The sun is shining, the birds are twittering, my girls are going to the beach and I am a prisoner in the house, awaiting the delivery of a bed.

We had the old bed for about 16 years. It was my idea of high fashion at the time: a Shaker style 4 poster with a canopy, so high off the floor I needed a stool to get in (or take a running leap and inelegantly fall onto my husband - he suggested the stool). My mother in law gave us a heavy crocheted bedcover that we fastened over the canopy frame. It was a giant dust collector and after many moves, the frame warped and we disassembled it and stored it under the bed. Along with suitcases, frames, shoes, and a a ton of stuff that fit under the high bed. Very bad feng shui and a bitch to clean.

But those prblems were nothing compared to how loud the bed creaked. And boy, did it creak. Loudly. Loud enough to wake up the other person in the bed when you tossed and turned. Also loud enough that when you banged your legs on the mattress, the noise woke up the other person who was snoring like a banshee, which was the whole point of banging your legs on the mattress.

Over the past few months, I'd been feeling like my side of the bed was listing towards the floor. I seemed to have to struggle uphill to stay in the middle. Now I know I have weight to lose, but I didn't think it was bad enough that I would be compressing a mattress. We flipped the mattress and things seemed better for awhile. Then one night I realized that I was grabbing at the sheets with my hands in my sleep because half my body was off the bed. Even out of the bed, you could notice a definite slant to the mattress. We decided to investigate under the bed and discovered that the side rail was warped and about to torque us onto the floor. With my son's help, we took off the mattress and box spring and took apart the bed and banged out the side rail and figured all was well.

The next morning, I sat on the back edge of the bed to make a call and I heard a snap and the mattress reared up in front of me and I sank inside the frame to the floor. Stan was in the shower and the kids in bed. My cries for help were unheard - actually ignored, I later learned, but kids who thought it was a ploy to get them up for church. This time the back rail had snapped its housing. The bed was declared officially dead. Stan and I did a little dance for joy. Finally, we had reason to get rid of the creaker! And I was really tired of climbing that damn stool.

While we've waited for the new bed to be delivered, I've gotten used to the mattress and box spring on the floor. It's like being back in the dorm. I can truly fall into bed at night. Our bedroom looks a lot bigger without the headboard, footboard, and four posters sticking up in the air. And I've enjoyed sleepful night on a sturdy, level surface, though I've had to resort to other methods to get the snoring to stop.

Our bedroom is pretty pathetic. The hardwood floor are so worn that the finish is off in several places from prior occupants. The yellow paint I picked out long distance is too green and I've hated it since the moment we moved in. On top of that is half a coat of blue that I thought I would love, but tried too dark. We have a tiny balcony off the bedroom but it looks directly into my neighbor's windows. A former owner must have been bugged by lack of privacy, so he or she took out one half of the french doors and replaced it with glass block. Truly ugly. We've searched every eave of the house in the hopes of finding the original door, but it must have been trashed. Replacing it is on the "some day list". Along with carpeting and curtains. (Yes, I know I sew - but when??)

We've had our share of weird bedrooms. Our first bedroom was in an apartment where our neighbor could be heard yelling at her husband "get off of me". Very charming at 3:00 a.m.

Our bedroom in our first house was a wreck, but we had to keep renovating children's rooms as we had each kid. We finally had it painted and carpeted when we put it on the market.

The Fresno house had a master bedroom large enough to roller skate in. The wall opposite the bed was so far away that we would have needed binoculars to see the TV. It had huge sliding glass doors that opened to the back patio and the garden. That would be the same back patio where the kids played and had friends over while you were lying on your bed trying to take a nap as you recuperated from surgery. And the garden would be the garden that lined the walkway to the guest house where the mother in law had taken up residence and from whose door one could see directly into the bedroom where the husband and wife would be asleep on weekend mornings. First day there we ripped down the ugly vertical blinds. Second day we ran out and bought drapes. We learned to love the dark.

The Memphis house had a large bedroom with a fake fireplace. The sellers took the fireplace with them and revealed a big waterstain down the wall, which was painted jailhouse grey. The carpeting was a lovely 1970's grey shag with an inset border of higher pile shag. Can you say tacky? You didn't know whether to vacuum it or comb it. There were floor to ceiling windows that must have been doors at one time because there were steps outside each one. My kids were forever jimmying up the windows and crawling into my bedroom when they'd forgotten their house keys. Made me feel very secure.

Right before Stan lost one of his jobs, we had the room painted a lovely basket color which set off the crown moldings painted the color of meringue, and carpeted with sisal. I do hope the new owners are enjoying it.

So here we are in yet another bedroom waiting for us to pour our sweat and money into it. It'd be nice to have a grown up bedroom after two decades of marriage. But I'm kind of afraid to do anything to it, because the minute we do, the moving truck will pull up outside.