My Husband and I are P.I.S.D.

My family and I are in the process of settling into our new home before the school year starts. After several years in a much too small apartment, we finally found a home of an appropriate size.  Yay! But it has created a need... furniture. And after a flood in the old place, this included master bedroom furniture.So on Friday evening, we headed to a furniture store. What furniture store, you might ask? Well, we have a VERY limited budget and limited transport options. So where does one go with those (ahem) limitations?  What? Still not clear? IKEA, of course.Yes, IKEA -the box store of box stores. The box store filled with boxes filled with box-y furniture. Basically, box heaven.My husband laid the seats down in our old-school station wagon. I loaded up the kids in the other car and we headed out. On the way, the kids excitedly chatted about playing in the kid center. My son was especially looking forward to the ball pit. I was excited to have a proper bed for the first time in months and appreciating that the purchase could be made without dragging them through the winding ways of the IKEA showroom. (For such a boxy store, there are no straight paths through -- ironic.)We make the 40 minute trip and pull into the parking lot. Sonny-Bunny is contemplating what color balls will populate the pit. Little Diva is wondering what Disney film will be playing on the big screen TV. They are anxious to play and I am anxious to get shopping so we fly through the main doors and head straight to the kid drop-off.Which. Is. Closed.Yes, closed! We are at IKEA in need of furniture. We drove all the way here (my husband without A/C). So there was no turning back. But the sign above the door indicating that the Play Area was closed might have just as well said "Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here". Hopeless or not, we entered.Two parents needing a bed. Two kids now shopping instead of playing. Add to this winning combination that on this particular Friday night, IKEA was populated with every college student and parent prepping dorm rooms and apartments. So the winding path was highly trafficked with overly excited teens/twenty-somethings and over-stressed parents. And we are over-excited parents dragging around disappointed kids. But onward we trot. I keep repeating the mantra that I want a bed. I need a bed. I will have a bed.Ten minutes later, we make our way to the bedroom section. I knew from previous visits and catalog research, what bed frame I wanted. I needed only to write down the numbers for that. Thank goodness because as I was writing, my daughter began to run from display to display jumping up on each bed. Yes, my daughter was that "daughter".  And my son started to complain. All ready! And we have barely begun.We moved on to the mattress section. My husband and I were trying desperately to wrangle kids while feeling out the firmness of each selection. Unfortunately, this is the most populated section. The various mattresses are covered with young adults bouncing and their now uber-stressed parents stretching out for a moment of rest. We waited semi-patiently, kids in hand, for a turn at each mattress in our budget. For once I was thankful for these (ahem) limitations.Little Diva's voice is getting louder. My son is wandering further. Glares are coming our way.  And my husband's face is getting redder as we are able to speak less words in a row between admonishes. Finally, we decide and move along. We speed through all other sections. I am now carrying the five year old girl and the eight year old (acting like five year old) boy is dragging behind my husband. But our journey is not over.Because this is IKEA. And at IKEA, we now need to search out each piece from a maze of aisles and bins. We collect a flat bed and begin our hunt. The kids now believe that this giant skateboard is there to entertain them. Between "get down"s and "that is not a toy"s, we manage to retrieve our bedroom, including a queen-sized mattress.  My husband cannot see around the load,  so we work out a system wherein I dictate directions as I walk with the kids in advance of the cart. I think we were moderately successful. Only one display and my heels were victims of this blind walk. There is only check-out left.Aah... check out. Of the ten stations open (leaving almost as many closed -- WTF, IKEA?), all are at least six deep. There doesn't seem to be any better line so we hop on. It is now 8:20 and the kids are beat. The Diva is now hanging listlessly, her whole weight pulling down on my me. And we wait. And wait. And wait. We move up three spots when we hear the five minute warning until closing time. Yes. We have been in line for 35 minutes and it is not yet our turn.Finally, we come to the front of the line. To his credit, our checker was polite and friendly even if obviously tired and a little frazzled. Almost $500 lighter and over two hours later, we push the still blinding cart out into the evening. It's 9:15 and the kids are done. Butter them up because they are toast. All the hurdles are jumped right? Uh... no. We still have to get this stuff in the car.Luckily, a green-shirted gentleman came to the rescue. He quickly realized that the boxed mattress would not quite fit the confines of the Roadmaster. So he immediately tore into the packaging and began shoving the now naked mattress through the swung open door. My husband jumped through the side door to pull as the man pushes. I simply stand in awe and fear as I watch my beautiful new mattress morph to the shape of the interior of the car. Oh well, I have a bed. I will sleep on a bed tonight. I just keep chatting my psyche up.A bed yet to be built. When we finally get home, I suggest to my husband that we simply throw the mattress on the floor and hit the sack. But no! He had come this far. We were not going to bed without a bed. Therefore, at 10:30 p.m., the building began. Just before midnight, we had finally finished the marathon begun almost six hours before.We had a bed! Sheets on, we crashed without changing clothes. As I lay there, drifting off, I realized that we had survived the night and IKEA with two kids. I think, however, we now have P.I.S.D -- Post Ikea Stress Disorder. In other words, we are P.I.S.D.