Yesterday morning was garbage day. As the husband gathered the kitchen garbage and compost to whisk out the door, I thought for a few minutes, just to make sure that the decision I was about to make was actually the right one. Then, I sent him upstairs to get the chairs.
Nesting has come out in me in the form of purging. I’m certain this is a symptom of living in a small house. The longer I live with something I don’t use, the more I want to get rid of it. Just, get it out of my house.
I’ve had these chairs for a few years now. The one on the right spent 10 months in the garage before emerging, triumphantly reupholstered. It was a wonderful learning experience, that I wouldn’t exchange for anything. The red one, I picked up from a neighbour’s garage sale, excited to find a matching chair to go with the one I already had.
But then, as often happens with things in our house, Kingsley’s puppy teeth got into them. The seat cushions were destroyed. the arm of the red one chewed apart, the trim on the white and grey one ripped off in one satisfying puppy tug. I can fix them, though, I insisted. They’ll still be perfect!
Problem: when it comes to comfort, I don’t like these chairs much. They’re awesome for about 15 minutes with my feet tucked up underneath me. And then, of course, my feet fall asleep and every other position seems inadequate.
So, yesterday morning, as the husband got the garbage out on the curb, I made the decision and out the door they went. As I watched him carry the first one out, the one I spent hours reupholstering, I felt a slight twinge of regret, regret that the chairs had become so dilapidated so quickly, in such bad shape there was no way we could even donate them, regret that I don’t have the dedication to an attractive home to sacrifice my comfort, regret that I never got around to reupholstering the second one at all.
I didn’t have long to see them sitting on the curb though. The chairs were gone, swallowed up by the back of a dump truck before I left for work. And, I was ok, letting go of a couple things that at one time, I thought were so perfect for our little space. Our needs changed. It’s ok. It happens.
Now, our attic bedroom is even emptier than it was before, the chairs making way for a crib. Their absence has, however, brought up a new question: where will night feedings happen? Bed? Maybe. Or, will I prefer a comfortable, back-supporting chair tucked into a corner? If so, where am I going to find that chair?
I suppose it’s time to go shopping.