Sofa Saga, Part 5: A Happy Place to Sit

Everyone, exhale. Our (cleaner, greener) sofa has finally arrived!

I was very concerned that after all these months of anticipation, it would not measure up. But it is well-made, truly comfortable, roomy and fits my living room like it was made for it. Which it basically was.

Going couch-less was not easy. With this dark period now behind us, we can breathe a sigh of relief, fuss a bit over the cushions, and celebrate the close of our odd social pariah status. No longer will we have to burden casual visitors with an alarming earful concerning how and why I put my toxic Ikea sofa out on the curb, just to address the paucity of seating options.

We ended up with a couch from Robert Craymer, who had great designs and gave us a price break even before this blog started sending traffic his way, as I explain here. It was a long wait, although some of the delay was my responsibility as well, as I contemplated the materials, color, etc. Robert’s recently down-sized his operation and closed his storefront, and, as he told me, he’s happy to do orders, but they will take some time to fill.

It was finished in a simple, child-friendly brown, pre-washed twill. For filler, I did not go with latex, instead opting for the polyurethane foam with no flame retardants in it. (But others should at least review the excellent and detailed exchange in the comments to this post about the latex option, and the eco-issues with polyurethane foams.)

Here’s a picture with the pillows that I had on hand, which look great mixed with the four brown ones that came with the couch:

Happy thanksgiving! This year, we’ll be thankful for furniture that doesn’t add flame retardants to our house, and is lovely to sit on as well.

Now, about those chairs…

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If you’re new to the “Sofa Saga,” or the issue of flame retardants, these other posts may be of interest to you:

And here’s sobering coverage of a study released Nov. 15, 2012, linking maternal-fetal levels of PBDEs, a particular and ubiquitous flame retardant found in 97 percent of the study subjects, to delayed development in the child at age 7.

There’s more! Coming attractions include a guest post by Ken Fonville, of Eco-Select Furniture, with an update on the California process from his perspective.

Full disclosure: I have not been paid any commission whatsoever by either company for this review or any other post, but Robert did rather casually mention that he might send along some additional pieces given the referrals he’s getting from the blog mentions. Lucky me!

All Frothy Over Flame-Retardants in Foam

I’ve been cornered.

Insert loud howling sound here. Allen Ginsberg, bless his brilliant soul, didn’t even BEGIN to know what a teed off work-from-home mom sounds like when she can’t get a simple answer to her damn question.

When the hideous, albeit allegedly flame retardant-free, foam, arrived for my new “adult-living” fireplace edges, I was struck by its clear resemblance to the foam we already have on the glass corners of the dining table. Further investigation revealed that I had been — gasp! shocker! — wrong in my frantic 2 a.m. googling of ebay for alternatives, and that it was in fact likely to be polyurethane, not, as I had thought, polyethylene. Those polys will get you every time. “P. U.,” thought I.

So it’s stayed in the bag, while I’ve been busily emailing back and forth with a mysterious supplier in Hong Kong (whose handle is “howtorich” [off Americans like me]). I’ll note, first, that while the supplier is in Hong Kong, the package actually arrived with a postal address from the hub of monstrous, environmentally-destructive manufacturing in China, Shenzhen, the first “Special Economic Zone.” I’ll just let the emails speak for themselves:

Dear howtorich2003,

What kind of material is this made of please? I.e., what kind of foam or plastic? Polyurethane or polyethylene? Etc.

Laura

Dear Laura,

It is Polyurethane Foam. Regards – howtorich2003

Here, I cleverly tried to trick them into the “wrong” answer — a technique learned from my hubby, whose extreme allergy to seafood means that we have to ask restaurants whether they serve it. Suggesting that we actually want seafood tends to lead to more honest answers, but here it just confused things:

Dear howtorich2003,
Does it contain flame retardants? (It’s for a hearth.)
– Laura

Dear Laura,
If you need to us our edge protector near fire or high temperature item, we DO NOT suggested you purchase it. Since it is a soft Polyurethane Foam cushion, if it meet high temperature, maybe it will deform or melt. Hope you can understand. – howtorich2003

Dear howtorich2003,
Thanks for your answer. We do not use the fireplace — but I am worried about chemicals. Does the foam have chemical flame retardants in it — like PBDEs, TDCPP (chlorinated tris) or Firemaster 500? Thanks! – Laura

