Hey Huffington Post readers! Welcome. Looking for my Five Reasons post? Find the first one here.
How can a place this crisp make me *that* sweaty?
On Monday, I told Riley that this was the week I was going to get back into life. Writing two hours a day, clean house, dinner made every night!, service for others, wonder for the dear children and finally, finally an orderly house. You know with all the framed pictures finally picked up off the floor and a place for every little sock and stray crayon. He was supportive, as he is every time I make the new old decision to live deliberately.
On Tuesday, I woke up bright and early. Well, at 7:45 am, but my attitude was a “chipper 5am early bird gets the worm” sort of attitude. I cleaned the house. I scooped old food out of the back of the fridge and took out all the trash. I did laundry. I remembered to feed the kids more than breakfast crackers. I returned emails. I was, I thought, totally bleeping doing this thing called life.
And then I decided to go to IKEA. You know, the place that is literally a maze you have to sniff your way through? The place that tries to convince its customers that a lack of customer service is really empowering because,
“Look at you finding everything by yourself! Spending an extra hour trying to figure out the difference between the stuva oopsilong and stuva oopsilang means that you have saved money, the rainforest and that tiny piece of your heart that any other big box store would have painted black with icky consumerism.”
Ummm. Hey. IKEA. Your stuff is only a little cheaper than Target and at least there I get helped to my car. Also. Instructions for building furniture that have words instead of primitive pictograms. I’m onto you. You’re The Man, even if you have figured out how to make an entire line of furniture called“Lack” something English speaking people find fulfilling. Stop trying to sell virtue along with the Stockholm Collection. It’s annoying.
Anyways, I threw my principles into the approaching summer storm and drove to IKEA. I was in that damn place for three and half hours.
Because maybe I need that shelf? No, definitely that one. Hmmmm. I bet that I can’t live without that wall mounted planter. Unless I can. Walk some more. Hey, Zuzu and Viola? Would you mind not climbing into the five hundred beds sprinkled throughout the store? No. Keep walking. We can’t get that stuffed animal. Unless we can. Stay next to me, I’ve got to write down 154,982 numbers so that I know what 85 components I need to make the 3 pieces of furniture I am purchasing. Let’s get lunch. Who wants meatballs? Just me? Okay, I’ll get nine. Holy hell, nine was too many. I feel sick. Hey, guys? Can you not climb on the kids tables? Or do. Okay. Done eating? Let’s keep going. I think we’re done in the showroom floor, let’s go to the marketplace. Do I need a $9 wok? Yes. Probably. No. Oh my gosh. So many lights and rugs and really awful art prints. Hey, lady. Put down the world map. Everyone has it. I have it. You can do better. Have you been to Target? Still walking. I thought they had shortcuts to get through this thing. I totally remember shortcuts. Found it! Wait. I’m back at the lights. Oh, hey Vi and Zuzu. Tired of walking? Let me hold you. I am mama, hear me roar. This is great. We are almost through. I can do this. Just get to the self-serve area, load up the cart with boxes and go.
Only at self-serve, I couldn’t find the right boxes. I found a lonely worker hiding behind a bureau.
“Oh, you wrote down the combination number. We have that there so that the customers can get the list of all the components at once. We use that number to look it up on the computer. But not the one down here. You’ll have to go back upstairs.”
The women upstairs were as confused as the man downstairs..
They suggested I take a photo of what I wanted and go from there. So I did. The detective work that ensued was as exhausting as it is uninteresting.
Cut to forty minutes later, three carts full of boxes and two children weeping with heat, exhaustion and maybe just a little fear that we had entered a place we would never be allowed to leave. My mom and sister had come with the truck to help load everything up. They started to push everything towards the door when my mom turned to me,
“Hey, this is stupid. This stuff will take you three days to put together, there will be at least one piece missing and it won’t last into next year. Why don’t you just spend fifty dollars more and get something that won’t drive you bat&*^% crazy.”
Her suggestion was so logical it made me cry. So I left the boxes and my good intentions and climbed into the car and cried all the way home.
I just really wanted that day to be the start of something new and somehow I had left that big blue store feeling like something old. I called Riley and cried some more. And then turned down the radio so the girls could sleep and cried some more. And then got home and, you know, cried some more.
And when the tears had cleared and the house got quiet, I found that part of my soul that the day had dampened and let it dry out. So maybe I decide to live deliberately every few months after another few months of chaotic living. So maybe the shoes will never have their place, maybe the emails will fill my inbox and maybe the dinner will be made late, when it’s made at all. My intentions are good and my hopes are strong. And you know what? When those two things take a beating, I’m going to be glad I invested in good furniture. Or at least, middle of the road furniture. Can’t you just hear it now?
“Man, today was frenetic. At least I am not having to Gorilla Glue the girl’s desk together again.”
Hmmmm, doesn’t that just warm the cold and dreary spirit?
So long, IKEA. I’m quitting you.
Until I’m not.