It's funny how my husband and I are homeowners now -- we moved into what my son calls "our new house-home" yesterday -- and yet my life hasn't changed, excepting the obvious; it hasn't, in other words, magically become more wonderful, beautiful, or thrilling. And I'm a little pissed off by that.
I'm also chagrined to find that the loveseat I was so hoping to leave by the curb has somehow made its way into our new house-home. There's nothing, technically, wrong with this piece of furniture, aside from the fact that it's rather unlovely. It's actually quite comfortable. But it came to us third-hand by way of a bartender friend of my husband's who, along with about forty percent of our old neighborhood in the Bronx, decided to repatriate to Ireland a few years ago, before the economy there collapsed. Something about knowing that this loveseat spent most of its life on McLean Avenue in Yonkers just bothers me, though I can't quite put my finger on it. I just want it gone, but then there would be nowhere to sit in the family room.
I've been offering my Saint Andrew's novena for my intentions and those of my family, and also for the special intentions of some readers, including Sally T, Emily J, Josh Snyder, and Mrs. Darwin. Dear all, I fell asleep while praying for you last night. I hope it still works.
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Congratulations on your new home!
My advice: move the loveseat while you still can. We had one of those from my husband's bachelor pad, and it just kept following us like a wayward dog. Finally got it to the basement, after much ado, and from there out the door. But it seems like things stick wherever you set them during a move.
I've always heard that if you fall asleep saying your prayers, Mary will finish them for you. Isn't that nice of her?
That is truly nice of her! It's almost tempting me to say my prayers in a state of exhaustion while lying in bed every night if that's all I have to do. But that would be missing the point, wouldn't it. . .
Oh, that loveseat. Well, when we moved here from New York last year, it WENT into the basement of our transitional house-home, which was around the corner from the house we just bought. So when our things were offloaded, my husband said, "Oh, there's nowhere to sit in here," and had the movers go back to get it out of said basement. This all happened when I was doing something else and not paying attention. The only way this one is going to the curb, I fear, is when my husband agrees to purchase a new one, which I don't see happening soon, though maybe I could do some looking around on Craigslist.
Congratulations! And . . . yeah. We have some of that furniture, too. It's just not in any picture I've ever taken for public consumption.
Actually, what's been eating me lately is that last year, not long after we moved, some of the children -- I won't say "the boys," because I think a girl was involved, and one boy might not have been -- jumped on the boys' beds so hard that they broke. These were 35-year-old take-apart bunk beds, inherited from my brother, which weren't bunked at the time of the destruction, and they just gave at the joints. So, a year later, the boys are still sleeping on mattresses on the floor in what could be a really cool room, if only . . . if only they had a better mother, who loved them enough at least to get Hollywood frames for them, a possibility which only recently occurred to said mother, who's been too busy obsessing over bunk beds to see the trees, as it were.
When we got married, my husband had this enormous sort of mustard-and-green plaid couch, of which he was very fond, having retrieved it from the basement of the church he was serving as pastor at the time (this was in the Methodist part of our checkered past. Actually, that couch may have been the most checkered part about it). I'm trying to remember how I managed to get rid of it -- I think the church had some guys come over to paint our living room, and I persuaded my husband to give it to them.
Oh, and the verification word's "reactode," which is just too good to pass up.
Ah, the mattress on the floor...My husband made beds for all the kids, but our bed, for some reason, never finds its way onto the todo list. Kids like jumping on it though. I sort of do too.
Well, up until this moment, I was embarrassed to confess the ghetto-ness of our sleeping arrangements, but we all have mattresses on the floor too for various reasons, mostly broke-ness. Ours is, at least, on a boxspring. My son has some sort of chemical-free organic cotton futon that I bought in a fit of anxiety over toxic beds when he transitioned from our bed (he would roll out of his toddler bed every night and end up sleeping on the floor anyway). But my mother has ordered a captain's bed for him (that we will have to assemble) as a housewarming gift.
Congratulations.
I know what you mean. When we bought our house last November there was that same feeling of "so this is it?"
In our household that couch was actually brought to the marriage by me. My roommate originally paid for it with a case of beer. It was in our apartment for at least three years and I inherited it when all the roommates moved out. And then my husband moved in. We brought it with us to a subsequent apartment and then to our new house because much as we both loathed it we feared the prospect of sitting on the floor.
Finally my dad bought us a new couch for my birthday this year and the old one went to the curb. No advice to you on how to get rid of yours since it took parental interference for ours to move. You do, however, have my sympathy.
So it is possible. Thanks for the encouragement! My heart sank when I saw it coming through the door.
And this morning the hot water heater pilot light is off, and I'm trying to prevent my husband from lighting it for fear of blowing up the house. Um, what do you DO when this happens?
Call the super? Ohh...
Well, Merry Christmas, anyway!
Oh dear, I'm afraid it's me who can't bear to part with the old ugly stuff...
And Thanks for the prayers!
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