Dear Laura,
Our edge cushion is safe for using. It will not have bad chemical that affect health. But please don’t allow baby to eat the cushion, since even though it is safe for using. But it cannot be eat. Hope you can understand. If you have further queries, please contact us again. We will try our best to solve it. Regards – howtorich2003

Dear howtorich2003,

Thanks for your reply, but you did not answer my question. Does the polyurethane foam you use include flame retardant chemicals? Thanks, Laura

Dear Laura, I will contact my factory for the detailed of the chemical used in the edge protector. Can you give us some time for checking? We look forward to your reply. Regards – howtorich2003

Dear howtorich2003,

Yes, please check. Thank you. — Laura

Dear Laura, OK. Please wait a while. Regards – howtorich2003

Ok, so friends, you tell me. Cry or laugh? I keep cycling between the two, but I’ll take your votes.

The better ones sold by Rhoost, which were mentioned in the comments from a wonderful reader, are on back-order. If anyone knows of another source, please let me know! Maybe I’ll just duct tape some padding on the corners and along the edge, if I can rig it so that little fingers can’t just pry it off.

In the meantime, the foam lives inside its plastic bag, and my living room stays better suited for a 2-year-old.

I’ll just share the two clear insights I gleaned from this whole process by shamelessly name-dropping celebrities:

Lesson numero uno: Do NOT murmur “aha” and “gotcha” to yourself in a manner eerily similar to John Hodgman at 2 a.m. while purchasing household items on Ebay from a buyer in Hong Kong named “howtorich;”

And number two: DO celebrate when Jessica Alba, movie super-heroine and real-life Toxic Avenger who fights for chemical reform, retweets your post about hurtling an owl pillow through a Target, and your blog traffic hits near-respectable levels. In my view, this one RT means that Jessica and I are Internet besties, and I’m sure she concurs.

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Update:  I ordered the corners from Rhoost for the table and hearth. They are a thick plastic and would work just fine if the corner had an underbelly — sadly, both my particular table, which is an artisan affair, and the hearth, do not have a lip, so the tension mechanism can’t be used. I tried using double-sided tape on just the top part of the protector, but they get knocked off all the time, and the tape does not adhere well to the plastic. It appears I’ll have to send them back.

Update #2: My genius engineer hubs figured out that if we took the strappy things off the Rhoost corners, they would fit under the large glass topper for our dining room table, thereby protecting errant children from the sharp edges. See how that works?

IMG_5862

So we’re all better on the table, though still without a good solution for the hearth corners. If you have other ideas, I’m all ears!

More Misadventures with Flame Retardants: So.Much.Fun.

Misadventure Number 1:

Sometimes, it appears, moms get stuck between an owl pillow and a hard place. Or at least that’s what happened to me on an ill-fated trip to Target last week.

During a (rare and dreaded) shopping adventure in which I was ISO a dress-up mirror for her bedroom, Maya developed a fondness for an admittedly adorable owl pillow perkily perched at the edge of a shelf in the children’s crapola aisle.

It was kinda’ cute, fairly cheap, and not branded by Disney or any other marketing juggernaut, so I was actually contemplating letting her keep the thing when I noticed its tag. On the one hand, it said “100% polyester” and I recalled that Heather Stapleton had said that polyester is rarely treated with chemical flame retardants. On further examination, however, I noticed that its tag also read “This product complies with TB117,” indicating that it meets the California flame retardant standard that requires harmful chemicals to be put into things like my old couch. Cue record scratch here.

Despite all my research on the evils of flame retardants, I had no earthly idea whether this confusion of labels meant that it complied with the California law because its icky polyester already complies without any need for chemicals, or whether this particular pillow had also been doused in IQ-lowering carcinogens. I was pondering the possibilities when I looked over to see that Maya was enthusiastically putting the pillow in her mouth, which is nasty for a whole host of parenting-fail-type reasons.

When my attempts to wrestle the pillow out of her hands were met with embarrassingly loud wails of protest, I conceded that I should at least try to figure out an answer on the whole toxics dealie. First, I asked a sales associate, who gave me a look like I was fresh from an asylum for helicopter moms and suggested I call the main Target consumer help number.

