We were rained out of hosting an egg hunt yesterday. I suppose I could have relocated the hunt indoors, but I think with the 11 kids it would have been a complete and total bloodbath. I rescheduled for Friday when - for now! - the weather's looking sunnier.
With our hunt rescheduled, we faced a new dilemma: what to do today? I took a look at our shopping list and declared "it's an IKEA day!"
Our list contained items important (parts to fix the kids' bed; a highchair for Thomas) and not so important (breakfast), and my challenge for the day was to let the kids have fun while making sure to tackle those important items.
The kids were good to great as we hunted down spare parts and gigantic candles for our Easter table. They were curious and nosy but also reasonably willing to keep moving forward when it was time to move on. Yes, there was another party in Aisle 13. Yes, they poked all manner of things with the gigantic umbrellas they picked out from the kind of cultish IKEA family section. Yes, I nearly had a seizure when Peter looked around the rug department, saw the rugs hanging up on display, and said, "this would be a great place to play hide and seek."
But I was also undeservedly proud when an older gentleman told me that the kids gave him hope for the future. I'm not entirely sure what he saw in them - covered in scrambled egg and marker and poking everysinglething they could find with those umbrellas - but I took that compliment and ran with it. Ditto for the kind woman behind the counter as we waited for a replacement part, the promised 10 minutes stretching into 30 minutes. Luckily, our shopping cart became a horse and the chairs and sofas became horses and we were all of a sudden in the middle of the most awesome horse ride event ever.
To be completely honest, there was a time when I was being somewhat snippy and short with the woman behind the returns counter. My reward for such kindness was a warm feeling on my hip and the realization that Thomas's diaper had leaked. I said aloud what I think often: "and with this, the day is officially a disaster."*
But then we made it home, and it started to rain, and the kids dashed outside with their new umbrellas. In pajamas and sandals. Naturally.
*I realize while typing this that by "disaster" I really mean "trough." I suppose every day has a disaster - a low point - and being covered in pee, arguing about a missing part, and watching my two ambulatory children trying to hack into the IKEA mainframe was pretty much mine.
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