Worn

We have reached a point worn-ness in our home.  The shiny items are no longer so shiny.  The Restoration Hardware couch that Ben and I bought as newlyweds is now tearing at the seams, stained with face paint and bike grease and scratched by cat claws.  The tab top curtains are missing some tabs and our dinner plates are totally mismatched due to replacing so many broken ones along the way.

At the same time, we have two kids under ten and an ancient cat in the house.  We also have a Navy pilot in the family so moving every two to three years keeps us from knowing where we’ll be next, in what size house or in what kind of environment.

So we have decided that replacing worn mattresses and rugs is pointless because who knows what size and shape we’ll need in two years.  Buying a new couch would be ridiculous with messy kids and a cat with claws still residing with us.  Even the dented, stained car will probably be lost somewhere between Belgium and the U.S. at the rate the military is doing things these days.  So our current situation will have to stay.  Messy, mismatched, dented, scratched.

But here’s the thing.  I may long for a new sofa, but I do not long for the days when replacing it would make sense.  The days of older kids.  The days of no pets.  The days when my only goal is to close the properly tabbed curtains to make sure the sun doesn’t fade the clean, correctly sized rug.

So I say to you now, should you ever come visit us, please excuse our worn home.  We know it could be newer and shinier but, when the day comes and we make it so,  I’ll miss that face paint stain.

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