So, we really have to live here now, huh?

Big news this week- (Okay, I do realize it's all very self-importantly "big" news to us...but I'm kinda longing for a week where I whine about being bored and say inane things like "I just painted my toenails. Again. Went with pink." And hopefully we'll get a week of that before the kid joins us)- we have a BED and FOUR WINDOWS. We actually have about thirty windows, but FOUR of them are NEW and UNBROKEN.

Where to start? The bed. We went to Ikea last Sunday- a fabulous venture with a pregnant woman, I think P.J. can assure you. We got about six plates of food from the cafeteria and paid under fourteen bucks for all of it. BEST DATE EVER. God bless Sweden! And meatballs! We entered with the notion of getting JUST A BED, we only NEED A BED, we're not even gonna LOOK in other departments...and left with a bed, some curtains, those scuff pads for under furniture (they were on sale), a lampshade and parts for a desk (that later ended up getting put back as the desk was on too high of a shelf for Ikea employees to reach. What? Isn't that your JOB? Isn't that what Ikea is all about? Warehouse prices and warehouse storage? And it's too high? Couldn't we have planned this one a little better? How did it get UP there?) SO. We left Schaumburg, IL, (God bless our car as well), and headed back into the city- P.J. dropped me off at the house with the implicit directions to NOT do anything strenuous. He had to go downtown and pick up his mother, who would be visiting us until Wednesday. (Side note- she came for a number of reasons, among them to see the 'Snapshots' Festival at Strawdog...my Chicago premiere as a playwright! That is, for a show that I wasn't involved in the production of, the direction of or required by law to participate in the ensemble. And it was so cool! My piece was hilarity incarnate- I can say that with all modesty as the two girls cast were comedic powerhouses. And Peej was superb in two of the plays- and played the ukelele...exceptionally well!)

Back to the bed. I stared at the departing car. I stared at the couch still wedged in our hallway. And, walking upstairs, I stared at the two huge Ikea boxes of BED-ness that would soon replace the mattress on the floor. It was hot as hell, I was hungry enough to eat two pickle jars, I desperately needed a shower...but what I wanted most in the world was a nap. On a big kid bed. It was clear what had to be done. Grabbing a screwdriver, I sat on the floor and opened the box that I assumed would have the directions. Wrong box. Opening the OTHER box, I found "directions" that weren't in English. Heck, they weren't even in Swedish. They were pictures. Of screws. And big x marks over what screw NOT to use and how NOT to go about making this bed in seventeen easy(ish) steps.

The first picture featured one man wielding a screwdriver. For some reason he had a big ol' x over his body. The next image featured the same man (I imagine) next to another, identical man. This picture was circled and the men were smiling. They like quality furniture, too. Now, I took from this that I wasn't to embark on this project alone, that instead I should find someone who looked like me to hold certain frames at 90 degree angles while original me fastened the pieces together. Now, I don't know how men operate in SWEDEN, but I know a few things for sure; the toolkit and screwgun are mine, I'm an exceptional grouter of tile, and one pregnant American more than equals two bald Swedish men.

But it was frickin' hard. Turns out, some of that "90 degree angle holding" would have made things a little smoother. No matter. What should have been a five hour project (some lame-o on the website suggested that. I bet they were French) took me a mere 1.5 hours. That's right. And this is a honkin' bed. Not some particle board frame with slidey drawers, no sir. Solid...wood something or other...with a heavy, slatted headboard and a frame that could kill a cat. (I almost did. Twice.) And did I mention that it took five separate tools to assemble this bed? (The Ikea instructions didn't!) That stupid metal l-shaped thing they give you, a phillips-head, a flat-head, a screwgun for tightening the deep-set screws and an adjustable wrench for bolts. Thankfully I own all of these, but as the instructions made no mention of the items before their helpful images appeared on pages twelve and above, it required many trips up and down the stairs. P.J. and his mother arrived back home right before I lined up the supports- I informed P.J. that maybe we should see other people. Starting immediately. But the bed was mine. He asked if I needed any help but wisely retracted the comment mere seconds before a ratchet hit his head. (Because, yes! Those all-too-critical last ten minutes of a project are when the help is needed!)

But good God, is it glorious. And it works! It's all beddy and cozy and was pushed right up against the...broken window. No matter. Because yesterday our window guys FINALLY came! (There was some worry that they wouldn't come, or would try to reschedule because we had failed to speak with some entity known as "Monica...") But three weeks later, here they were! And they brought window-like and functional windows (two hours late, but NO MATTER. Because they were physically in our sidewalk area!) Three hours later (and two freaked out cats later- look, cats, this is the new order of importance: bed, windows, cats' feelings) we had two windows in our dining room and two windows in the BEDROOM that had, days before, been an ATTIC, with a MATTRESS and PINK STYROFOAM staple-gunned into the plaster! (House of dreeeaaaams...)I immediately hung these rad sage-green silk and rattan curtains, pushed bedside tables into place, made the bed, plugged in some reading lamps and...GOOD GOD, I could LIVE here!

P.J. came home, took one look at the bedroom and [wisely] told me, "I don't deserve you." This is, at times, truth.

But everyone deserves a glorious bedroom.

Check.