In June of 2000 our family room couch first entered our lives. When my husband and I brought it home from Macy’s, we were as nervous as any first time couch owners could be. Would the leather always be so soft? Would we be able to protect this furniture from harm?
As couches go, this one was a beaut. It was the type of couch that women want to buy and men want to sleep on. Brown with clean lines and soft padded arms, our couch could be equally comfortable in a formal living room or a Seahawks man cave.
We bought the expensive conditioning kit and polished the leather on a regular basis. This couch had every pillow and afghan it could wish for.
Sometimes we’d sit on the couch and rub our hands across the leather — soft as a baby’s butt.
Then came the actual babies.
The couch greeted our newest family members with wide open arms. We cuddled, napped and relaxed together. The couch was there for us during 2 a.m. feedings and countless hours of Sesame Street. Look back in our photo albums and you’ll see us all together, smiles on our faces.
It’s hard not to feel guilty.
Before we had children my husband and I promised we would stay true to our couch. Eat and watch television? Never! Scratch up the sides with Matchbox cars? Not on your life! Nobody would be allowed to jump on the cushions or sit on the arms. Parenthood wouldn’t stop us from giving our couch the love and attention it deserved.
But I’ll be honest, the sensitive needs of our couch were often ignored. Two of our family members, who shall remain nameless, were not very kind. They did some things that were borderline abusive. The couch was never stabbed with a fork (thank goodness), but some other stuff happened — involving sunscreen, imaginary trampolines and vomit.
After every incident my husband gave the couch extensive TLC. He reinforced the frame so the cushions wouldn’t sag, while I doled out stiff lectures.
But by January of 2014 it was clear that our couch was aging quickly. It wasn’t as supportive as it used to be or as good looking. The leather was wrinkled, the color uneven. I brought out the furniture polish but by then it was too late.
After Halloween it was discovered that one of the children was hording partially eaten apples underneath the arm cushions. Upon further inspection, 2 pounds worth of candy wrappers were found squirreled away in the deep recesses of the frame.
It was time to face facts; there was even a smell. A difficult phone call was placed to Goodwill and the family gathered to say goodbye.
Farewell, family room couch, may you rest in peace.
We shall mourn you at IKEA.
Jennifer Bardsley is an Edmonds mom of two. Find her on Twitter @jennbardsley and at www.heraldnet.com/ibrakeformoms and teachingmybabytoread.com.
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