Me Party, Meatballs and My Space (Not to be Confused With the Now Defunct Social Networking Sight)

Which came first, the stress or the mess?

As of today, school is back in session. For me, anyway. Little Man has another week. In (last minute) preparation for this semester, I decided to redo my workspace. The way it is set up, my desk is in a corner of our living room. This allows me to interact with the kiddo, but also makes it distraction-filled; and a dumping ground for school papers, bills, junk mail and catalogs. To make matters worse, it is a cool but impractical antique with little storage space . . . a terrible fit for a student.

That's not technically a shelf underneath . . . more like a stability slat.

On Saturday morning I decided to do something about it. After three and a half years of struggling to to do my homework on it. Or instead using our sticky, hardened-cereal-coated kitchen table. Sorry about the jam and grease stains, Professor.


I had an idea of what I wanted. "Couldn't we just lay a board across two file cabinets?" I asked my husband. He gave me that reeeally? look that only a husband can give.

Lo and behold, Ikea and I had the same idea. You can mix and match your side pieces, then lay one of their table tops over it. Genius!

The lovely lingonberry. Juiced.

Struck by inspiration, I decided to make the two hour pilgrimage to the nearest Ikea. By. My. Self. In the words of the great Muppets, it was a Me Party. As a mom, there is no more precious nor wondrous time than a solo outing. I just wish I had decided to leave before four in the afternoon. Then it could have been a Trader Joe's-Costco-Ikea Me Party. But hey, you can't time a stroke of genius.

Can I just take a second to talk about how great the drive was? It was two whole hours of alone time. Each way. I listened to my entire iPhone playlist. I didn't have to skip over the Eminem song because I accidentally downloaded the uncensored version. Em has missed me, and the feeling is mutual.

It just looks like dog food. Deeelish!

I got to Ikea around 6p and decide that I mustn't shop on an empty stomach. Cue meatballs. And lingonberry juice. I have nary an idea what a lingonberry is, but I'm guessing it is the Swedish version of a cranberry.

Full belly? Check. Shopping list in hand? Check. Off I went. Into an arena full of screaming children and annoyed men. Only they weren't mine. Not one. I could tune out the chorus of "Mom! Mom! MomMomMom! Mooooom!" After twelve years, I possess that super power. What a luxury! At one point, surrounded by a thousand pregnant women, I did have a mini panic attack at the thought of our overpopulation problem and the fact that we may run out of clean drinking water. I'm okay now.

I found what I needed. I was the picture of efficiency. Admittedly, with some perusing mixed in. Until I started looking for the power cord organizer my husband had been lusting after online. It was nowhere to be found and not one "coworker" could seem to help me. Then a young man directed me back upstairs to the showroom. I tucked my cart in a corner and retraced my steps. No cord organizer. I gave up. Then I returned to my cart only to find that it was no more. Gone. The cute little plant that I just had to have? Gone. All my wares? Gone. So I had to go back and reshop. Then go pick up my furniture from the warehouse section. Where the power cord organizer was housed the entire time, by the way. Then get in the insanely long checkout line. Then go load my car. In the process, my cute little plant fell off and lost its dirt and half its leaves. I also dropped and scratched my new lidded garbage can. Which I had to buy because my dog loves the crunch of a used Kleenex.

The cart boy waited patiently for me to organize myself and call my husband to ask how to fold down the backseat of my new car. He waited and waited. But the second he saw me struggling to pick up those funky, backbreaking Ikea boxes, he bailed. No "I will help you!"  He simply walked away, resigned to the fact that I was hopeless. And that my lone cart would be the one left out all night. The word 'douche' came to mind. At this point the lingonberry juice had run its course and I had to use the ladies' room, but they had locked me out. I steeled myself for a looong ride home. Two hours with a sloshing bladder is rough.  Even with uncensored Eminem.

After my Me Party turned into a let's-test-Sarah's-patience-party, I sucked it up and decided this girl deserved a Blizzard. Another thing we don't have locally. I set the GPS and hurrah! there was one less than 3 miles away. As I pulled in and saw that it was one of those old A-frame walk up window Dairy Queens, I came to a scary realization: They don't take cards. And you're out of cash. I rummaged through my car for change and came up with four dollars. I ordered and paid in quarters. She must have taken pity on the frazzled woman paying for her frozen treat with pocket change, because she turned my small into a medium. To show my gratitude, I gave her a fat tip. In dimes.

In the end, I made it home. Then I spent my Sunday assembling furniture while my husband micromanaged.  Realizing that I had mere hours before the homework would come flooding in, I busted my rump to get everything put back together.

I also spent a great deal of time contemplating my procrastinating ways: Really? Reeaally? The weekend before what will arguably be your most difficult semester, you decide to redo your office space? After three years? Are you always going to be like this? You're tired. Is this really how you want things to go? When are you going to learn? Hmmm?  My inner monologue was clearly annoyed.

But in the end I have bigger, more beautiful desk with tons of storage space. And it is lovely.

A pristine work area! So that's what one looks like!

Storage!

View from the driver's seat.

P.S. The prognosis is good for Cute Plant. My husband drilled holes in the bottom of the decorative pot I purchased and made it into a functional one. I planted her in organic potting soil, sang to her, and apologized profusely for my negligence. Only time will tell, but I think she has forgiven me.