Ikea is a maze. And somehow, in the three years it’s been since we were there last, I had managed to forget that fact. Being certifiably insane, I took N and T with me to pick up some supplies to make a home made bow so that they can shoot each others’ eyes out.
We were doing fine, jumping on beds, laying on piles of pillows, folding and unfolding the couch. Folding and unfolding the couch. Folding and unfolding the. . .Come on! We’re here for blinds!
And then it happened. They wandered off while I was fondling all of the beautiful fabrics in the linens department. What? I have a thing for fabric. It’s a bit of a fetish. I’m not willing to overcome it.
I realized rather suddenly that I could no longer hear the boys yelling at each other and pretending to throw hand towel hand grenades. So, being a good mom, I moved on into the lighting area while browsing idly for them. After all, no matter how far or how fast I run, they always seem to find me.
Unless, they are navigating a store with twists, turns and hidden doorways that they don’t remember ever having been in before. And, it’s been over an hour of them patiently waiting for mom to touch every item in the store without actually buying much of anything. But the ceilings are open. The walls are not connected, so I could hear them. In fact, N is so loud, I’m pretty sure people shopping at Costco a block away could hear him.
But try to find two 50″ boys in a maze of displays 60″ high. Dare I say impossible? I walked quickly towards the voices, hoping for the sound of shattering glass to help me triangulate their position. As I got to where I was positive they were, the voices shifted to somewhere behind me. Still lacking broken glass or a cascade of falling pans, I turned towards the yelling. And started walking faster. Only to hear the boys’ voices coming from the left of me. Or was it the right? Above? Below?
And silence. I called their names, but the only answer I got were weirded out looks from other shoppers. Calculating the amount of damage I would likely be responsible for when I was reunited with my explorers, I started toward the cash registers to find someone who could help corral them. Three quarters of a mile later, the overhead speakers blared to life.
“Could the parents of N and T PLEASE meet their boys at the registers? PLEASE? WE’RE BEGGING YOU TO RUN. THEY’RE TAKING HOSTAGES UNTIL SOMEONE BUYS THEM HOTDOGS! The parents of N and T NEED TO GET HERE NOW OR WE’RE RESTRAINING THE LITTLE DEVILS.”
Hearing the good news, I went back to textiles and continued browsing. Secured with dish towels and full of hot dogs, the boys were doing just fine when I picked them up an hour later.