We need a new couch. Badly. The current one is in pretty rough shape and has certainly seen better days. The springs are completely shot and you’re never quite sure if it will hold when you sit down. There are creaks and groans coming from all parts of it whenever someone dares to sit on it. Two of the cushions have holes in them where the stuffing is shoving itself out (Note to self: when the kids aren’t making noise you really should go check on them). On the back, the staples used to hold the fabric to the couch are sticking out causing a nasty hazard.
We bought the couch 13 years ago, when we were first married. It was one of the first major purchases that Joe and I made as a newly married couple, so there’s a bit of a sentimental value to it. And when you sit on the couch it kind of wraps itself around you – in a good way. There is something so comfortable about this couch even though it’s all broken down and beat up. We have another couch in the living room which is more attractive but when people come over they’re drawn to the old couch. The kids prefer to sit on it to watch movies and Saturday morning cartoons. I love to sit on it and read. My brother-in-law swears that he can’t sit on it without falling asleep. There’s something a little bit magical about it despite its “unrefined” looks.
Over the years I’ve looked at other couches and dreamed about owning one. One with soft, comfortable, non-torn up cushions. Maybe something with a built in recliner and cup holders! But here’s the thing. I tend to be the kind of person who’s just happier with stuff that isn’t brand new. I get kind of nervous around “new” things. I am constantly worried about the first scratch, dent or break – always just waiting for it to happen.
And I don’t want to be the kind of mom who loves her couch more than her kids (though some days it’s a close call…). It’s not that I let the kids tear through the house without regard for my things, I just don’t like to have to worry about every little thing. There isn’t a room in the house that isn’t “lived in”. I remember, as a kid, that no one was allowed to go into the living room. Ever. That was a sacred room that was always neat and clean. I used to think that was pretty crazy – to have a room that no one used – but the older I get the better I understand it. I can imagine my Mom saying, “At least this room looks nice.”
I drive by Designers Cover in Dexter pretty frequently and have considered asking them to reupholster the couch (I’ve heard they do a fantastic job), but I’m afraid they might gently tell me that the couch is too far gone. Which it is. It has not escaped my attention that I’m more connected with the couch than I should be. Perhaps, as I’m dumped unceremoniously into middle age, I’m thinking about my own creaks and groans. About how I’m not as sturdy and attractive as I once was, but I am more comfortable with myself.
Still, the couch is going to have to go pretty soon. But I guess I can keep it just a little longer, at least until I find the perfect replacement…
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