Lost in Sweden

If you’re anything like me, you love a bargain. And sometimes that means getting home, unpacking your bags to brag about how much money you saved, then asking yourself, “Now what was I thinking when I bought that?”

“Oh, yes, it was $64.99 marked down to $4.99! How exciting.” I answer myself.

Begs the question: Will I ever wear it? Chances are I won’t, but I did save myself 60 bucks right there, and to me, that’s better than having a wool jacket from Old Navy that will sit in my closet only to be brought out at opportune times to exclaim “Look what I got for $4.99!”

Periodically, some lucky family members are the recipients of my deals, impulsive decisions made based on the sheer savings. I happily wrap the presents while whistling a merry holiday tune, and I imagine my sister in Ohio opens the present Christmas morning and mumbles to herself, “Now why does Eileen think I need a combination mustache/ear hair trimmer?” Little does she know I saved her 75 percent from the asking price, for which she’ll thank me later, I’m sure.

And that’s what found me walking the aisles that are IKEA in Portland last weekend. Since we were already in Portland, we decided to head over and find these “incredible deals” that we’d heard so much about.

If you haven’t been to an IKEA before, it’s a little like entering Alice’s rabbit hole or C.S. Lewis’s Wardrobe. Put simply: Once you enter, it’s tough to return. And you leave something of yourself behind every time.

The maze-like layout is confusing, abruptly dropping you in a corner by yourself, not knowing when or how you got there. In situations like these, our family utilizes the ever-scientific Marco Polo technique: The lost person yells “Marco” while the person-who-was-smart-enough-to-not-wander-off replies “Polo.”

We started off together, one big happy family. But somewhere after looking at light fixtures together and examining the length of window treatments, I found myself looking at toilet scrubbers (two for 99 cents!) alone. Utterly and completely alone. I let out a weak “Marco?” but no one was around to answer “Polo.”

I know, I thought, I’ll use my cell phone to call Craig and see where he is. Now this is a technique I usually abhor, especially when I’m in Roseburg, at Ross, and someone calls their spouse/friend/child to shout “I’M IN THE SHOE SECTION. WHERE ARE YOU?” And I want to yell back, “Seriously? That’s worth making a cell phone call? You can’t walk around this store, which isn’t huge by the way, and see if you can locate this person?”

But desperate times call for desperate measures, and I was lost in a Swedish labyrinth of rock-bottom prices, surrounded by signs with unpronounceable Swedish words, and a sea of unfamiliar faces. So I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Craig. And immediately after pressing send the message came back: “Call failed.”

I was not getting reception in this wonderland of savings. I was vilse, vilse, vilse (that’s Swedish for “lost”) and I couldn’t find my way to the entrance if I tried, making me feel like a trapped Swedish prisoner-of-war (are there such things?) who would never again find her homeland, let alone her husband.

The only thing I was sure of was that the terry cloth bath towel I was gripping was a steal at $1.99, but everything else was a blur. I may have even signed up to become a Swedish citizen at one point, but I’m not certain.

So I did the only thing I knew that would eventually lead me to my family – I went to the in-store cafeteria. And there we met, and we reunited over a plate of Swedish meatballs, potatoes and ligonberries ($4.99 with drink!)

Crisis averted, we headed home, only $60 poorer. And IF I ever go back, WHEN I get lost again (this is a certainty) I will keep a few useful Swedish phrases in my pocket. First and foremost is “Var finns toalett?” There’s nothing worse than being lost in a maze and finding yourself in dire need of a toilet.

But one phrase that I hope I never have to use is “Jag har faktiskt blivit svensk medborgare.” This translates to “I've actually become a Swedish citizen.” I’m telling you, it’s times like these that make Craig shake his head and say, “I can’t take you anywhere.”

But as I wait, checking the mail to see if a letter from the Swedish Embassy arrives, I must find something to do with my four toilet brushes that were simply too cheap to pass up. Maybe I’ll hang them in the closet next to the coat from Old Navy, you know, the one I got for $4.99.

Adventures in reading

We are entering a new era in the Burmeister household: the age of reading.

That’s right. Our Kindergartener is learning to read, which means that my days of spelling out “Someone needs an N-A-P” are soon coming to an end.

Up until now Lily’s been using visual clues, assisting her in her pursuit of learning to read. When she’d see the McDonald’s arches, for example, she’d identify it then sound out the word.

However, it hasn’t been a perfect process. In fact, just recently we took a trip to the Oregon Zoo. On the way out to the car in the parking lot, Lily decided to play her own version of “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.” Instead, her version went, “Okay mom, don’t step on any of the yellow lines or the man going potty.”

Whodawa? I looked around frantically, trying to see if there was someone relieving himself, but instead I spotted a handicap parking space, and then it dawned on me: All her life (all five years!) she has mistakenly thought that those front parking spaces were set aside for men that have to use the facililties – and fast.

So part of the learning process at her school includes some parents coming into class and helping the students read their book of the week as many times as they can. And I have the privilege of being a parent helper. We read books like “I see bear. Hello. Hello.” And then we see a duck. And then we see a cat. You get the picture. And the more they practice, the more they start to get it. It’s brilliant, really.

But one day last week I was on my, oh, twenty-third read-through of “I see bear” and I decided to make noises to coincide with the pictures, just to break up the monotony for myself. I thought the five-year-old set would find it amusing as well. And most did, except for one certain boy.

The first time I made a growling sound when he read “bear” he simply stopped and looked directly at me for a second before starting to read again. When I meowed as he read “cat” he again stopped, looked at me a few seconds longer, then said, “You’re funny.”

Now normally, those two words would be a compliment to a woman such as me who spends the majority of the day looking for the funny in everything, but this litter guy didn’t say it like you’re-funny-ha-ha, but you’re-funny-and-need-to-spend-an-hour-a-week-with-a-seasoned-professional. We finished reading the book in silence (at least I was silent, he continued reading aloud) and I was put in my place by a five-year-old. It’s humbling – trust me.

But Lily is making progress, and she doesn’t seem to mind my sound effects at all. Nowadays, she goes around the house spelling out anything she sees. And she’s getting it. At least most of the time.

But this weekend she got a little hitch in her giddyup along the road to reading. A little black kitten showed up in our backyard and I saw it out the window while I was at the sink doing dishes. I know Lily loves kittens, so I told her to go out and see if it would let her hold it. She was out there for a few minutes before she yelled in the window, “Her name is ‘Anna.’”

“It is?” I asked, curious as to how she came about this information, and suspicious because Anna just happens to be one of her names-of-the-week. She has these names on rotation that every doll, stuffed animal and Barbie doll is given for a few days before she switches to another name, and this week’s name was Anna.

What were the odds? Not very good, I reasoned. “How do you know her name is Anna?” I asked through the window.

“It says it on her tag,” came the reply. Which was interesting, because I could see that the kitten didn’t have a tag. So we were on interesting territory: teaching a lesson on reading as well as lying.

“Lily,” I said warningly, in my you-better-be-telling-the-truth-or-there-will-be-consequences voice. “What does the tag say? Spell it for me.”

“It says,” she took a few minutes to make it appear that she was reading, but was in fact grabbing letters out of thin air. “It says A – S – S.”

In that moment I knew one of the following was true: (1) Lily still needs work on her reading, or (2) this kitten’s owners have a warped sense of humor.

I’m betting (and hoping, for the cat’s sake) that No. 1 is true. And so we’ll continue to say hello to a bear, a duck and a cat, complete with my sound effects.