Today’s post is inspired by the writing prompt found at Write. Blog. Connect. Check it out!
I’m going to be completely honest, and maybe a little petty here. I feel like I’m drowning in plastic cups and plates, crayon on the wall, and clothes strewn everywhere. My house (a small one at that) is full of kids. Overflowing, really. And I’m 7 months pregnant with another one. (I am thankful, really.)
I wake up and look around and sometimes I wish I had a grown up house. Nice furniture, walls without marks, pictures hung up straight on the wall. I don’t want exquisite items in my home, just nice ones. Ones that aren’t marred and stained and ripped. I want a set of matching glasses and glass plates and I don’t want to have to sweep up the wreckage of breakable dishes every single day. This all sounds so lovely to me.
We recently purchased a nice, new to us couch. We are bargain shoppers and on a budget, so brand new was out of the question, and we decided against those rent-to-own furniture places for a number of reasons. Craigslist is where we found ourselves. We bought a lovely chocolate-brown sectional, with big fluffy pillows, and it is deep and comfy and I like it a lot.
I like it so much that now I don’t want to let the dogs in the house or the kids down the hallway. I just want to hog the couch. I want to hog the couch I bought to share. We only had a love seat, a two-seater, broken love seat, prior to this purchase. We would spread out blankets for the kids and the dogs and the kids would bring out their pillows and we made it work, but I just had a moment. I didn’t want to make the kids sit on the floor anymore, and I wasn’t about to swap out my broken seat for the floor because it’s incredibly hard to get up from that far down these days. So without any planning ahead, I sent Mr. Wonderful out for a couch.
But the couch is home now, and it is lovely. It doesn’t have any odors, no rips, no tears, no stains. It looks brand new. The people we bought it from took great care of it. Our boxer thought the ottoman was just for him, and when we went to bed he kept getting on either the ottoman or the couch. I lost a night of sleep fretting about the dog hair and dog smell on my new couch. Now, I have to tell you, I didn’t think I was materialistic really. (Not that you believe me after reading all of this.) I’d give the shirt off my back to someone who needs it, and I believe people are more important than things. I don’t know what my deal with this couch is. I just cannot get over myself.
All of this to come back around to the writing prompt – you walk in and find a cat on your couch….
No. Just no. I do not want my new-to-me couch smelling like the pets. Or having a diaper leak. Or a spilled cup. Don’t eat on it. Keep your shoes off of it. The anxiety I am experiencing at the hands of this couch is unreal. It is like the only grown up thing in our house and it is MINE. MINE. MINE.
So I don’t want to find cats, or dogs, or even the kids on it. There better be no drinks, no dinner plates, no pizza, no fried chicken, no sandwiches or chips, or cookies or crackers on it. Stay far away from it. Haven’t had a shower yet? Get away from couch. Away, I tell you.
I told my sweet husband to spill something on it just to get it over with. Just to get me over it. Just to remind me that the spills don’t end the world, the couch won’t last forever, and it’s just a thing. (He refused, smart man.) I know these days are fleeting and my kids won’t be little forever. (I’ll probably always have dogs, and dogs always smell like dogs.) The kids will grow up, and move on, and I’ll miss the handprints, art on the wall, spills, laundry, and muddy shoes. It will be quiet and I’ll be lonely and I know that day is coming. I really try not to wish these days away.
I suppose I’ll share the couch like I intended do, and I’ll buy a bottle of Febreeze for any potential odors, and I’ll use the pet attachment on the vacuum to stay ahead of the hair. It is, after all, just a couch.