In the mornings, after everyone has gone to school, I make my way through the house.  I pick clothes up off the floor, stack notebooks, flush toilets and yes, make beds.  Now, while it’s true that my children make their own beds, I remake them.  I wonder if, when they are in their rooms at the end of the day, they look at their beds and marvel at how the duvets are smooth and unruffled, the pillows piled just so. Do they think, damn, I make a fine bed?  Do they silently thank me for my controlling ways?  Probably not.