Gameboy, that is already how I looked at the world. Only instead of gapless rows of 4-blocked pieces I saw my mother's furniture rearranged to make my delightful little palaces.

The best forts required an adult to help reorganize the heaviest furniture and reach the top sheets from the higher shelves in the linen closet. That is why a gullible babysitter was perhaps my best ally.

The moment mom & dad had left for a night out I'd roll out my imaginary blue prints. "Do you want to build a fort? " I'd ask our regular sitters Liz, Heidi or Bliss Hipp. Suddenly we were on the move, assembling stacks of blankets and pillows. If we took all the cushions off the couch, they could be used for either walls to support a sheet roof or comfortable flooring to create a kind of Bedouin lounging palace. Thus, using dining room chairs and end tables for the walls was the preferred option.

Eventually, I grew out of forts as I realized their flaws: Much like a sandcastle, the fun of a fort is largely in its construction. After you've completed your masterpiece you might crawl around on your hands and knees to take a tour and show some neighborhood friends, but then you're left with the arduous task of cleaning it up and putting it away again - a task best left to that aforementioned gullible adult.

I still get a thrill out of reorganizing my furniture. But what had me thinking about my love for forts this morning is waking up in my pregnancy nest of pillows. As one eye squinted open I saw my body pillow next to me and the gentle slope created by two more pillows angled up toward the headboard. I picked up my head and shoulders from that pillow ramp, and reached between my knees to remove my delightful I-shaped novelty pillow. Twisting my torso to place the I pillow atop our headboard, I found two more pillows at the head of the bed which then curved into a stack over my remaining pillow. Seven pillows total, hugging my body to create a candy cane-shaped cloud of down and polyester fiber-fill in which I can nestle my aching bones. MJC lay just on the other side of my south pillow wall with two pillows of his own supporting his head and an additional pillow he'd deemed superfluous in the night, on the floor next to his nightstand.

Why suffer through those aches of pregnancy when you too could have your own Bedouin pillow fort right in your queen-sized bed?