invasion of the throw pillows

After their first month of college, students look forward to "little touches of home" arriving with mom or dad on Parents' Weekend. For some, it's delicious homemade baked goods, like the ones my roommate received. For others, it's more clothes, like those my friend acquired after underestimating the weather. For me, it was throw pillows. 

That's right. Throw pillows.

My mother fluffed up the four large, white pillows, arranged them, and then looked at my bed with discontent. Something was missing. Later, more beddings had materialized including a white fleece, a blue afghan, and a furry white throw to match the pillows. God only knows where my mother found these additional items; my college town is only three blocks long. But in true Perri-form, my mother convened with the spirits and found appropriate bedding.

I wasn't ungrateful, but I didn't really get it at first. Throw pillows? At school, I barely had enough energy to pull back the sheets when I got in at night. With additional hazards like books, coats, and the occasional person ("oops! wrong bunk. No, wait, wrong ROOM! Sorry, dude") it was a miracle I slept at all. 

But I'm starting to understand slowly, especially after the latest in the throw pillow saga. On another bedding outing at IKEA this summer, my mother was pressuring me to buy more pillows. I may or may not have given her sass about it as we were on a specific quest for a comforter (my old one was too . . . blue). Then she showed me a picture of a pillow adorned with a ladybug, which was my childhood nickname. And then I got it. A little touch of my mother, and a little touch of home.