Whatever the reason, I noticed that my mother was, for the first time, acting like she was looking forward to being a grandmother. She told my aunt that this was her life now, and basically that my aunt could help welcome these children into the family or get out of the way. Last week, she came home with two enormous boxes from Costco: car seats, you know, for our now non-existant minivan. I have no idea how she maneuvered them by herself into her own car.
"Let's go to Ikea," she says to me a few nights ago. She's already donned the new pair of sandals she bought the previous day at Ross Dress for Less.
"Ikea?" I ask, wearily. I've just slogged my way home from work through 45 minutes of rush-hour traffic on the Hollywood Freeway, a trip that should take 15 minutes.
"Yes, they have cute things," she says. "I want to look at cribs."
I've already been to Ikea and seen their cribs. A friend, furniture shopping for the patio of the nursing facility he runs, has already dragged me there and signed me up for Ikea Family, which is supposed to get you wonderful discounts and free Swedish meatballs or something -- if you ever remember to bring the card. But I want to encourage her burgeoning interest and assent, even though it means dragging my sore, stiff hindparts back into the car.
"Check to see if they have patio furniture," texts my friend as we enter.
"No, this stuff doesn't look like it would stand up to people not quite in control of their bodily functions," I text back. "I think I saw the collection you're looking for in the catalogue... it's called 'Pööpü.'"
"LOL... Ikea's Finnish?"
Well, we thought it was funny, but we're language geeks.
Meanwhile, my mother has gone off in the direction she thinks is most likely to lead to children's furnishings. It leads instead through a jungle of silk plants, through a hundred different ways to organize your cabinets, and finally to an elevator which I know heads to where we want to be.
"Oh, isn't this DARLING!" she exclaims over the mass-produced, homey wooden toys. "Oh look!" she says, "you had a set of stacking rings like this!"
I'm pretty sure Tutankhamen had a set of stacking rings, and just about every child born since.
"Yours was plastic, though, not wooden."
"They don't have plastic in Sweden," I tell her.
|Laugh, though your feet are breaking...|
"Oh, that's much better!" she exclaims, as she proudly marches through Ikea in her bare feet. I'm afraid someone will run a cart over her toes. But no, we maneuver our way through the checkout line and out the door. I tell her to wait in the loading area as I go for the car.
She's still in her bare feet. Don't they sell sensible shoes at Ikea?