I feel like one of the ways we could help the laundry situation at our house is by getting Tucker a dresser.  I realize how absurd that sounds.  It’s like saying, I feel like one of the ways I could keep my kids from going barefoot is to buy them some shoes.  But we all start somewhere, people.

I went shopping at American Furniture Warehouse with my two children, which in itself is a nightmare.  Good grief. I can barely keep track of myself in that place, and I added in the element of unbridled curiosity in a warehouse of invitation.  My breaking point was when Tyler took the glasses off the fat little ceramic chef designed to stand in your kitchen and hold a sandwich board boasting the family menu.  Because isn’t that the perfect addition to any home, removable spectacles notwithstanding?

We looked far and wide for a dresser for Tucker, one that could potentially follow him to college.  It arrived at my house this morning, along with this grand announcement: “It’s a customer build.”

People.  If I wanted to build my own furniture, I would have taken my traveling nightmare to IKEA, the cheaper, Swedish cousin to AFW.  I assure you, I splurged on a product with the understanding that it would come to me ‘ready to use.’   Besides, any ‘building project’ of mine always involves screwdrivers, scissors, towels and repurposed flip-flops.

So I set about the task of returning the item, which would be tricky since I had had it delivered and would need to negotiate so many things, not to mention the 15% restocking fee which I had already mentally relinquished. I was all attitude and little resolve.

Tucker said, “Well, let’s get to work, Mommy.”

“Buddy, I don’t want to.  I wanted it to be finished, and this is everything but finished.  I want them to take it back, and I want to get one that’s built already.”

My tall boy put his hand on my arm, and he said, “Mommy, we’re a family, and that’s better than a team.  We can do this.”

He almost makes me think we could actually do it.

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