Because he always works at least intermittently on the weekends, and because my OCD seems to be in full effect this second trimester, we decided to re-finish our nursery furniture, clean out our office, and set up the baby's new room.
Yes, you read that right.
We were tackling home improvement on a Friday night. (Woo hoo! It's a party up in here!)
Granted, it was going to be pretty bare bones home improvement.
We already had all the baby furniture we'd need because we're using family heirlooms throughout the room.
My old crib. The rocker my husband was rocked in as a wee one. And a changing table that is at least 20 years old, but is made of solid, gorgeous wood and just needed a fresh coat of paint.
Still, everything had to be cleaned, glossed, and painted. Other things had to be sanded multiple times. The crib itself had to be put together and modified for safety reasons (The cribs from the early 80s have all since been re-called. We knew using my crib would require some carpentry.)
In addition, the only new furniture we'd bought - several shelving units - had to be assembled.
And as of Friday morning, all of that was sitting in a pile in the middle of our office/guest-room, also known, in some circles, as our "dumping room" - where everything extraneous, temporary and/or unknown goes to rest until I get fed up enough to find a place for it or throw it out.
Currently, the "dumping room" housed a whole host of crap, plus all the pieces of our baby's furniture, plus several baskets of baby supplies friends had already gifted us.
Not to mention the fact that my husband's cave - i.e., his man desk - resides in that room. Which basically means that one quarter of the room looks like Office Depot and Hoarders threw up in it.
Because the man ruins a desk like it's his job. And I gave up less than one month into knowing him at trying to get him to keep it reasonably presentable.
The secret to our marriage? Separate desks.
Anyways, so there we were.
Intending to set up the bare bones structure of the nursery, so, for the next 19-20 weeks, I could add in all manner of nice touches and actually make it a presentable place for our baby to live.
And, Friday night had proved to be the most advantageous time to tackle this task.
So when my husband walked in the door at 4 p.m. from work, we threw on sweats and sneakers and headed out to our local Lowe's Home Improvement store.
We bought furniture paint, wood cleaner, L-brackets, industrial-strength sandpaper, and a flood light, as we were already losing the sunlight fast.
We were two parents-to-be on a mission.
And then, we realized we hadn't eaten anything in several hours.
The mission, it seemed, was crumbling before it had even started.
We were hungry, and as my tight Operation Nursery schedule didn't allow for much snacking time, we figured we'd deal with this post-haste.
We ventured into a Chick-fil-A - the only fast-food restaurant I'll eat in - that was close by Lowe's. I ordered a salad; the hubs got a sandwich, and we cozy-ed up in a booth with our to-do lists and foodstuffs and started to map out the plan of attack for the nursery furniture once we got home.
Then, I noticed an old man hobbling by on a cane with his elderly wife.
He was wearing a "U.S. Naval Veteran" hat, which garnered a smile from both my hubs and I, as we always feel a kinship with fellow Navy families.
They were followed by another senior couple, who took precisely 13 minutes to select the perfect table at which to eat their sandwiches and then gather up enough napkins and salt packets to make them palatable.
Sitting behind them was a spry looking man in his 70s, sipping a cup of decaf coffee and reading a paper.
And behind him was a table of several senior-citizen women who appeared to be eating chicken fingers and having a Bible study.
In the next several minutes, even more elderly people - all boasting a limp, a wheelchair, a walker, or a portable oxygen tank - lumbered through the door.
I looked at my husband and said, "I think we're the only people under 65 in here."
He nodded, and then added, "Are we missing something? Is there some senior gathering going on at this Chick-fil-A on a Friday night?"
I began to think that myself, and wondered aloud, "What time is it, exactly, babe?"
My hubs then looked at his watch.
"It's 5:13," he said.
It wasn't even 5:30, and we'd already eaten our supper. In fact, we were almost too early for the early-bird special.
Legally qualified members of the AARP were still walking in the door of Chick-fil-A, and we were already done with dinner.
After a trip to Lowe's.
In our sweats.
Only to return home and spend six-and-a-half hours sanding and painting furniture.
We both looked at each other as we left the fast-food chain, silently laughing.
"I think this means we're officially old," the hubs said.
You're not kidding, honey.
***
Luckily, the evening turned out as planned. We actually did get everything assembled and arranged. And I'm feeling much better about the whole thing, now that our "dumping room" no longer exists.Once we make it presentable, I promise to share pictures. Trust me when I say, right now, it's not that exciting.
Only I take joy in the fact that my husband's messy desk is no more and has been moved once and for all into storage.
You'll appreciate it more when I actually have curtains on the windows and a mattress in the crib.
Oh, happy day.
***
Have a good Monday, everyone!
