3 things.

1. Every other month Theo gets a haircut.  When that time comes around, when his hair is spending too much time in his eyes, when I can no longer allow my dread to help me put it off any longer, I brace myself.  Theo's terror during a haircut is a devastating thing to witness, and it's not because his thrashing makes the process take two or three times as long or increases the chances of me nicking him.  It's because he is completely inconsolable.  No amount of M&Ms, his favorite show, verbal reassurance, or constant hugs from his dad give him comfort in the way that they normally do.  There is no taking his fear away, and I never feel more useless as a parent/comfort-giver than during this bi-monthly chore.  If anyone has advice, you have until the end of March or beginning of April before we do it all again.

2. Literally seconds before we were about to click "purchase" on a new mattress to replace our current, comfortable-yet-unbearably-squeaky mattress, Jon suggested, "Let's make sure that the problem is actually our mattress and not the box spring."

And hell's bells, it was the damn box spring.

We immediately moved the box spring to the garage until it's time for the next bulk trash pick-up week, and now our perfectly perfect mattress is temporarily on the floor of our bedroom.  While we've had what is possibly the quietest (and therefore, best) sleep in the last couple of years (YEARS, you guys.  i feel like such an idiot!!), our bedroom has never looked more poor college student/bachelor like.

In the nearly one year that we've lived here, just about every room's appearance has slowly gotten better with the addition of furniture and decor or rearranging.  But our bedroom is going backwards, and if it wasn't a little hilarious to me I'd probably be more embarrassed about it than I am.

3. So an IKEA trip is very likely in our near future, and I get to continue my quest to make our home look somewhat unique and original in spite of the fact that it's basically an IKEA catalog.  From where I currently sit, I spy at least twenty items from IKEA.

(You know when you're new in a group of some sort and they ask you to introduce yourself?  They usually ask for your name, where you're from, and an interesting fact... my interesting fact is that I'm an expert IKEA furniture builder.)

And I might also be more embarrassed about the IKEAness of our house, but I can't ignore the friendly prices, the sturdiness of the big pieces, or the aesthetic of some of the smaller pieces.  And I certainly am not in a position to say no to washable slipcovers. Because what are the odds that I'm able to keep a sofa clean and looking new while also raising a toddler?  Not great.  So living in a catalog it is!