We have to replace the couches in our living room, so this morning we set out to the mecca of cheap Swedish wares stateside: IKEA. TJ was still sleeping in his stroller, so we registered Nathan for the free hour of childcare Ikea offers and waved goodbye as he was ushered into the playroom. Ten minutes had gone by and Mike and I were already examining the couches when the pager the playroom employee had issued us was going off. As we rushed back to retrieve him, I was fretting what fresh hell I was to face: did he hit someone? Did someone hit him? Did he have an accident? Did he assemble enough kids for a mutiny?
When I arrived to pick him up, I saw him standing by himself. He looked uninterested in the activity swirling around him, but that was it. He was alone. There was no coup forming, no bloody tooth of another child lodged in his arm while he gripped the glass neck of a broken beer bottle. No bullhorn for him to yell, “ATTICA! ATTICA!” The woman emerged and said, “He’s just sad. I tried to get him to play, but he just seems sad.”
Nathan shuffled out and we gained custody again. I rubbed his back, asked him if he was okay. He nodded.
“He’s sad?!” I repeated to Mike as we walked away. “Don’t give my child back because he’s sad! Call us to get him because he broke some kid’s eye socket! I’ll get him if it looks like he’ll Kimbo Slice someone’s ear! NOT BECAUSE HE’S SAD!” Maybe this woman had clinically diagnosed my child in ten minutes. I mean, you can get almost everything at Ikea! But really? My child is sad? He will get over it! He is four! I WAS SAD! I was robbed of an hour!
We didn’t find anything striking at Ikea, so we headed to a different furniture store where Mike fell in love with this monstrosity. He started using strange words in its description like “cool” and “modern,” while I started writing my dissertation-length defense entitled: “HELL TO THE NO.” His claim is that he’s never owned anything cool. He should just buy a leather jacket, not a leather sectional couch that is not kid-friendly. This couch makes my ovaries shrivel.
This is sectional is perfect. If you have a life partner with whom you spend Sundays visiting Washington wineries and/or the new gourmet cheese shop that opened next to the candle store. You know, right after you’re done planning your themed dinners (Tuscan Delights FTW!), you and your signifcant other can sit on your leather couch, your pristine cream-colored armless chair that has remained in perfect condition because you DO NOT HAVE CHILDREN and your teacup chihuahua doesn’t have the nail length to scratch it up.
I don’t like the sharp edge here. I kept imagining what I’m going to tell the emergency room doctor when my child has a gouge in his head that perfect matches this awful, awful corner. We might as well keep the plastic on because that’s the only thing that’s going to keep the blood stains from soaking through the fabric.
This is the sofa and loveseat I prefer. It’s a plush microfiber cover that is warm and inviting. If you zoom in, you can see that Nathan loved it so much, he fell at its feet.
So to save our marriage, we compromised. He would have a sofa configuration of his leather life partner sectional and I would have my All in the Family sofa. These two will sit across from each other in our living room, each feeling more superior than the other.
How is it in your house? Do your aesthetics clash with your significant other’s? Or do your tastes mesh, so when one person loves fish, your whole house turns into the set of Finding Nemo?