A Trip to IKEA

A new house begs one sure thing: a trip to IKEA.

Living in Collingwood, having 2 children AND a full time job makes this a difficult task that requires a lot of fore planning.  I suppose the disaster that ensued is exactly my punishment for naively embarking on a spontaneous trip.  I accept this in hindsight.

We were all down in Toronto for an afternoon.  Mia was going for her nap, my mom was at a conference, Rob was embarking on some sort of TV sports-watching marathon and Toby and my dad were bored.  The LOGICAL conclusion?  Take these two to IKEA to buy the 9000 things we need for the new house.

The trip started off perfectly; it was MORE than perfect in fact.  BOTH the boys were ECSTATIC to go on an outing (especially to a place that offers soft serve ice cream at the exit) and we listened to a show tunes CD on the way there, singing our hearts out in the beautiful summer afternoon.  We got there and miraculously found a very close parking spot and entered the building to be greeted not only by a WHEELCHAIR but also a kids play area.  I signed Toby in and was handed a buzzer in case he needed us and was then set free into IKEA.

Mistake number 1:  I handed my dad the buzzer.

“What’s this for?” he asked crankily

“It’s so that if Toby needs us they can buzz us.”

“WHERE’S TOBY!?!?!?” he remembered in a fit of panic,

“He’s at the kids play area.  He’s fine.  Now lets go.”

I pushed my dad through the ingenious configuration that is IKEA as he gripped the buzzer as if his life depended on it. 

Mistake Number 2: Taking someone with dementia through a maze of room replications

“Where ARE we?” he asked as we turned each corner. “And WHERE is TOBY?” he would escalate…his grip grew tighter on the precious buzzer every time I explained it to him

We went through mazes of kitchen apparel, bedroom dressers and beds and bedside tables, desks, chairs, dining room sets and then finally the dishes, rugs and random paraphernalia.  I needed it all.  As each room enfolded, my inspiration mounted and I found more and more hidden gems of things I suddenly DESPREATELY needed.  I would hand my dad the things he could carry.  (I would not say no to a $24 wok!)  And the rest I took a picture of so I could pick it up at the very end. 

I was, in fact, too excited by my potential purchases to notice the chagrin that was escalating on my dad’s anxious face.

JUST when we got to the grand moment when we exited the maze and entered the STORAGE ROOM that housed all the amazing purchases I had been saving up this whole time, I realized I needed to get myself a different kind of cart.  One that required pushing.   

I looked down at my dad in his wheelchair who was now desperately gripping a $24 wok, a set of dishes, his cane and the precious buzzer.  He was at his limits.

Literally and figuratively, apparently.

“LYSSIE.  What in GODS NAME are you DOING!?!?!?” he asked as I pushed him over to the place you get the flat bed trolleys.

“Um….WELL…I was going to buy a few bedside tables…a desk…a couple of dressers…and maybe some chairs?”

My dad, apparently had had enough.   There was NO WAY he was willing to spend another SECOND shopping.  There was ALSO no was he was letting me forego the grip on his wheelchair for something as useful as the buggy.

I looked from my exasperated and anxious father to the rows and rows of neatly boxed furniture I had so recently decided I could not live without. 

“OK, Dad,” I said, “You’re right, I can’t push you AND the other buggy.” 

I thought initially I’d just buy my $24 wok, dishes and a few other things that I’d gathered along the way, leave my dad with an ice cream cone, and come back for the rest. 

But then we hit the check out line.

My father was a wreck.

WHO were all these people and WHY had we chosen the SLOWEST line.  And WHO was behind us and WHY were they trying to BUD ahead of us???

I grinned sheepishly at the poor innocent people behind us (who were not in ANY way trying to jump the line) and then kindly declined the gracious offer from the people ahead of us to go in front. 

JUST when I thought we had reached our lowest moment…the buzzer went off.

“TOBY!!!  It's TOBY!!! He exclaimed “He NEEDS US!! We have to LEAVE!!!”

(Again, the people in front of us kindly reiterated their offer to go ahead.)

The problem was the there were about 5 other people in front of them OR an entire maze of a store to navigate in reverse to get to the kids play area.  I had no choice but to either leave my $24 wok and other paraphernalia and take my dad to get Toby or abandon my helpless father at the checkout line to quickly grab my son.

The answer was a no brainer.

Don’t judge me.  I just really wanted that wok.

And besides, I left him with the kind couple in front of us, promising profusely to return for him AS SOON as I’d collected my son FROM THE OTHER END OF THE STORE in JUST a jiffy.

It was the FASTEST anyone has EVER ran through the corridors of IKEA. It was the QUICKEST Toby has EVER put his shoes on.  The people at the day care checkout must have thought I was secretly pregnant, in labour, and about to push;  I was back so fast I doubted that the couple in front of me would have even noticed.

Well…it turns out they did, as did everyone else in IKEA who was remotely close to the check out counter area that afternoon.

As I rounded the corner to the checkout area, a very helpful couple I had never before seen in my life reassured me that my dad was JUST FINE and had been moved to the far end of the cashiers area.  As I walked down I saw dozens of customers heave huge sighs of relief.

And there he was.  He had gotten himself OUT of line, turned around and was loudly banging his can on the floor and then the shelf in front of himself.

(I am happy to report that he was still holding onto the $24 Wok)

“Hey, Dad!” I said as cheerfully and nonchalantly as I could muster. “Ready to check out now?”

“Harumph…” he said in reply. “I WANT TO GET OUT OF HERE.”

This is when Toby brilliantly leaned in, “Don’t you want to get an ice cream cone, Papa?”

My dad thought about this for a split second but his anger was unwavering.

“No.  I do NOT. WANT. AN. ICE CREAM CONE.”

We were both shocked.

But we stood in line anyways and bought the damn wok.

It was then that I noticed that the ice cream cone place was right at the exit of the store.  This could either work in my favour (how long does a man with dementia remember his solemn promise NOT to get an ice cream cone?) or work against me (how gracious CAN any 6 year old be about not getting said promised ice cream cone?)  I was dangerously close to having both an 87 year old and a 6 year old temper tantruming at the same time so I promised them both that as SOON as we got the HELL out of this store we would FIND an ice cream place.

And yes, those were my exact  words.

We made it past the ice cream place and to the exit doors and were JUST about through when the LOUD alarms that started sounding caused both of my boys to throw their arms up in the air and over their ears.

My wok fell on the floor.

Of COURSE it was us that had set the alarm off.  Why wouldn’t it be?  What more could happen in one simple trip to IKEA?

The rest of the story goes like this:

We were escorted back into IKEA, screaming senior and 6 year old in tow, reprimanded for having taken an IKEA wheelchair out of the store, escorted to the exit closest to our car and kindly, yet firmly, sent on our way.

Not 5 minutes later I had them both seat belted into the car and we were on our way.   A few minutes down the road I had both of them belting out “The Sun will come out Tomorrow” and all was right again in their world.

“Well,” my dad said smiling, “that was fun.  Did you get what you wanted, Lyssie?”

“Not exactly, Dad” I answered honestly, “But I’ll get it next time.  How about going for an ice cream, now?”

“Oh, YES, “ He answered, “That sounds LOVELY.”

My dad and Toby, enjoying an ice cream cone together at Baskin and Robins...just down the road from the dreaded IKEA