Don’t Stress, Buy Sheets!

When I’m stressed, I buy sheets. Some women like purses or shoes or jackets. I like linens.

My son’s nanny likes hair color. She was just dumped by her first post-divorce boyfriend. Apparently, he thought she was overreacting when she asked him not to help her babysit with four beers in him.

A few days ago, she came over sporting beautiful chestnut brown hair. When I complimented her on it (and she really does look so much better as a brunette than she did as a blonde) she just shrugged and said, “Like my mama used to say: If you can’t change your life, change your hair.”

Since I have a buzz cut, I can’t experience that particular type of catharsis. Substitute “bedding” for “hair,” though, and I echo her sentiments completely.

My son is getting baptized on Sunday. I will spend the day with my ex and his family at a church I no longer attend, sitting through a rite of passage I no longer support. I will smile as my little boy — so serious — is immersed in the waters of baptism and takes his first step on the road his parents long ago abandoned.

I will bow my head in reverence and shake hands with the bishop, and tell untrue but acceptable stories about my life, because that’s what Mormon mothers do. Then, in the absence of hair color, high heels or Hermes, I will go home. I will drink a glass or four of wine. And I will make a toast with my boyfriend to celebrate the acquisition of our 10th set of sheets in as many months.

Nobody said it would be easy.