What does one do when one’s wife has a scratched cornea and she is supposed to avoid reading and writing and generally using her eyes? I, Dane, will tell you, since Melissa scratched her cornea last night and I now have now lived the dream (ahem, nightmare).

This morning we drove the 4 kids 30 miles to stand in line 40 minutes with 370 of our closest strangers at Ikea, for the joy of saving about $15 on an easel. Yes, that was the line to get into the store and get the easel, though most people had the sense to buy two so the situation wasn’t totally humiliating. (I mean, if you buy two, then you’re saving $30, and that makes it worth it, right?) I discovered there’s something perverse about standing in line outside the store waiting to get past the cash registers so you can enter the warehouse. You get to watch all the other shoppers coming the other, natural direction, from inside the warehouse, past the registers, and out the store. It’s a lot of pressure and, oddly, it really made me do some soul-searching. Audrey was the first to crack.

But once our annual supply of easel was safely in hand (how can we go through easels at such a rate?), we subjected the kids to additional Ikea shopping — for dishes. That was why we had really come all that way, on a Saturday morning, on the busiest shopping weekend of the year,  so we could take our kids shopping for dishes. You’re welcome, kids!

After the brilliant ride home, during which we stuffed Audrey inappropriately full of fruit leather to prevent further howls of protest, it was quiet time. For two and a half hours. And what did we do after quiet time? More shopping. Followed by kids tidying up while Dad makes dinner, a bland meal, bath time, and pajamas. That was it. The whole day.

So what does Owen have to say when, for a special treat (read: because we felt not a little guilty over the lameness of the day), we serve the tiniest scoops of ice cream just before bed? In his most serious five-year-old voice: “In our family, we never skip having fun.” Right. Just what I was thinking, buddy.

And that’s what one does when one’s wife has a scratched cornea. Oh, that and write a blog post for one’s wife so she doesn’t miss her daily NaBloWatchaMa blog post because November isn’t quite over yet, and let her friends know that she probably won’t be answering email until sitting at the computer doesn’t blind her.