My children fed and myself fully-caffinated, we venture forth into the Ikea abyss. With surprisingly little resistance, we round the first floor smoothly, with minimal impulse spending (see giant stuffed broccoli) and only a small indulgence on my niece's upcoming birthday gifts (see adorable stuffed toys). I even manage to contain (most of) my living-spaces envy as we "experience" three unique "apartments," each of which is significantly smaller and yet still meticulously better organized than mine. I try desperately to remember that an entire team of dedicated professionals constructed each of these displays with the help of an unlimited budget and without the noticible distraction of another job, but it is a difficult battle. Upon reflection, I really would seriously consider moving into one of those apartments if I could let the boys jump on the couches without getting shamed (again) by a lovely, helpful member of the Ikea staff. But, again, I digress.
The ease of the first floor, which is actually the second floor, leaves me with such joy and over-confidence that a fall is sure to arrive shortly thereafter. It comes in bedding, where Boy 2 refuses to remained contained by the cart while I try desperately to find a king-sized, off-white, top sheet for my mother-in-law to replace the one her dog ate. It is like I am living in an episode of "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished." The hilarity is palpable, and the understanding sigh from the older woman inspecting pillow cases beside me brings little comfort. To say the least, Boy 1 wasn't helping, what with his constant chatter from the POV of the giant broccoli and his incessant questioning of basically any object, person, or concept that strikes his fancy. That kid seriously needs to read already, then he could at least be of some use in situations like these. Also, if he had refrained from stealing Boy 2's pacifier, that would have helped as well. Brothers can be so...exhausting.
Anyways, back in re-Ikea-ty, the towels I came for are not available in the color I desire, the sheet I looked for at length does not seem to exist, and the overwhelming quantity of microwavable white dishes and bowls leaves me feeling dizzy. On the bright side, I do find two laundry hampers that I like, but as previously mentioned, I fail to realize I need to buy the casters separately.
Please don't make me go back again.
In the end, we all escape with our lives, aided by two servings of the frozen yogurt sold to so many wayward soldiers at the completion of the consumer shopping equivalent of binge drinking. Yes, I realize frozen yogurt is not on the non-dairy-baby-diet, but hindsight is 20-20. One can only hope that we don't have to make yet another run to the pediatric urgent care this week....