Photo: via Yelp

Oh, IKEA. My 13-year-old anxiously awaited her chance to wander the aisles of the furniture store after her younger sister, some weeks back, took approximately 547 photos of items she wanted to add to their future she-shed. We arrived early, eager to check in the 5 and 6-year-olds we brought along (given no other option), to the amazing kid zone so we could go through IKEA as quickly as humanly possible before having to retrieve the younger siblings. After the disappointing realization that the kid zone was not open, we reluctantly took the youngest kids with us on the maze of adorable room inspirations and wallet shrinking adventure.

We passed through the seven layers of the wood furniture forest and into the farthest reach of the store when the 6-year-old gives me the look of desperation and says ” I have to poop!” I exclaim, “Can you wait a few more minutes?” She assures me she cannot absolutely wait at all, not even one more tiny second. I give instructions to the teenager to stay in the adorable modern living room design #24 and wait for me while I retrace the many miles back to a bathroom. IKEA, why are there no bathrooms in the showroom??? I’ve never played football, but I imagine I am a linebacker pushing through crowds of people as I run the opposite way of those IKEA arrows with my 6-year-old whining in tow.

If you know me, directions are really not a strong suit for me. It is sort of like a foreign language. In fact, my husband has threatened multiple times to revoke my passenger seat privileges or send me to “map school” if I cannot be of more help to him while he is driving. So inevitably, I get lost. I pass every single layer of IKEA; from odd children toy department to plastic plant paradise to furniture that functions as a bed, desk, and closet all in one before finally finding the registers. I shove my way through crowds and discover the line that has formed outside of the bathroom. Oh wait, I think to myself there are more restrooms by the entrance. I can see the entrance now, but how do you get over there? You have to follow the yellow brick road of torture all the way around the store again to get to it.

My child is sweating and near tears. I do not help the situation as I yell-whisper that this is her fault as she didn’t give me decent notice of her predicament. I channel my inner husband and his direction skills and make it in record time through the arrow maze and reach the oasis of a bathroom. My child feels instant relief and smiles up at me wondering what the big deal was and why her mom reacted like a crazy person.

I have time to calm down, feel that familiar pang of parent guilt about the yelling and vow to do better the next time. Thankfully kid zone is now open. I beg the lady to save me two spots while I rush back through the maze to find my teen angel and 5-year-old still waiting patiently for me. We drop the children off, plan our 45 minutes of bliss and begin the trek through the store again!

It feels like I’ve run a marathon both physically and mentally, but we survived. The teen found many suitable items for her she-shed all nicely packed in tiny boxes. “Why is everything in boxes?” she innocently asks. It’s IKEA, dear, so yes, everything is packed in nice little boxes with impossible directions, one tiny wrench and a promise to never you’ll never fall victim to this again.

But I know I will do it again. The lure of tiny rooms will bring me back once again with hope the trip will go smoothly and be filled with memories. Memories that make me smile, laugh, give us stories for years to come. Until next time, IKEA.

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