Fresh off a move from Los Angeles, our down-the-block neighbor decided to go without a couch in his small NYC apartment—until he spotted our post in our local “Buy Nothing” group about a free Room & Board sofa that had seen better days. Intrigued, he showed up at our apartment to take a look, and then I helped him disassemble the couch, maneuver it down our three flights of narrow stairs, and balance it on his collapsible wheeled cart (yes, really). 

 

From our third-floor window, I watched him sloooowly push it down the sidewalk. If you’ve wrestled a couch in NYC, you know: it’s a rite of passage. To us, it was just an ugly couch at that point—but to him, it was so much more.

 

That phrase, “It was an ugly couch anyway,” reminds me of one of my favorite books by Elizabeth Passarella. Her book, “It Was An Ugly Couch Anyway”, recounts her journey to skin an old, but beloved sofa, along with other hilarious and heartwarming tales. Her book is a reminder that couches carry more than just cushions—they hold stories. (In a full circle moment, this week, Elizabeth featured me in her New York Times piece on “soft decluttering”.)

 

This week, we shared our new couch on Instagram—a beautiful, customized sectional that’s a dream to sit on, read on, or even write on. But it also got me thinking about the couches that came before it—each one a little worn and dare I say, uglier, but no less meaningful.

 

Our first couch, a hand-me-down sleeper from my wife's parents, came with a blue slipcover that almost hid its ‘90s multicolored pattern. It was wonderful to have a free sofa, with a built-in bed for friends and family! A real combination of functionality. Here's a photo from the day we moved into our first apartment in Lexington, KY. The slipcover, looking all fresh and optimistic, meanwhile, the rest of the room screamed, "College dorm, but make it married life."

 

 

The couch was comfortable and had that “decades worn in" kind of feeling. But it was HEAVY to move. A few years later when we prepared to move from Lexington KY to NYC, we sold the sleeper sofa to a man and his son for $200. Watching them carry it down three flights of stairs, it felt like freedom—our new city life would come with a sofa that the two of us could actually lift. 

 

 

Next came the white sofa, our first adult purchase. I remember that it cost $700. It was chic, sophisticated, and utterly impractical for anyone planning to have children. But when we purchased it, we didn’t have kids, and it was a beautiful showpiece in our NYC living area! We also added a white rug to the room, because at that time in our life, it somehow seemed like a good decision. 

 

And for years, the couch (not the rug) remained in pristine condition, even surviving a move from one NYC apartment to another without a single stain or blemish. It even made an appearance in a photo accompanying a New York Times article our family was featured in (along with Emily's sister and brother-in-law) while Emily was pregnant with our second daughter, Matilda. 

 

 

Having kids came with lots of spilled cups of milk, a few marker explosions, and general wear. It was doomed. We passed it to my cousin, who was thrilled to take it—even with the milk stains. She had recently moved to NYC from Florida, bringing her own couch along for the cross-country journey. But when her sofa wouldn’t fit through the stairwell of her apartment building, she had no choice but to take a hacksaw to it right there on the sidewalk and toss the pieces into a dumpster. That’s NYC for you—a stained sofa beats no sofa.

 

 

After that came our gray Room & Board sectional—a 9-foot-long marvel with dry-cleanable cushions that we purchased used from a neighbor for $600. This sofa saw us through three kids, countless movie nights, and even a few Tidy Dad photo shoots. The photo above was taken for the New York Post while Emily was pregnant with our third daughter, Margaret, and before my sister-in-law and brother-in-law moved to Indiana—they were our downstairs neighbors!

 

 

I loved everything about that couch, from the L-shape and the chic legs, to the comfortable fill and the fact that each cushion cover could be individually removed and dry cleaned. I thought this would be our “forever couch”, but again, the fabric was no match for our children. I don't want it to seem like we don't watch our children…we do! But every time a water bottle was spilled it left a huge water mark on the fabric. We were ready for real washable covers!

 

 

Our new navy blue sofa is here—beautiful and practical. The couch looks amazing in our space, but more importantly every single piece of fabric is washable, every piece can be disassembled and reconfigured, and the seats have built-in storage. (It's from Lovesac and we got to design it in their showroom!)

 

But as I sit on it, I can’t help but think about the couches that came before—the ones that cradled our memories, caught our crumbs, and endured the occasional spilled drink disaster. Furniture like this weaves itself into the rhythms of family life, always there for a laugh, a cry, or a power nap that never lasts quite long enough.

 

Couches aren’t just furniture—they’re memory keepers. They hold spilled drinks, late-night talks, toddler adventures, and quiet moments of joy. Each one represents a season of life, a chapter in our evolving story. It’s funny how we can instantly recall the couch from our childhood (ours was navy, burgundy, and gold plaid), the one in our grandparents’ living room (Grandma still has her cozy floral sofa), or the first couch we picked out for ourselves (our infamous white one). Each carries its own history and its own stories.

 

So, here’s to the ugly couches that brought us here—and the beautiful one that’s helping us dream about what’s next.

 

 

P.S. Did you hear? “Tidy Up Your Life ”  is a USA Today and Audible Bestseller!! It's also now officially published in the UK and you can snag a copy internationally!