Shopping Well Is The Best Revenge

Ah, IKEA, how I love thee!  I took the girls there on Saturday, because they are of the female persuasion and LOVE to go there and because Larry was busy doing whatever it is you do to insulate a room once you've recklessly ripped out its drywall and exposed the crumbling cinder block behind it.  I bought my bed frame; and I finally found a corner computer desk there, so I bought that, too.  And 2 more Toftbo bath rugs and the girls' Chanukah present from Grandpa (down comforters with pretty duvet covers that they picked out themselves and boy, did that take a while), because there is no way we will ever get around to insulating their bedroom in time for this winter.

Also?  A napkin holder, because it was cute.

Oh, wow, I searched for an image of the napkin holder and stumbled on IKEA Hackers, a website devoted to finding other uses for IKEA products.  People, I'm in love.  Just look at this Expedit storage unit repurposed as a sewing table:

It's a beauty, isn't it?

Right now our bedroom smells like IKEA, because I have all the flat packs piled up in there until Brian has time to use his Lego construction skills to put them together.  He loves to build things.  In fact, I'd buy IKEA items just to keep him busy.

Now Larry is talking about painting the den a new color when he's done, even though I like the nice dark gray we already have (well, had); it accentuated the white brick fireplace and white trim and made the room feel bright and cozy.  "Fine," I told him.  "Just tell me what color you pick out - I'll need to buy some new EKTORP slipcovers to go with it."

Really, who does he think he's messing with, anyway?

In Which I Fail At Acceptance

I would love to write something interesting here, but you know what?  All I can think about is the way my husband has WRECKED OUR HOUSE.  I'm trying to be all Zen about this, you know, I really am.  I keep telling myself that, hey, SOMEDAY the room will be finished and who CARES if the New Year's party I throw EVERY YEAR doesn't happen this time, it's not the end of the world, for heaven's sake, there are people starving in Africa, etc., etc...

But then I get to the part where I remember that Larry TORE ALL THE WALLS OUT OF OUR OPEN DEN, leaving only bare cinderblock and a fireplace mantel ripped from its moorings; and I see all the den furniture crammed into our tiny townhouse-sized living/dining room and I realize that it's DECEMBER and there's NO ROOM FOR THE CHRISTMAS TREE; and I note that there doesn't seem to be any sort of daily renovation progress happening, because Larry thinks it's OKAY to destroy the house on one weekend and then wait for some other weekend to fix the mess, and then...

Well, then, I sort of flip out all over again. 

I am SO going to IKEA this weekend.  Because, really, what we need right now is MORE FURNITURE.  And bath rugs - lots of bath rugs.  

Never underestimate the soothing powers of TOFTBO.

Don't even try to reason with me on this one.

Tim Allen, Where Are You?

Let's see, we've passed the 48-hour mark and my den is STILL TORN APART.  I swear, Larry is trying to break me.  "So," I said to him last night at dinner, "what's next?" 

TRANSLATION: When are we (as in, YOU) putting that room back together?

"Well," said Larry, "I have to do a little research."

TRANSLATION: I'm not sure I know what I am doing yet.

"Research?" I asked.

TRANSLATION: WTF? Shouldn't you have done that BEFORE you trashed my favorite room?

"Why, yes, it's complicated," he explained patiently.  "You can't just slap the insulation up or you risk mold problems down the road."

TRANSLATION: This will take way longer than I let on.

"So, um, should I call the electrician in the meantime?" I asked, trying to garner some reassuring indication of progress. "You know, for the ceiling fan and the extra outlets?"

TRANSLATION: Can we get moving on this?

"Oh, no, that's all done AFTER the insulation," said the man formerly known as my beloved.

TRANSLATION: Women!

"Okay, so when are we (YOU) putting up the insulation?"

TRANSLATION: Look, buddy, I need some sort of a timeline here.

"Well, first I have to [a lot of mumbo-jumbo about ceiling joists and Internet and wall sealants here]...and THEN we put up the insulation and THEN we call the electrician."

TRANSLATION: Not nearly soon enough.

Excuse me while I blow into this paper bag for a bit.  No, I'm fine, really.  Just because we have NO PLACE to put the Christmas tree and I am going to take an axe to the ugly IKEA computer cabinet that has been displaced into my living room and have I mentioned that I am STILL MENOPAUSAL?

OMFG.  Really.

Return Of The Rodent

Coming soon, to a living room near you

Remember this guy?  I still hear him periodically, but - as he is polite enough not to start pooping in my silverware drawers - I haven't found it necessary to burn the house down to get rid of him.  I've gotten used to hearing him run around above the ceiling of the den every once in a while. Conveniently (for my husband), it always happens after Larry goes to sleep, so no one believes me when I say that that darn mouse is still there.  Even my exterminator boyfriend looks at me funny when I talk about it.

So, as I sat in my overcrowded living room late last evening, trying to figure out where the heck we could put the Christmas tree this year (answer - NOWHERE), I heard that familiar patter above the den ceiling - you know, the den that no longer has any drywall to prevent a rodent from escaping into the room.  The den, in fact, that does not have any door whatsoever, just a large open archway separating it from the rest of the main floor living area...

Reader, I panicked.  Grabbing my knitting, I hastily decamped to the (hopefully mouse-free) bedroom area upstairs, where Larry lay peacefully aslumber, ignorant of the danger his long-suffering wife had faced just one floor below.  Give me some credit - I let him sleep, having no desire to watch him stumble dutifully around in his underwear, in a half-hearted attempt to find a rodent which refuses to reveal itself to anyone but me.

But I sure hope that man doesn't think he's getting a Christmas present this year.

Too Good To Last

I guess Larry doesn't like this.

Remember this day?  The day I cleaned up my house?  And remember how, for the past 2 weeks, I have been enjoying the fruits of that labor?  How even my knitting has benefited from my living in a tidy, clutter-free environment?

I was happy, people.  Happy!  And, obviously, that bothered Larry.  Why else would he announce -- bright and early this morning -- that NOW it was time to rip out, insulate, and rebuild all the walls in our perfectly serviceable (and tidy) den?

My apparently passive-aggressive husband lost no time in moving every piece of furniture out of the den - computer desk/cabinet, old-fashioned slant-y desk (what do you call those things, anyway?) that the former owner left behind, the beloved flowered Ektorp, my longed-for Expedit shelving unit, and a gorgeous drop-leaf table given to us by a neighbor.  He moved ALL of this (plus 2 lamps) into the standard L-shaped living/dining room you'll find in any old townhouse.  A living/dining room that was already amply furnished, of course...

Anyone else recall how Larry decided to rip up our kitchen floor 2 days before I was to host a Pampered Chef fundraiser?  Like I said, passive aggressive...

Let's see - our annual New Year's Day party for the neighborhood is in exactly 30 days.  Apparently, Larry is willing to bet our marriage on his being able to pull this off (insulation, drywall, new ceiling fan, PAINT) in less than a month.  Considering it can take us 5 MONTHS just to choose a paint color, I'm not feeling that optimistic.   

Extreme Home Renovation, that's us.  Stay tuned...

[Happy face image: Business Networking]