Like so many others, I’ve had my own private yearnings for a set of Tolix tabouret stools.
But golly. The Conran Shop wants $325 each.
I need four.
Let’s see: $325 x 4 = There is No Way in God’s Green Earth.
Trust Robert Redford to fight for the little people. Tolix stools can be had from the Sundance Catalog for a mere $245.
Luckily, I shared my private yearnings with a friend. Someone I could trust. Someone with whom I share both an aesthetic and a modest budget.
Days later, she sent me a link to Overstock.com, and I flipped. And then I begged. “Please, honey. Pleeeeeese…”
Bargain stools plus $2.95 shipping? Get out. [Insert shove, Elaine Benes-style.]
Incidentally, should you ever need a properly-sized box in which to ship a 2- to 4-year-old child to the furthest reaches of the planet, I highly recommend ordering these stools. Although I suspect shipping to the furthest reaches is more than $2.95. Not that I would ever even consider such a thing. At least not long enough to find the packing tape.
Besides, they love the stools.
Granted, these stools are not the authentic Tolix, galvanized steel version I would have preferred. But I guess having very nice, powder-coated knock-offs and keeping both my kidneys is a reasonable compromise.
Naturally, adding something I love makes me start looking around my house and noticing all of the things I un-love. Yellow kitchen cabinets, for example. The gray tile backsplash. And the bare spots in my living room.
When I had no children — and an actual income — I bought a fantastic antique trunk to serve as a coffee table. The dealer told me it was from Nantucket and over 100 years old. (Not sure I believed her but I loved it, so why quibble?)
As my sons have gotten older, I’ve begun to realize how very impractical this piece of furniture, once purely decorative, has become. At least if I want to keep it in one piece.
My kids think “antique” is a synonym for “jungle gym.” It’s a stage. It’s a hideout. It’s a launch platform for Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles.
It’s one false move away from becoming a pile of expensive toothpicks.
Sometimes I wonder why I have closets filled with assorted objets d’art instead of putting them on display where they can be appreciated. I might even take out a few of my favorite treasures and imagine where I’ll hang them. And then I hear a series of bangs and a muffled crash and I come to my senses. I’m not bitter. I’m just resigned.
This weekend, the boys finally ripped a hinge out of the trunk and Scott moved it into the bedroom. And now I have a hole.
I kind of like the idea of a large, square coffee table. Maybe even a huge, tufted ottoman with nailhead trim.
Only time will tell how it gets filled. Not to mention this one.
Two smallish upholstered stools or low chairs? Or maybe one long table or buffet to replace the current one?
Of course, whatever I find, it must be cheap. And durable. “Kid-tested, Chernobyl-approved” kind of durable. Which is another thing I love about my knock-off stools. They’re heavy-duty metal. How much damage can two small boys possibly do?
Bang, bang, bang.
I must go.
I think I hear my sons trying to stab each other with stool legs.