This weekend, obviously, was Mother's Day.  This is a story about how unfun it is to surprise me.

I had to attend a friend's baby shower on Saturday afternoon.  I thought it was odd that when my parents showed up for the weekend, they were driving my father's Ford F-150, complete with topper. They almost never drive that truck.  My dad made some comment about the truck only having 800 miles on it, but I still thought that was kind of weird.

When I got home from the shower, my husband was sitting on the couch holding a driver's license of a guy I knew in high school.  My laptop stand was downstairs. I asked them why it was down there, and my mom said something about needing to borrow it.  I felt a little tug of fear in my chest at this point.  "What have you done?" I asked my husband.  He just smiled.

I ran upstairs, and lo and behold, my high school vanity (we had been using it as a computer desk for about six years now) was missing.  All the stuff that had been in my high school vanity - toe shoes, prom announcements, poems I'd written, etc. were stuffed in a bag.  Apparently my husband had gone through it and thought the driver's license was the only item of interest.  In place of the vanity was a spiffy new glass computer desk - big enough for not only our home desktop, but also my laptop  AND some room to work. Considering this was mashed into a tiny office that also has to contain our futon (ahem, guest bed) and Xbox, television and stereo, I was amazed at the use of space. Except for my filing cabinet, which was now sitting in the center of the room.

I looked the shiny new desk, the filing cabinet in the center of the room, and my high school memories shoved in a paper bag, and promptly burst into tears. This was apparently NOT the reaction my beloved was looking for after spending three hours on this project.

In time, after we moved a bunch of CDs downstairs ("Why don't we just stack them here, on top of the air-conditioning vent?" or "Maybe we could just stack them here by your feet - just don't kick them while you work"), shoved the filing cabinet against the wall behind the door and recalibrated the futon, it seemed to work a little better. I started to halfheartedly go through the bag, but in the end, I just threw it all away.

Lest I sound heartless, I do appreciate the work my beloved did. He knew the office was too small and that I spend all my time here now.  He knew that I liked this kind of desk, even.  It's exactly the one I wanted.  But he also knew that he hated my vanity, and I liked it. Just like he hated my blue chair (now languishing at my parents' house) and my black, ladder-back chair (now rotting in the basement).  There is a trend here, and it is to remove all the furniture that I liked. 

Now I admit, the new desk is better.  But he loaded up my vanity in my father's truck without even asking me if I wanted to keep it.  It was practically the only remnant of my old life left in this house.  It makes me sad to see it go.  And I am once again reminded that This Old House was not meant to have an office, or any room that actually looks nice upstairs.  At least once we have the electrician come, we can eliminate some of the thick, ugly power cords snaking all over the upstairs like jungle undergrowth. 

But it IS a nice desk, and it was a lovely effort.  However, I'm bad with surprises when they affect my personal space.  Do not be calling Extreme Makeover: Home Edition for me anytime soon.