Here is last week’s article in the Examiner’s Feelgood supplement.
Sharing with the world the day my dream came through…(or in case you are wondering a story about a new couch and is it still all clean and perfect?)
We all have dreams don’t we? Not the night time crazy ones, but the day time ambitions we silently wish for. Over the years some of mine have been a little… ambitious, such as wishing a teacher was vaporised, or dreaming my baby would sleep the night, every night. But I have had one dream I’ve wished for, for close on twenty-five years, to own a child unfriendly, ‘good room’.
In my good room beautiful pictures would hang on unmarked, tastefully painted walls. There would be candles and perfectly positioned ornaments. There would definitely not be ancient couches with sagging backs and sunken cushions, or curtains with missing hooks, which if not pulled slowly, crashed to the floor. My good room would be perfect.
Years have passed and as I dreamed the dream, my children ripped it to shreds. They jumped on my couches, marked my walls and left everlasting reminders of every time they ever ate in there. But I continued to dream and recently my perseverance, crying and nagging has paid off. Those saggy couches were to be dumped and the room decorated.
Accompanied by my youngest, I went in search of the couch of my dreams. We spent days in furniture shops criticising and rejecting all around us. Until one day I saw it, my grown up, dream couch.
“This is the one.” I whispered. I caressed my new couch and gently sat on it. My daughter stood speechless.
“Don’t you like it?” I asked.
“Mum, it’s white!”
“No it’s not, it’s a silver grey.”
“Well, I’d be afraid to sit on it.” she said, backing away.
Three weeks later I waited, giddy with excitement, as two men unloaded my dream from the van. I began to feel a little less happiness when I saw how enormous it was. I smiled a welcome before retreating at speed into the kitchen.
“I think it’s too big.” I told my gathered children.
“Did you not measure the room?”
“Sort of… with my feet!” I confessed
There were no comments, only head shaking. After eating through four nails I heard a cheery voice telling me they were finished. I peeped into the sitting room and there my dream stood in all its glory, a lot larger than I’d imagined and definitely closer to a silvery white than was practical.
My daughter moved to sit down. “What are you doing?” I squealed. “Testing it.” she replied. “Oh no, you’re not sitting on it in those old jeans.” She thought I was joking but one look at my face had her backing away. Another daughter appeared,
“Oh Wow, it’s very…pale.” she commented.
“You’re not allowed sit on it.” my younger daughter piped up.
“You’re joking?” she said making her way towards it.
“Of course you’re allowed,” I said, standing, arms folded between her and my dream, “but you have to be clean.” She brushed me aside and jumped upon my couch, closely followed by the other one, before both agreed they preferred the old one!
Months have since passed and my nerves are shot daily watching them put their feet up on it and eat biscuits, accompanied by the dog who scrapes it vigorously before sitting down. Yet despite their relaxed attitude, to their credit I’ve not had to remove one stain created by them.
Unfortunately, it would appear it is I who should be banned. Although in my defence I didn’t realise I’d sat on chocolate or that I’d left an inky blue pen in my back pocket!
It would appear that “Life has killed the dream I dreamed.”
London Irish Graduate Network