When A Couch Isn't Just A Couch

We bought new couches last week. Brown leather, reclining, easily washed couches of my dreams. I was thrilled to see the old couch go into the garage to wait out it's final days until garbage day. I was going to put an ad out to see if anyone could use it but when I imagined the ad;

Free- one stinky microsuade couch with pen scribbles, broken springs, grease spots, dog throw up, baby throw up and toddler pee stains (they won't come out...I tried everything...) for pick up.

Then I thought better of it. Sometimes the dump is a good thing.

This morning we caught the garbage truck in front of our house just as we were leaving for our walk. I thought Ben would enjoy watching the garbage truck pick up the couch and and crush it into the back of the truck.

I initially thought Ben was shrieking in delightful fascination at the strong arms of the garbage truck and then with big tears running down his cheeks I realized he yelled in horror.

"My couch, my couch!" He sobbed. "That truck hurt my couch!"

So I couldn't have misjudged the outcome of this scenario more it seems.

"Ben it was a good couch and we used it and loved it but now it is garbage because Mommy can't fix it (I would have thought better of this phrase in hind site as well...lets pray he doesn't interpret the larger meaning of when something isn't perfect anymore, it is worthless...great job Mommy....)."

He argued with me and cried while bits of the couch splintered and flew into the road. I tried to reason with him to no avail and then the more I thought about the couch the more emotional I became.

That couch was the pillar of our home.

Our first goal as an engaged couple was to find the most comfortable couch in the world to curl up on at the end of the day when we imagined coming home to one another at the end of the day. We took this mission seriously and gave many many couches the flop test until we found IT.

It did indeed become the place we found refuge in at the end of the day. I can think of many good conversations had on that couch. Those grease spots I had been cursing were reminders of the funny movies we enjoyed over a shared bowl of popcorn. That baby throw up; evidence of many hours spend nursing babies on the most comfortable couch in the world. The dog throw up...Bayley. Toddler pee... the memory of Ben jumping up and down just out of my reach as I chased him with a diaper and change of pants...too late, served enough sentiment to make me smile and let a tear escape simultaneously as we watched the last of the wooden frame go under.

There we stood then, crying on the sidewalk as the young garbage man threw the discarded shards of memories into the back of the truck and snuck one more sideways glance at me (remember when I got sprayed in the face with the garbage juice a few months ago...yup same guy) before hauling it away to the dump.

The couch I sit in now seems a little too stiff, too shiny, too stark. I have a feeling though, as we open a new chesterfield chapter that a little magic marker and spit up will have it feeling right at home in no time.