Or so I hear. Today there were two blog options: you could hear me whine about my cold, or I could tell you about our hand-me-down couch. I know, some options. Gee, it just occurred to me why technorati rates me somewhere in 6 digit number land. Sad, sad. But yet I press on with such optimism...
This couch was bequeathed to us while I was pregnant with Alexis, some 9 years ago. Before that, it had been relegated to my in-laws basement, its glory years long gone. Even then, the arms had worn out and had been carefully patched. When she came to our house, there were no complaints, because there was no couch. And when it occurred to me that I might want a place to sit after I had the baby, ending my 60 hour work weeks, I was grateful for a place to house my hiney. Up to this point, Greg and I sat in our respective rockers, drawing, writing, watching movies, reading--they were perfect. We didn't have a kitchen table either because we rarely ate at home and obviously, we didn't entertain much. Funny thing is, I didn't even feel any need for any of these things before I became a mom.
Lately, I feel differently about my old couch. I'm kind of a no-nonsense person, and the couch serves her purpose. But we do have friends over now; I would like to entertain more. I think we have outgrown our castoffs.
So thanks for the years, old girl. Thanks for providing a semi-soft spot for family to sleep and for kids to practice headstands. We'll remember opening our wedding gifts on you, and that Lexi got her first facial rugburn upon you. You've served us well.
Now go away.