The weekend started out with the arrival of our new House Owl (a belated Christmas present from Kendrick from one of my favorite Etsy shops, White Faux Taxidermy).
The boys spent a little time hanging things…
…And making mischief. (What, that doesn’t look like a good spot to store the Apple TV remote to you?)
And then.
Oh, then.
It was time for a trip to Ikea.
You know how I knew that this day was going to go badly? Around 1PM, when we were getting ready to leave (the nearest Ikea is half an hour away), Kendrick said, “So we should be home by, what, 2:30?” Do that math.
He thought that spending half an hour in Ikea was an option.
Just to give a little perspective here, it takes half an hour to park. The store has actual arrows painted onto the floor to ensure that you literally cannot escape without viewing every single Baginge and Watoosi. And then you hit the Marketplace.
Anyway, it was bad. We spent the entire time glaring at each other while frantically trying to jot down ten-thousand digit item numbers using a broken pencil and making extremely fruitless efforts to prevent our son from having what turned out to be a two-and-a-half-hour, full-on meltdown brought on by the presence of so many things that he needed to touch and was not allowed to. Literally the only thing that stopped him from losing it completely was the slide in the kids’ room, which just happened to be the exclusive domain of a number of extremely large and hazardously excited children, and so we dragged our son away from the flailing limbs aimed directly at his very little blonde head.
–> Meltdown.
Have you ever seen someone do a yoga plank position while screaming like they’re starring in Piranha 3D? Sort of like that, except add on a bunch of glares from other store patrons who are absolutely certain that you’re torturing your child for the sole purpose of making their shopping experience even more miserable.
That about sums it up.
Oh, and did we leave with the futon that we had come for?
You’re kidding, right?
The color we wanted was out of stock, obviously, and the box for the frame was about six times longer than our car. And by the time we got to checkout I was so filled with rage that the idea of shelling out another hundred dollars on delivery made me want to scream. Also, I was thirsty and needed to leave now, please.
When we were finally back on the Grand Central Parkway with a passed-out baby and could take a breath, Kendrick and I looked at each other and said: “Oh, I don’t hate you. I hate the store.” Up until that point, you see, we hadn’t been sure.
When we got home and assembled one of the things that we did manage to pick up (largely because it didn’t involve a trip to the depths of despair that they call the Self-Serve Warehouse), everything was better again. Because that is a circus tent, and is now our son’s favorite place in the world.
This photo is being posted for the following reasons:
1. Guitar
2. PJs (Joe Fresh)
And that was Saturday.
Sunday involved more assembly of Ikea items, but at least none of them were the MALM dresser (if any of you have ever tried to put one of these babies together you know what I’m talking about). Kendrick whipped up a mini desk and chairs for the playroom while I applauded…
And then I had a great success of my own with our new dining room chairs (more on that in a moment).
And we wrapped things up by inviting over some friends for cocktails and cheese.
Summary:
Cocktails + cheese = good.
Ikea + infant = bad.
