Project Awesome

Making my life more awesome

Note to self: don’t be so bloody stupid

on September 11, 2012

There are days when I should not be trusted with toddlers. Or flatpack furniture. And definitely not both. Today was one of them.

So, I bought a new chair for Big Girl to sit on at the table. It’s not a high chair, but it’s a chair with a high seat. I started trying to put it together at 5.15 pm. Yes, tea-time. Big Girl wanted to sit on her new chair. And she wanted to help to make it. I didn’t want her to help but I said she could. I thought I’d get away with asking her to hold things. Small Girl wanted to help. I moved her away. She climbed back over me. I moved her away and sorted out all the bits and pieces and checked them off against the list. She climbed back. I decided to ignore her and look at pieces of chair. She rummaged in the bowl of screws and bits of plastic. I moved her away. She screamed at me. I looked in the bowl of bits. Where there had once been four big screws, there were now only three.

So we looked for the missing screw. Not in the bowl. Not on the floor. Not under the table. Not in the box that all the bits came out of. Not anywhere. So I sulked. I said, “well, we can’t make it now”, and “I don’t even know why I bothered”. That sort of thing. I put the bits back in the box. Big Girl cried. I searched inside Small Girl’s clothes and nappy to see if the screw was in there. Small Girl screamed some more and hit me in the face. I decided to give up and just give them some tea. Big Girl asked if she could have her new chair. I said that she couldn’t. She said she wanted pasta. I gave her a Marmite sandwich. She cried and said she didn’t want to eat it. We all ate Marmite sandwiches.

So I told Big Girl I would go back to Ikea and get a replacement screw and make the chair tomorrow. I looked in the instructions to find out which screw I needed. I saw, under a picture of the screw, the number 3. There should only be three screws.

What I have learnt from this is (a) that flat-pack furniture and toddlers don’t mix and (b) that sometimes I should listen to my gut instinct rather than my toddler.

So here’s what you do when you aren’t sure whether to do something or not. Imagine someone else is telling you that they are planning to do what you are thinking about. A friend, perhaps, rather than someone you would hire ninja assassins to kill if you just thought you would get away with it. Imagine what advice you would give them. And then, for the love of God, follow that advice.



2 responses to “Note to self: don’t be so bloody stupid

  1. Your story is hilarious. I bought the same chair. Lucky for me I bought the floor model.

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