We took the kids shopping for dining room chairs today. Surprisingly, the huge showroom we entered wasn’t as anti-kid as I was anticipating. I guess other families sold their existing table and chairs on kijiji, inherited an antique table, wanted a more contemporary feel for the chairs and also set out with their families in tow.
I saw two of those carts with the plastic steering wheels no child thicker than a shoehorn can fit behind. Likely stolen from a Home Depot in the area, those things are a coveted ride around a rather boring store so my kids kept a close eye on those lucky enough to be trapped behind the fake air-bag while grinning from ear to ear, waiting for their opportunity to toss the child from the moving vehicle and make this design floor the racetrack they’d been promised.
I suspected the kids would get bored and fast. I had a few tricks on reserve. A pocketful of Cheerios for the baby, a couple of barrettes for the five year old and a Littlest Pet Shop for the seven year old. Eating, primping in front of a showcase of mirrors and finding cute places to set miniature cats and say, “awe” would buy us about five minutes of solid chair-testing time.
The kids weren’t as excited to find the perfect chair as Greg and I. They quickly found the sign for the restroom and wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to explore a new toilet, to squeeze into the family bathroom and ask louder than necessary questions about why Mommy doesn’t sit on the toilet seat but hovers just above it to pee. Those browsing in the Persian rug section had a giggle at my expense. I could hear them but it was nice for once to not have someone shoving their fingers under the bottom of the door so laugh away.
Greg made the mistake of mentioning to the commissioned sales woman we might also be looking for an ottoman and two Barcelona chairs.
Indeed, we had discussed purchasing these items one day but today’s priority (after Pet Shops in cute places) was chair shopping.
It seemed with every turn we were wandering through a new ottoman aisle and I was starting to lose patience. I had my metal tape measure to calculate the exact floor to cushion height to be able to slide eight chairs under the low apron of the table, I really didn’t want to touch the tufted buttons on any ottomans, nor did I give two toots about the coil and spring design.
We raced past a chair I thought might be great en route to nod with delight at the miniature, plastic toy cat sliding down a bunk-bed ladder, through a wall of mirrors, pause, pose, ottomans.
I even suggested we change our focus to just dining chairs after I noticed the Cheerios stash was nothing but halvsies and crumbs. We would soon be on borrowed time, meltdowns could creep up at any time, with no warning and I didn’t want to be inside a storage ottoman checking out the hide-and-seek comfort and lighting potential knowing I would be sitting cross-legged on the dining room floor, knife and fork cutting blindly above my head if we didn’t get this sorted out.
We found a chair we could agree on. Being in love with a chair and agreeing on one are two totally different things. Would I have loved the silver armchair that seemed to be shaped like it was asking me to hug it? Yes, but one Littlest Pet Shop dipped in frozen blueberry juice and they’ll go the way of the ottoman.
Eight, espresso, leather chairs with curved arms.
Eight because having dinner with two families of four is ideal, provided our baby remains in a high chair forever this will continue to be the dream.
Espresso because the table is walnut, 1840’s and colour matching would have looked forced. Also, think strong coffee, nobody is falling asleep at the table at my dinner party.
Leather, high wipability, until the kids are thirty-five, we really can’t have any upholstered furniture in this house. Spills are a fact of life and the Pet Shops prefer the smooth, sleek feel.
No ottomans were harmed in the making of this post.
