I have 2 hours and 15 minutes left of the day as I start to write today’s open-ended entry for National Blog Posting Month. I almost skipped it, but my friend kicked my butt back into gear.
Today was busy, and the bulk of it was spent looking for the perfect couch. A couch which has me incredibly emotional despite not even owning it yet. Proof that when you become a mom, you get emotional over everything. Apparently I love couches like Brick loves lamp.
In our entire seven years of being together, my husband and I have never bought a real piece of furniture. Unless you count a heavily discounted, mass-produced dining room table set. Or, a mattress. We did buy a new mattress after I decided mid-pregnancy that I could no longer share a full-size bed with him and our 80-pound dog. Nope.
Everything else is hand-me-downs, and we love that. For one, we both hate spending large sums of money. And two, I love attempting DIY projects, even though I am usually pretty bad at them. I try to put chalk paint on everything, which does not always translate.
But, this couch has me oddly excited, even though I will not be coming anywhere near it with chalk paint.
It will be the first big purchase that really adds to our “home.” I say home lightly because we are renters, and we will always be on the move in the military. Now that we have a baby, I have a strong desire to create a sense of consistency as best I can in this otherwise unpredictable life.
I realize that buying certain things won’t fill any sort of void I may feel in never being able to plant our roots anywhere, but this couch is much more than an attempt to fill space.
It’s about sitting close with my husband at night to talk freely about our days and our dreams. It’s about arguing over whether or not to let the dog on it, and ultimately letting him, because we love him despite his shedding. It’s about watching our baby start crawling, and eventually pulling up on the edges as he learns to stand – and then yelling at him later when he tries coloring all over it. It’s about spending game nights, holidays and early mornings gathered around this couch, creating memories and building family traditions.
It’s about defining a space that is forever ours despite the ever-changing scenery.
I think back to my childhood, and it’s the smallest things that stick with me. I loved that we lived on a dead-end street because the snow plow would shove piles of snow right into our side, and I could build one heck of an igloo with my neighbor. I loved that we had stairs so I could lay on my belly and surf down. I loved that we always had shrimp and seafood on special occasions, and lasagna at family gatherings. We didn’t have big game nights, but I can still hear the laughter from playing Scattergories.
And the couch. I would jump from cushion to cushion and balance on the ledge. If anyone tried to sit in the corner cushion they would be promptly kicked out because that was “my seat.” The couch is also where I would drag my family – being the youngest of three – and demand that they sit and watch my numerous dance performances. It’s also where my older brother taught me karate and body slammed me into the pillows one too many times.
I loved that couch. That couch was home.