Garage sofa love!

It's been a stressful and emotional few days.

Today my middle son moved out of our home, to share a house with 3 other lads in Crystal Palace. He finally has a good job, having left Uni last Summer, and is excited about this new phase of his life. His older brother moved out a few weeks ago so I am suffering from a bit of empty nest syndrome - switching from the sadness of missing them, to being happy that they are employed and doing what young lads should be doing (I also still have the
divine Miss O at home to mother and spoil).

Even though he is excited and looking forward to his new life in London, I think my son also had some pangs about leaving home.

When the boys were teenagers we provided them with an escape, known as 'the garage'. Over the years it became equipped with furniture, a fridge, many TVs and every video game, CD and DVD known to man. Now, this is just our garage, but to the boys and their friends, it became 'the garage'. It was a gathering place for all the adolscent friends of my sons during their formative years. They enjoyed relative freedom to experiment, push the envelope, bond, chill and party.

The garage became legend.

It was mentioned in the school's 6th form leavers speeches. Garage officianados have the garage logo tattooed somewhere about their person. It is a sacred place - especially for my son, Billy.

A symbol of this special bond, is the connection that Billy has with one of the garage sofas. The one he has sat on nightly for at least 5 years. After days of wrestling with his logic careful consideration, Billy felt he could not leave it behind when he moved. In spite of his father's protests (it really is a nasty, manky sofa), Billy insisted it was transported with all his other belongings in the van, hired especially for the occasion. His father even had to leave behind the wardrobe which we couldn't fit in (and will probably have to take up next week - the boy has nowhere to hang his clothes..!).

So we get to the new house, we unload the van and carry all the belongings and furniture up 2 flights of stairs. The revered sofa was the last item to be unloaded.... and shock! horror! It could not be squeezed through the front door!

There were many minutes of anguished debate and discussion. Do we dump the sofa? Do we take it back home? But in the end Billy could not be parted with it. The only solution was to cut it up to squeeze it through - we had a solution - but at the crucial moment Billy could not bring himself to do it! His father had to saw the back of the sofa so it could be 'folded' through the door. Billy remains reunited with his fond past (his house mate was a bit dubious about having the sofa in the communal part of the house - it is really manky). But I am comforted that there is a little bit of home with my son.

I drove home both happy and sad, lightened by the beautiful views and the fond memories of where the sofa once was, and that we have finally managed to get rid of it!

Have a great Sunday, and enjoy this next phase in your life Billy...