It’s been a banner day. (Not for the poor Arizona Cardinals.)
Jack is home. He’s got a huge crate and several toys and he’s already peed in the kitchen four times.
The Big Girl Bed is home, too, but not in the Big Girl’s Room, not yet.
I took Sophie to IKEA today, BY MYSELF, and together we selected the bed (children-sized, cute, with sheets with bubbles on them) and although I was ready to pass out after the selection process — which was like a horror movie version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears (this bed is TOO big!) starring Sophie the Ball Buster — that was only the beginning.
When we finally got in the car and pulled out of the jammed parking lot, I felt like I’d walked 13 miles on a warm day, with a big blister. I’d managed to get both boxes of bed materials, the mattress, sheets and the other crap I couldn’t resist (including a magenta rug Sophie insisted on) in the cart, through the check-out aisle and then into the already packed-with-junk car.
If you know me (biggest wimp ever) you know that’s a big deal. And I did it with Sophie along — and she didn’t get lost or fall down the escalator or get her arm caught in the elevator door like the kid of a friend of mine did at IKEA once. (Seriously.)
I knew it couldn’t be perfect. It wasn’t. Ray’s in the middle of assembling the bed as I type this, and he just noticed he’s missing, oh, about a third of the materials. I checked on ikea.com and sure enough, the item I purchased has THREE boxes, not two, despite what the clerk promised.
So back to IKEA tomorrow. And — barring a lot of puppy whining — one last good sleep tonight.