It never ceases to amaze me that you can spend a hundred
bucks trying to create a magical day for your kids, only to have them pout,
whine, cry, and bicker through every part of it. And then there are those days
in which you have not a single expectation, and the magic just sneaks up on
you.
Last week we were planning to meet my in-laws for lunch, but
they got held up, and lunch was delayed. I was already in route when I found
out, my van filled with four restless kids anxious to eat and play with their
cousins. And now we had an hour or more to kill. I took the first highway exit
I saw, and we landed at the furniture store.
As much as I don’t enjoy decorating or shopping, even I
think the furniture store is kind of cool. If nothing else, it’s roomy and
air-conditioned. The older kids remember the furniture store and were skeptical
about its entertainment potential. (And, really, what is life for a 12-year-old
except an opportunity to be constantly entertained?) Still, I pressed on with
my “Oh, won’t this be fun?” propaganda, and in we went. I always feel a bit
like a circus performer when I walk into a quiet place with my kids trailing
behind me; there are only five of us, but we’re somehow still a spectacle. We
were accosted by no less than four salesmen before we even made it to the first
display, but after saying with increasing intensity, “We’re just looking,” they
seemed to get the idea and leave us alone.
We made no plans, we paid no money, we ate no junk food, yet
the next hour was blissful. We tested the sofas. We rocked in the rocking
chairs. We flopped on the mattresses, plopped into the bean-bag chairs, and
spun in the spinny chairs. We pulled out the dresser drawers and planned where
we would put our treasures and our socks. We pretended to eat the fake waffles
on the table and drink the fake Coke on the coffee table. (Where do those come
from, anyway?) All of these things would annoy me to death if we were there to
actually buy furniture, but instead, I could actually take part in the silliness.
I got to spend an hour dreaming with my kids, and not once did I have to say,
“No. Put that back. We’re not getting it.” Obviously we weren’t there to haul
out a three-piece living room set, so no one even asked for anything. We
laughed and pretended and enjoyed each other’s company. Yep, sheer bliss. And
you can bet that if I had planned something “fun” that day, it would not have
turned out well enough to blog about. Well, not unless it was for entirely
different reasons.
I’m not going to make a scrap-book page about our hour at
the furniture store, and it’s not likely what our kids will mention when asked what
they did this summer. But it’s a memory we won’t soon forget, and I’m thankful
for the reminder that it’s the little things that usually end up making the
biggest impression.
