Mom on the Run: Comfy sleep for boy, but not for Mom

The mattress pad was a spontaneous purchase. It started with: "How was camp?," and the conversation wound its way from lacrosse drills to the heat to the roommate to cafeteria food to … "and the bed?"

"It was OK," my son said, shrugging. "Not great, but not much worse than my mattress at home."

And, camp conversation exhausted, curiosity piqued: "Your mattress at home is bad?" "Sort of," he said, shrugging again. "The coils kind of poke me."

I considered his comment as I turned off the highway. His twin mattress is … oh, gosh, now that I think about it, maybe 10 years old? … and it was cheap to start. I know it's a little squeaky, but …. "Coils poke you?" "Uh-huh," he confirmed. "But it's OK." "It's OK?" "Sure," he said. "I can keep sleeping on it." He's a laid-back kid, he pretty much goes along with everything, but that's just not right: "You shouldn't have coils poking you. You should be comfortable in bed."

I pause, thinking: "How about if we try a mattress pad?" We happen to be stopping at Wal-Mart on our way home -- no way was I going back out after this seven-hour drive bringing my kid home from camp -- we could do this right now, before I forget. "A mattress pad?"

"Yeah. For between the mattress and the sheet." "Hmm," my 14-year-old said, considering, and he studied the choices thoroughly once in the bedding department. Finally he made his selection:

"Foam Mattress Pad," he read aloud. "Foam comfort coils. Five zone design, 100 percent polyurethane, 100 percent hypo-allergenic." "Did you see all these?" I pointed out thicker pads, memory foam pads, quilted cotton pads.

"I like this one," he said, and that was it; $9.99 later, we're in the minivan driving home, my son studying his bulky package.

"Oh!," I say, in sudden realization: "Is that thing flammable?" Vigorously he nods. "Oh, yeah," he says, and he starts reading aloud: "Warning. Urethane foam is flammable!"

"Great," I mutter. "Urethane foam will burn if exposed to open flame or other sufficient heat source."

My worries increase the longer he drones: "Do not expose urethane foam to flames or any other direct or indirect high temperature ignition sources …" I interrupt: "Hey, how did you burn your blanket?"

"Oh, that was my bedside lamp," he says dismissively, and continues: "Once ignited, urethane foam will burn rapidly …"

I interrupt again: "Do you still have that lamp?" "Nah, it's gone." He picks up where he left off: "and consuming oxygen at a rapid rate." I try to listen, but I'm driving; I only catch "deficiency in oxygen" and "suffocation."

"This is sounding like a truly bad idea," I note, realizing that now he may rest easy but I won't, and I consider making a U-turn to return this apparent slice of fireworks for a nice old-fashioned quilted pad.

"Why?" My son is genuinely curious. "Well, let's see. You read in bed, with the lamp bent way over to shine on your book. Sometimes you fall asleep with it on. Your electricity-powered radio is wedged next to the mattress. And, um, you burned a hole in your last blanket."

I'm picturing my boy sleeping, soundly, deeply, until, poof!, orange flames explode all around his body. It is not a happy image.

"Oh, please," he says, "I'm not going to set it on fire." And he continues: "Hazardous gases released by the burning foam can be incapacitating or fatal to human beings." He starts to laugh. "Burning, and suffocation, and toxic gases! Ha!"

He squeezes his new mattress pad with even greater appreciation. And the drive was long, I'm tired, my eyes and my head hurt, I'm picturing a smoking toxic funeral pyre … can we just go back to talking about camp?

Lianne Wilkens lives with her family in Manassas. She can be reached at liannewilkens@hotmail.com.