DIY Disasters, The Great IKEA Price Scandal, and The Silent Language of Ski Photos

Yesterday was officially a day off for me. When you tell people you took a Monday off in February during an Olympic year, specifically the Winter Games, they immediately assume you’re glued to the television, cheering on your country’s athletes with a beer in hand at 10 AM. But reality, as it often does for parents, had completely different plans.

I didn’t take the day off to watch the curling or the downhill skiing. Instead, I took the day off to tackle a project that every homeowner eventually dreads but knows is inevitable: The Great Bedroom Overhaul.

The Renovation Domino Effect

Our oldest son’s room was in desperate need of a refresh. It started innocently enough with the walls—they needed a fresh coat of paint. But as anyone who has ever done DIY knows, one thing leads to another. Suddenly, painting wasn't enough. It was the ideal moment to replace his furniture too.

I have absolutely no idea what teenage boys do in their beds. Actually, I can imagine exactly what they do, but as a father, I prefer to block those thoughts out immediately for the sake of my own sanity. Let’s just say the bed was broken, worn out, and screaming for retirement. His wardrobe wasn’t faring much better. After surviving a few moves between houses, it had lost its structural integrity. It was less of a wardrobe and more of a wobbly collection of wood hoping to stay upright.

So, the decision was made: a complete overhaul. The master plan was simple. Spend the weekend dismantling everything and then, on my free Monday, triumphantly drive the debris to the recycling park. It was a flawless plan, except for one minor logistical detail I completely overlooked: the recycling park is closed on Mondays.

So, instead of emptying the house, I found myself hooking up the small trailer borrowed from my parents to go buy the new stuff, leaving the old junk in the garage.

The Tale of Two IKEAs

My wife, organized and prepared as always, had already mapped out exactly what we needed. She had the aisle numbers and bin locations ready so we could execute a "flash visit"—get in, get out, no browsing for scented candles or houseplants we don’t need.

Now, here is the strange geographical quirk of where we live: we are situated almost exactly equidistant between two IKEAs. One is in Belgium, and the other is across the border in the Netherlands.

I chose the Netherlands. My reasoning had nothing to do with patriotism or product preference and everything to do with my own driving anxiety. Let’s be honest: my driving skills when a trailer is attached to the back of my car are... questionable at best. The route to the Dutch IKEA involves mostly straight roads, and more importantly, their parking lot is massive. It offers far more room for error when trying to maneuver a wobbly trailer than the tighter Belgian alternative.

But once we got to the checkout, we discovered something mind-boggling.

The total bill in the Netherlands was 33% cheaper than it would have been in Belgium. We are talking about the exact same products, same brand, same boxes. It is bizarre how crossing an invisible border can save you a third of the price. If I needed another reason to justify my fear of reversing with a trailer, saving that much money was definitely it.

After a stressful game of real-life Tetris to fit everything into the car and trailer, we had to tarp everything down meticulously. It has been raining cats adn dgos for days, and the last thing we needed was soggy cardboard.

The Ski Trip Rollercoaster and The Photo Evidence

While all this construction chaos is happening, the sleeping arrangements have become a game of musical chairs. The oldest is currently sleeping in the youngest son’s room. Why? Because the youngest is lucky enough to be away on a school ski vacation.

He left on Friday evening, and I’ll admit, the weekend was emotionally rough for us parents.

On Saturday evening, instead of stories about snow and fun, we received the dreaded text message: "I’d rather be home." :(

That kind of message hits you right in the stomach. As a parent, you want them to be having the time of their lives. We dug a little deeper to find out what was wrong. His main issue was that his close circle of friends didn't go on this trip, so he’s stuck hanging out with acquaintances. It’s not the same comfort level. Combine that with a grueling 16-hour bus ride, exhaustion, and the chaotic "admin" of the first day (getting gear, room assignments, no snowboarding yet), and you have a recipe for severe homesickness.

We felt helpless. You are hundreds of kilometers away; all you can do is talk to them, encourage them, and tell them to hang in there.

But then, we started playing "Where's Waldo?" with the school photos.

The school has a WhatsApp group where they post updates and photos for the parents. For the first few days, we scrolled through every picture, zooming in on every pixel, looking for our son. He was nowhere to be seen. He was invisible. He was clearly staying in the background, avoiding the camera, likely feeling miserable.

Then came the turning point on his second day of lessons.

Suddenly, the photos changed. He started popping up in the frame. Not just in the background, but active, present, and visible. We took this as undeniable proof that he was finally feeling better.

Later, we got a message from him confirming our detective work. He did it. He finally got out on the snow properly. He told us that the snowboarding went amazing. He was getting compliments from the instructors and was even used as the example for the rest of the group to follow.

Just like that, the clouds lifted. Seeing him in those photos and hearing his excitement was a massive relief. I am incredibly proud of him for pushing through that initial slump, but I admit: I cannot wait for Friday morning to give him a massive hug.

Carnival Chaos

Before the DIY madness and the ski-trip anxiety started, we did manage to let off some steam on Friday night at the local Carnival.

It is always fascinating to see how much time and creativity people pour into their costumes. We saw everything from people dressed as jellyfish to walking lampshades. Pure dedication. Although, I couldn’t help but have a "grumpy old man" moment. I noticed that teenage girls these days seem to wear less and less fabric, even when it’s freezing outside and they are in costume. I turned to my wife and said, "I am very, very glad we have two sons."

It was a top-tier night, but incredibly crowded. You know the situation: shoulder to shoulder, back to back. No matter where you stand, you always feel like you are standing directly in a walkway. People are constantly trying to squeeze past you, murmuring apologies or just shoving through.

I don’t mind it usually; we do the same when we need to get to the bar. But it is amazing to watch the social dynamics shift as the night goes on. As the alcohol intake rises, the patience levels drop. The tolerance disappears.

From what I saw, there was only one fight, which is a miracle given the density of the crowd. It was handled swiftly: five or six security guards plowed through the crowd like a storm ram to get to the trouble, and a minute later, they plowed back through, dragging the troublemakers out. Efficient.

Wrapping Up

So, between painting walls, hauling furniture across borders, analyzing pixels on WhatsApp photos, and surviving a carnival mosh pit, I have also been trying to catch bits of the Winter Olympics.

I watch with a lot of passion. It breaks my heart a little that our Belgian athletes seem to have been hit with a streak of bad luck this year, missing out by fractions. But I’m still proud of them. It takes guts to get there.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a garage full of IKEA boxes that aren’t going to assemble themselves and a recycling park run to plan for later in the week.

How was your weekend? Did you get up to any DIY projects, or are you glued to the Winter Games like the rest of the world?

Alaaf,
Peter