![]() ![]() I left my husband to the calculating and took my crew down to Smaland. ![]() Quickly realizing that studying finishes, hardware, and precise measurements is next to impossible with kids, I relented. So the kids set off with us to look at cabinets. “If there is a wait,” we said, “there will be no Smaland.” And because there is always a wait, there was a wait. My husband and I were on a mission: get cabinets. So, back to the rainy, dreary day last week. They look forward to it and are willing to put in the time it takes to wait for the three open spots needed to fit all three of my big kids into this hour-long holding tank. Nothing like a cheap cup of coffee and no kids around (okay, maybe one strapped to my husband’s chest, but still, we don’t count him) to savor the taste of freedom.īut that was almost two years ago. Once they were safely in with identification tags on, flying into the ball pit (also known as the flu pit), my husband and I looked at one another, smiled, grabbed hands and skipped to the snack line. Two years ago I found myself checking my kids into Smaland, trying to ignore the internal resistance. ![]() But when you need a fold-out sofa for the basement and the older ones see the ball pit, sometimes you break. I mean, who dumps their kids at an IKEA childcare? Only weirdos, I thought. Rewind a couple years back to the first time desperation trumped my anal resistance to IKEA’s childcare, Smaland. “Everybody in,” we said, “we’re going to IKEA.” But when is it ever an ideal day to take all your kids anywhere? Even if it is the mecca of Swedish-made products for every inch of the house. It really wasn’t an ideal day to schlep all four kids into the van, drive through the mud and muck, over the bridge into Philly. ![]()
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