So we spent Labor Day in Seattle at IKEA. We were sure that Kitty would sleep the 3 hours it took to drive there because she hadn’t napped yet that day. She slept for about 15 minutes of the drive. Exhausted Jane completely crashed… she was slumped forward in her carseat, her head dangling a few inches above her knees. Kitty thought Jane must be playing peekaboo with her. She kept cackling and waiting for Jane to poke her head up. When she didn’t, Kitty slapped her head repeatedly to try and get her attention. It didn’t work. Jane was dead to the world, so Kitty screamed the rest of the way.
We mooched some shelter off Mr. Darcy’s brother and his wife. They let us spend the night with them and supplied air mattresses for my kids to sleep on. Mr. Darcy, Kitty, and I shared a bed, which meant that I laid awake most of the night while Kitty’s feet danced on my face.
We met my brother and his girlfriend at The Cheesecake Factory for lunch. Kitty screamed through the entire meal. We took turns walking around with her outside dodging intermittent rain. $6 for a kids meal, and none of them ate anything but their french fries.
We left for IKEA around 2:00ish. I had promised the kids they could go into the play area while Mr. Darcy and I looked for their new beds. But as fate would have it, the line for the kids room was long and winding. It would probably have taken as much time to get them signed in as our entire shopping trip. “Sorry kids… no kids room this time.” to which they responded with, “Whinewhinewhinewhine… my feet hurt… my shoes are too small… I’m exhausted… My legs don’t work…. YOU PROMISED… whinewhinewhinewhine.” Feet stomping, dirty looks, misery.
We wove through the labyrinth of modern furniture and probably every single person in the Pacific Northwest. Heaven forbid you missed something you were looking for and have to backtrack. People glare at you if you try to go the opposite way. The arrows on the floor are the Supreme Guide. You cannot move against the crowd. And by now my children have collapsed against the clean lined Swedish furniture like spineless invertebrates. “We can’t go on!!! Are we there yet????! My feet won’t walk anymore!!! My shoes are too tight!!! Why didn’t you buy me new shoes yesterday!!??? WHINEWHINEWHINEWHINE!!!”
The girls don’t want the cheap beds Mr. Darcy and I have been eyeing online. They want the white iron canopy bed that only comes in queen/king. The Boy isn’t thrilled with his cheap bed until I convince him that it looks “very Star Wars-ish. Luke Skywalker would totally sleep in a bed like that.” More whining. More pining for impossible beds. More bodies slumped against boxes.
Finally we stumble to the check out. Now we have to figure out how to fit three beds into an already cramped minivan. The boxes just barely fit, but all the doors are blocked so “nobody better need to pee for the next 3 hours”, I threaten. Of course now that they can’t use the bathroom, somebody NEEDS TO every half hour.
At 8:15, we pull into our driveway. We have to scurry to get the school kids in bed. Everyone is exhausted. Nobody can find their toothbrushes. Instead of getting into bed, Lizzy collapses on the stairs and moans.
Is a $60 bed worth all of this? Yeah. Probably.