I did just that, and their associate (allegedly named “Bob,” who was obviously an underpaid hourly employee at a call center not here in the U.S.) in turn referred me, after the several explanations I was able to deliver over Maya’s screaming, to Circo, the manufacturer of said owl pillow, even though there is no number for Circo anywhere, given that it’s just a Target brand.

Since I was Not About to Call Anyone Else About This Stupid Pillow anyway, at this point, I dunno how, the pillow got thrown into the air into the middle of the children’s clothing department, where it would do no one any harm. I told Maya that the owl was nocturnal, and had flown to its nest for “night-night.” After a few concluding sobs, that seemed to end the question and the ensuing crisis, with both of us a just little less wise for the wear.

Misadventure Number 2:

I was always one of those snobs who could not believe that kids and their stuff could fully occupy my friends’ living rooms, leaving no trace of adult life. Like all of my pre-actual-parenting judgments, however, this one bit the dust as soon as I was the one with a child. It’s just so much more convenient to have them in earshot and right off the kitchen, so that you might hear if they are choking on something with a few seconds to spare.

Nonetheless, now that M is less likely to sample the flavors of choking-sized objects, and there is the impending arrival of my new, less-chemical couch, I hatched a tentative plan to Take Back my living room. This involves, by aesthetic necessity, selling the insta-Romper Room primary-color plastic fence around the raised marble edges of the fireplace, and replacing it with some kind of cushion to protect foreheads and the like from its sharp corners.

(Although the fence is plastic, I bought the thing in Maya’s early crawling days, when a rounded-edge, musical contraption looked like a decent option. She didn’t chew on it (much), and the tunes do allow us to experience her awesome dance moves. It’s since dawned on me that there are other gates made of metal or wood to do this job (like this one, which I have not tried). Now that I’m further down my own personal anti-plastics highway, I might have used those instead.)

I recalled the One Step Ahead catalog had some hearth options for child-proofing, including strips for $30 and a large mat for $130. Not cheap, and then I saw the following:

Made of flame resistant, FDA-approved non-toxic dense foam with self-adhesive hook ‘n loop.

As we know, putting “non-toxic” and “flame resistant” in the same sentence is a form of ultimately meaningless — albeit tragically entertaining — noise, much like a Vice Presidential debate.

But actually, it’s not as funny. This picture of a large hearth pad made of flame retardant polyurethane foam with a child playing in front of it literally makes me want to choke. Well-intentioned parents who want to protect their child from both fire and physical injury will buy this hundred-smackerooni-plus pad, thinking that they are doing the best for their family, and will instead be bringing in yet another source of very exposed toxic chemicals into their home. Yeesh.

And I would guess, though this is just a guess, that the corner cushions on our glass-topped dining room table are also made of flame-retardant doused polyurethane (i.e., “PU”) foam, which is just great to have around at mealtimes, I’m sure.

In the living room, I was not about to give up the modest toxicity of our hard plastic fence to replace it with a new source of flame retardants to infect our household dust, so for a minute my reclaiming-adult-living project threatened to go off the rails entirely. Then I found this utterly sketchy product on Ebay of all places — corner cushions made of PE (polyethylene) straight from Hong Kong, for about $9 per package: THICK 2m Table Edge/Corne​r Cushion Softener Guard Protector Bumper Baby Safety.

No mention of flame retardants, though they do claim to be “non-toxic and environmentally friendly.” I’m not sure how that works, exactly. Not being born yesterday, I know this foam is not eco-friendly at all, but as it is a “needed” safety item, I held my nose and ordered it. I’m still awaiting its arrival, and will update the post when it gets here in all its ugly glory.

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The up-shot? All in all, it’s stunning to see how complete the infiltration of these chemical flame retardants is into our lives and the spaces occupied by our children. It’s truly upsetting to think of all the families who are likely not following this arcane battle over toxic flame retardants (i.e., much of sane America) and are bringing this stuff into their homes completely unaware of its risks for them and their children.

And, as with the pillow, the lack of real information on even the simplest product — a pillow, for pete’s sake — is both troubling and problematic. What’s in any of the stuff we buy, anyway, and how was it made? We don’t really begin to know, even if we think we know a few of the questions we should ask.