Yesterday started out like any other Saturday. My son waking me up begging for pancakes even though I’ve been begging him for years to not wake me up begging for pancakes. He was out of luck though because I had a 9am appointment with one of the most important people in my life. The man who gives me Blair Warner hair … Patrick. Sorry son, priorities.

When I got home the house was quiet, just the sweet sound of HGTV in the background. It could have remained an easy, lazy Saturday but I had to push it. Maybe it was the fumes from the hair dye. Maybe it was because I needed to be seen in public with my freshly-dyed locks. I’m not quite sure what it was, but in that moment I unknowingly laid the plans for my Saturday to go to shit: I asked PJ to come to IKEA with me, or as I like to call it, the 7th Circle of Hell.

I personally don’t think it’s the 7th Circle of Hell. I could spend a day in there checking out every rattan chair, furry rug, and striped curtain they have to offer, and then retire to one of their sleeper sofas and wake up refreshed to do it all again. But bringing PJ along makes it the 7th Circle of Hell. I can feel all 6’1” of his negative energy hovering over me as we wind through the never-ending path of adorable and affordable merchandise. I’ll glance over my shoulder to make sure he’s still with me, only to be met with teary brown eyes seemingly begging me to stop picking up EVERY SINGLE candlestick in EVERY SINGLE fake apartment setup. But a girl never knows when she may need her hulk of a husband to haul a giant, flat, box containing an un-assembled flake-board table back to the car. Even then the stage wasn’t yet set for the 7th Circle of Hell. It was when he asked me: “We’re leaving the boys home, right?” And so so stupidly, my answer was: “No, we’ll bring them. It will be fine.”

That was the exact moment the Devil chuckled at me.

It started out fine. I smugly thought to myself, “Look how good my boys are. How cute! They’re joking around, testing out the furniture. Oh wow, they’re finally at ages where I don’t have to keep my eyes on them every single moment!”

And that’s when the Devil full-on laughed right in my face.

In an instant, all 3 of them went from happy to hangry. And they let me know it. My middle child made sure all of IKEA knew it. And I quote:

“How do you get out of this place?? Oh great, another emergency exit! Well this is an emergency!!! I need to get out of this place!!! I’ve been here for 45 minutes AND 2 hours!!!”

I tried to remain calm, and I did for a while. I was actually proud of myself. But after the 14th time hearing how his “stomach was going to die”, I snapped and got in his face. Through clenched teeth I hissed, “We will not go out to lunch if you can’t control yourself!” He didn’t say a word after that. Not because he’s afraid of me, only because of the threat of no food.

One day I’ll learn. One day.