Sorry, no funny pictures of a dog with stuff attached to his head, like Heather does with Chuck on Dooce.
But I have a boy who performs similar tricks:
I’m reading Heather Armstrong’s (better known as Dooce to millions who read her personal blog) book It Sucked and Then I Cried. It’s insightful, self-deprecating and hilarious, as I expected — I love her blog.
So I thought I’ll post a dooce-ish entry inspired by Heather’s writing:
We finally set up our queen bed tonight. We moved into this house about a month ago, and we still were sleeping on just the box spring and mattress. (Well, mostly Don sleeps in our bed and I co-sleep with Landon on his twin bed, trying not to fall out of it all night, but that is a different story).
Some people just sleep on a mattress, but part of the reason for the move was that I wanted to finally get our bed back — it hadn’t fit into the closet-sized bedroom in our old apartment.
The bed had been wrapped up in California for the move to New York only to be swallowed by Grandma’s attic when we arrived, never to be seen again. That was over TWO years ago. Two years and four months, to be exact. So I insisted that we get that bed set up.
At first the headboard made it into the bedroom. A week later the foot board arrived. And after that I realized I didn’t know where the side boards were. I thought they were at Grandma’s, still.
I was so busy with everything after the move, I didn’t make it a priority to find them, and then yesterday I located them in the garage, just sitting there, in plain view the WHOLE time. So I made Don schlep them up the stairs yesterday, and tonight was going to be the night — after I painted the bedroom walls THREE times because they are textured. I finally wanted the bedroom to look nice, with a proper bed.
Mind you, this bed is nothing special. It’s one of the cheapest ones from Ikea, but it’s our bed. So I made Don help me set this thing up. I finally had all the parts together, even all the 168 screws and wooden pegs that had miraculously survived the trip from California and two moves in New York, and nothing was going to keep me from getting this done tonight.
Not Landon who almost got knocked out and his foot severed several times because he was so eager to help and wouldn’t listen to my threats to stay in that one spot I would deposit him OR ELSE, nor a grumpy husband who is working all day as a carpenter with a possible rotator cuff tear in his shoulder.
He is in pain AND he despises putting together Ikea furniture. The last thing he wants to do after a hard day at work where he puts together cabinets or builds god knows what for rich people is assemble furniture at home.
I love Ikea furniture. I grew up with Ikea in Germany and as kids we loved to play in the big ball pit while my parents were shopping. I took full advantage of living only 10 minutes away from the Ikea store in Burbank, CA. I have a lot of Ikea furniture, and since Don didn’t have much of anything when we met, my sweet yogi monk, he girlfriended and later married my Ikea furniture. Don hates the assembly so much that I usually don’t ask him for help, but I needed some help with the queen bed.
So we finally get it done, although the screws that come with this bed are ridiculously inadequate and way too small. And — drum roll — it looks hideous in the bedroom. Ugh! And you know WHY it looks bad? Because Don insists we use the mattress AND the box spring on the elevated Ikea bed frame with slats.
The bed doesn’t need the box spring since this is a European bed. You married a girl from Germany, buddy, this is how we sleep! We don’t know of box springs. But Don INSISTS that he will not sleep in this bed if it doesn’t have a box spring, that he will not sleep on slats.
The bed looks deranged, it is so tall. No, it looks like its owners are deranged. Who has a bed this tall?! Especially in a room that, again, fits only the bed and not the two bedside tables next to it. It makes the room look so small.
But that isn’t even my big objection. Yes, we did have the bed this high in California, and I thought it was deranged then but relented because I had just married the guy. But back then we had an infant who could not move while co-sleeping in between us.
Now we have an almost three-year-old boy who doesn’t ever stop to bounce on the bed, no matter how many times you threaten him. I told Don, “I won’t go with you to the hospital to get Landon’s gaping hole stitched up when he jumps off that bed and hits his head! It’s on you, buddy!”
For a second, I saw Don waver, but then he traipsed off to the living room to watch some more football. He knows he wouldn’t be able to handle such a situation. It’s always me who has to do the dirty work, like taking Landon to the dentist and holding him still for the dentist to fix his teeth while my poor little baby screams his head off and gets basically waterboarded. Don wouldn’t be able to handle it — I barely can.
I’ll add a picture of the monstrosity tomorrow. Right now my deranged husband is sleeping in it. I’m SURE he’s sleeping much better because he has a box spring under him.
Next day: So here is the evidence — pictures of the monster that swallows all of the space in our bedroom.
Can you tell how tall monster is from these pictures? I measured it with Landon’s kiddie measuring tape, and it is 31 inches high!
The bed reaches up to the height of the window. Ridiculous! And here are the sad side tables that once again don’t fit next to the bed because of where the bed has to be in this room. We have a much larger bedroom, but I wanted that to be our office since I spend half my life in there doing paperwork and blogging.
Another picture of our Chuck: