Mom Creep

I have a favorite chair.  When we first brought it home, it was big and comfy.  It came with an ottoman. I would put my feet up, my back sinking into the cushions. It was heavenly, and it was positioned perfectly so that I could see the television, the stairs, the front and the back door, all at the same time.   If you're a mom, then you know how important it is to have visual contact with these areas.

I decided that it was my chair. I should have known better.  Moms don't really get to have a "spot", not unless they fight tooth and nail.  Things from the other two people living in the house just start creeping over to my side of the bed, or on my vanity, or in my car.  Mom Creep, I call it.  My chair was not immune.

First it was my child.  Zane decided that he liked my chair, so I'd come downstairs and find him curled up in MY chair, playing on his tablet.

"You're in my chair," I said, nicely. "Get up."

"You're just like Sheldon," Zane grumbled as he moved to a different seat, comparing me to a character on the show The Big Bang Theory.  A few minutes later, however, he was squeezing in next to me.  I was disgruntled at having to share, mostly because occasionally I like to do things without having a child or a dog attached to me.

Next, when Maisy came along, she decided that the very best place to take a nap was on top of the cushion at the back of MY chair.  It was fine, at first, because she was a puppy. She would curl up around my shoulders.  Now, however, Maisy is a sixty pound dog, who still thinks that the back of my chair is the place to be. The cushion is smushed flat, try as I might to fluff it back up.

Then I came downstairs, bleary-eyed, one morning to find my husband in MY chair, his feet propped up, his hands clutching an X-Box One controller.  A steaming mug of coffee was on the table next to him.  I did not say a word, but headed to the kitchen for my own coffee.   After I'd had my first cup, I went back into the living room.

"You're in my chair," I said, gruffly.  "Get up."

"You're just like Sheldon," Larry grumbled, as he moved to a different seat.   I sat down, but it just wasn't the same anymore.  I sighed heavily.

"What is wrong?" My husband asked me. 

I grumbled under my breath.  He knew darn well what was wrong!  I just put my head down and inhaled the steam from my coffee.  I needed to let it go, I knew.  Moms are all about sharing. We share our bodies to bring our children into this world, what's one little chair? 

Maybe the next one. 

The Perfect Reading Chair

The very best place to read is a chair.

Not just any chair, however.

A person would not be able to read comfortably sitting in a 14th century replica of King Patooie the 221st's throne, for instance. Nor would it be a good idea to try to read anything while sitting on a chair made out of nails or porcupine hide, unless you like that sort of thing. No, it takes a very special chair for the ultimate reading experience.

When we were all children and learning to read, we were wide-eyed and adventurous with our reading material. Therefore, the perfect reading chair must be so very large that it makes an adult feel small, like a child. The kind of chair where a person can curl up in a ball, or dangle their swinging legs over the edge while they read. A chair that was made to sometimes share with a friend so a book can be read together.

A very BIG chair, in other words.

One of my greatest disappointments as a child was reading Where The Red Fern Grows and not having the right chair to soothe me. A desk chair just doesn't have the same feel. Some stories, such as To Kill A Mockingbird or Lord of the Flies, might also reveal parts of ourselves that are secret, hidden away from even our own eyes. At that point, a hug might be very reassuring. This perfect reading chair should be overstuffed, enveloping the reader in a soft, comforting embrace.

The perfect reading chair must not be a dull color. It is supposed to be special, unusual, and unique.

Beige is not worthy.

White won't cut it.

Black is definitely out.

An iridescent blue the color of a waterfall?

A green the color of dragon's scales?

A purple that is an exact match to a rare Amazonian carnivorous butterfly? Perfect. My favorite would be the purple, just because I like the idea of a carnivorous butterfly.

Nothing ruins a reading experience quite so suddenly as the rapid disintegration of a chair leg. This perfect reading chair must have the sturdiness to carry the reader forward on their journey of exploration and discovery. It should be able to withstand rocketships blasting off, cattle stampedes through the living room, and broadsword-flailing Beserkers charging the shore.

When our imaginations are fired up, ready to pull us into the pages of the book we are reading, our efforts may be extinguished if all we have around us are walls. The perfect reading chair would be situated next to a big window, which is a natural imaginary doorway and an easily identifiable beacon to bring us home again. There should be a lamp next to the chair, so we can continue reading even after darkness chases the daylight away. And finally, there should be a little table next to the chair, where the reader might place a glass of water or other libation, for traipsing through the desert with Lawrence of Arabia leaves one with a powerful thirst.

A BIG, comfy, purple, sturdy, chair is the very most perfect place to read.

I have yet to actually see such a wondrous chair in my life, but I am sure that it exists. I see it in my dreams often. I know that one day it will find me. It may even be stalking me now, waiting to leap out of the purple sage in my yard and pounce on me when the next box from Amazon arrives at the door.