Skip to main content

A Tale of Two Couches

My husband and I have had the same hand-me-down set of furniture since we married 7 years ago. I was thrilled to get it. At the time, we watched t.v. from the comfort of an air mattress. The big puffy upholstered furniture with it’s lavender and coral patches was a dream come true.

If that furniture could talk. It’s the place where my nephew slept during weekend visits and where he threw up in the middle of the night and my dear husband soldiered his way through cleaning up an erupting five year old. We snuggled there watching The Simpsons and Seinfeld and countless rented videos that we would later debate about. I’ve written my life story, graded papers, and written essays all from the comfort of the right-side corner. It’s been the stage for some bloody battles and dear conversations. Our infirmary when too sick to stay in the same bedroom for fear of spreading germs. Our therapy room in the wee hours of the morning. Our dining table during the Superbowl and 24 finales. It’s been sneezed on, farted on, cried on, jumped on. And it’s been through 3 different room decors. There’s a lot of life there.

I love my couch…with all it’s cat scratch marks, coffee stains, and butt impressions. It’s still the best seat in the house. I can’t imagine living my life in fear of scuff marks and food stains on my furniture. I lied. Yes, I can, especially when in the middle of consoling someone, I was told to please find somewhere else to sit so I wouldn’t spill anything on the couch. What’s the point of having a comfy place to sit at home if I can’t enjoy eating a bowl of chocolate pudding on it? For one thing, I have enough practice now to be able to eat a bowl of chocolate pudding without spilling it. For another, it’s just a freakin’ couch. This is why God created Scotchguard on the eighth day. He knew after watching us rest that we needed something to protect us from the ravages of livin’ it up.

Real life doesn’t happen in a museum. Life is messy…like chocolate ice cream on a summer afternoon. Sometimes it spills over to the furniture. And sometimes there are more important things to worry about than turning over the couch cushion to hide the punch stain.

Comments

Rebecca Jeffries-Hyman said…
I love this! I thank God for the hand me down couches that made my childhood home a "spillable" place!! I still see that place as the place where I'm loved in spite of my spills.
7:38 AM
frabjouspoet said…
And I thank God that I didn't grow up around plastic covered couches. Ever sat on one?
2:58 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Stalking a Pirate

Prepared we were not to cross Captain Jack's path late in the summer of ten, with the sun bearing down as we wandered the town where the Koreshans once lived. But he nodded. We smiled and went on our way, rolling it all in our heads. We giggled and talked and suddenly stopped to turn back and run after him. You see love for a pirate and sailing the seas rest deep in a gypsy girl's soul, where she dreams of the day he will take her away to find a new place in the world. So we followed his swagger as he wound through the woods and stopped to take in the sights. You know when chance comes to call you must answer with all because sometimes she doesn't seek twice. There we tracked Captain Jack on the seashell lined path and dreamed of the life that he lived With his swashbuckling ways that man made our day late in the summer of ten. You know love for a pirate and an adventurer's life lie deep in a gypsy girl's soul, where she dreams of the world she has yet to explore an...
2 comments
Read more

Trying to Keep It All Together

The title of this post is a bit of a misnomer. Just this morning I said, "I'm having a hard time getting it together right now." I'm in one of those periods when showing up is the best I can offer, and I can't even guarantee that. That said, I just popped on here to share that I'm struggling. I'm dealing with a lot of loss right now. Some of it is easy to spot. Some of it I've tucked away because it's either terribly painful or terribly embarrassing--at least to me. Some of it was inevitable. Some of it was a surprise. All of it rises up into the center of my chest and begs me to stop for a moment to acknowledge it. It's doing that right now even as I type this. I'm having a hard time getting it together right now.
Post a Comment
Read more

Warning Signs

This post has been sitting on my computer for the last few weeks. In the wake of this week, the message seems even more appropriate. *** For several months now, the service engine light has been on and off...mostly on. I've taken it to the mechanic several times, and he's pulled the code and checked out all the usual suspects before calling me to pick it up. There have even been a few times that it goes off on its own. And then comes back on. It's a bit of a waiting game, as I'm waiting until someone finally figures out what's going on. I was thinking about the service engine light this morning on the way to work and comparing it to how many times in life we talk about missing the warning signs. It's a convenient response, kind of like, "stay strong" or "she's in a better place now." Those empty words that fill an uncomfortable space and are usually best left unsaid. The truth, which sometimes seems to be messier, is that warning...
Post a Comment
Read more