J Crew merino tatted lace sweater/Target pleated skirt & booties/Ruche purse
This past weekend’s activities helped me realize how much I have come to depend on my Dr. Love. Let’s start at the beginning.
Towards the end of last week I started giving our home the critical eye, on the prowl for things that needed upgrading, replacing, or just an old-fashioned cleanout. It probably had to do with the fact that since daylight savings we stay in much more frequently and I seem to have more time on my hands to….dissect my surroundings. I’m at my desk, creating a list of what’s needed, and come to the realization that my pursuit of change is going to require a trip to the mothership of modestly priced and modern furniture: Ikea. I began the journey on Saturday morning by my lonesome, because hubs was like “no way no how are you making me spend my Saturday at Ikea”. A compliant one, isn’t he? I timed the two-hour trip so that I’d arrive as the doors opened, avoid the crowds, hone in on what I needed, and scoot on out of there. Apparently everyone else seemed to have constructed the same plan because Ikea was in full effect! I began by locating the smaller items, leaving the heavyweights until the end. Once the cart was full and it was time to locate the bigger pieces, it was then that I started dreaming of a scenario where Dr. Love has made the 2-hour journey to surprise and help me with these menial tasks, fun Saturday morning be damned! I then woke up to reality and attempted to figure out how to load a 50+ lb. box into the car without throwing my back or making a complete fool of myself.
Let’s stop here a minute and contemplate the following: how was I taking care of myself before meeting muscle man hubs? I’ve realized with time that when it comes to taking on projects that entail heavy weights or conflicting power tools, I automatically throw my hands in the air and yell out: “Honey!!” in mere seconds. Utter defeat I tell ya. It’s like I don’t even make an effort to thoroughly read the directions on how to put together a drawer and just assume that Dr. Love will know what to do. He’s the man around here, right? How sexist of me you guys! Back in my single days I’ve been known to put together a bookshelf or two, moving myself (with the help of parents and friends) from dorm room to apartment, even fixing a leaking toilet once (don’t ask how I made it work cause I couldn’t tell ya).
So how does this story end? To my relief, and I swear I didn’t plan this, a couple was passing by in the Ikea parking lot and the guy quickly came over to lend a helping hand as I appeared to be conducting a clean and jerk maneuver with a very heavy box. I smiled sheepishly at both, adoring him with gratitude. Lesson.Not.Learned. What’s worse is that when I got home, my Dr. Love was waiting at the door, anticipating a request for his heavy-lifting services.
Guilty as I felt, I made up for it by buying the Christmas tree last night all by myself. No, I didn’t load it to the roof of the car, BUT, I did carry it up two flights of stairs and even managed to get it upright and sturdy in the tree stand. You know how hard that is without any help? 😉