We bought each other a couch and chair for Christmas. I never bought a big joint gift like that. My colleague says, “We always do Mexico for Christmas in February.” Christmas is December. February is Valentine’s Day. I like presents below the tree.
But getting a couch seemed totally imperative–not imperative like paying the bills imperative or solving world hunger and the problems in education imperative, but important. It’s important mostly because I am such a cool mom.
It’s not that cool moms need stylish furniture. I don’t. I can be cool on milk crates. As a cool mom, not much bothers me, including the type of furniture in the house. I go with the flow. I fix PlayDoh disasters, clean paint spills, and don’t overstress about glitter.
I was cool, in this case, because I let Declan jump on furniture. Who needs a trampoline and extra insurance? We own things that go boing.
Boing, boing, boing…The boy got his athleticism from Rusty and is ADHD from me. It’s a perfectly olympic combination for sports that don’t make him cry. One of these is couch jumping. Boing, boing, boing… after a while, he gets tired. He only fell off and shattered his arm in three places once, and that was years ago–he was three. In his defense, I interfered–I thought he was falling. I tried to catch him and ruined his perfect-ten landing.
But he got a cool purple cast and some really big shirts to fit over it. What kid doesn’t want to look gangsta for Christmas? That’s the gift that keeps on giving.
Rusty likes things in order. Living in Germany and having been a staff sergeant does that to a person. I’d probably improve my life if I did even one of those things. Enjoying order, he was getting annoyed at the bouncy couch, which was sporting a couple holes, stains, and a divot that swallowed small people. Who knew bouncing on couches ruined springs? Maybe that’s why all the moms yelled at us about stupid things all the time. I always wished they’d lighten up and have more fun bouncing with us.
I, the cheapest person alive, agreed we needed a couch. Letting forty-pound boys jump on stuff breaks it. Two inches from my spot on the couch, a spring had sprung. It was threatening to serve as a proctology exam sans copay. I can’t put some doctor with a half-million in student loans out of work. Time for a couch.
We hesitated. The salesman said, “This is on clearance, and I can give you the Black Friday price.” Black Friday was WEEKS ago. I’d safely avoided American commercial greed for most of the season. “And I can give you this coupon with free delivery.”