A month and a half of living in our new home and we’re still in boxes. I wasn’t kidding when I said we started over on this move; we have almost no furniture.
We have acquired a few random pieces through the charity of family and the adventure that is Craigslist (most notably a couch – a funky, slippery, bizarrely-shaped wonderful couch). Our dining room table, however, still sits in pieces after the hardware disappeared somewhere between Los Angeles and Vancouver. Several trips to IKEA have been fruitless as apparently they have changed the design of this very popular table and no longer carry the old hardware. Home Depot swears they don’t have what we need, but the friendly IKEA folks keep telling me the Home Depot folks are just being lazy. My table is an innocent victim of a retail war, so there it sits.
Our books, excess clothing, videos (yes, we still have some lonely VHS tapes), knick-knacks and what-nots have no home. They sit around the house in beautiful moving boxes, disturbed only by little people looking for something else to destroy. It’s enough to drive a stay-at-home mom bonkers.
Guess who isn’t bothered by the disarray? Yup, Jack. Jack thinks it’s awesome that we’re constantly unpacking boxes. For him, it’s a pasttime, a thing we do now. I’m guessing when the last box is eventually emptied he’s going to be wholly confused.
I was having a particularly bad evening recently after another trip to IKEA resulted in yet another set of worthless table screws. I was down, and somehow Jack knew it. He was hanging out with me while I cooked dinner, as is his wont.
“Your heart found us this house, mama. Your heart opened a door for us.”
Ok, seriously. Whose almost 5-year-old talks like that?
Mine does, and his heart is so big it carries me on my darkest days. He’s amazing, and that makes up for my screw-less table.
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