I want to live in a Pottery Barn catalog
Yesterday was a lazy, day after we got back from vacation day, the girls were riding their scooters around the basement and I was flipping through the latest PB Kids catalog and thinking, for the thousandth time,"This is how I want to, no - must live."
With pink and green gingham curtains hanging neatly from the girls' bedroom window, a whimsical finial to wrap the excess fabric around so sunlight comes through the window, just so.
With rows of neatly stacked craft baskets (identified by child's name, of course!) sitting on perfectly neat whitewashed shelves, nothing out of order, and my children, with their tangle-free hair in perfect little ponytails, playing sweetly with the Caldecott winning hardcover picture books (jackets still attached) that they've gently taken out of their dollhouse-shaped bookcase.
Instead, I look around me and see a Scooby-Doo Chia Pet that has been mauled by a curious cat, a basement brimming with stray Mr. Potato Head parts, Crazy 8 cards and the unfinished masterpieces of attention-deficit children for whom Scratch Magic lost its allure many months ago. And seemingly a thousand plastic figurines, McDonald's and Burger King toys from failed movies and numerous naked dolls forever separated from their clothes.
I don't know what it is about looking through the PB catalog, especially, but everytime I do, I get wistful and think, "How manageable and graceful and wonderful my life would be if I could just get rid of all the clutter and live like these fake catalog people do."
It's a fantasy, I know, but it grabs me everytime and sucks me in.
With pink and green gingham curtains hanging neatly from the girls' bedroom window, a whimsical finial to wrap the excess fabric around so sunlight comes through the window, just so.
With rows of neatly stacked craft baskets (identified by child's name, of course!) sitting on perfectly neat whitewashed shelves, nothing out of order, and my children, with their tangle-free hair in perfect little ponytails, playing sweetly with the Caldecott winning hardcover picture books (jackets still attached) that they've gently taken out of their dollhouse-shaped bookcase.
Instead, I look around me and see a Scooby-Doo Chia Pet that has been mauled by a curious cat, a basement brimming with stray Mr. Potato Head parts, Crazy 8 cards and the unfinished masterpieces of attention-deficit children for whom Scratch Magic lost its allure many months ago. And seemingly a thousand plastic figurines, McDonald's and Burger King toys from failed movies and numerous naked dolls forever separated from their clothes.
I don't know what it is about looking through the PB catalog, especially, but everytime I do, I get wistful and think, "How manageable and graceful and wonderful my life would be if I could just get rid of all the clutter and live like these fake catalog people do."
It's a fantasy, I know, but it grabs me everytime and sucks me in.
posted by workinmom at 2:11 PM
5 Comments:
Yesterday, I spent three hours cleaning my daughter's room (which sounds like it was in a similar state to yours) while she was at school. After I was done, I said to my husband, "I just want to sit in here for the rest of the day, because it's the nicest room in our house now (it's also for some reason the warmest).
When she came home and saw it, she said, "I never knew my room could look this nice!" We had a long talk about how she could keep it that way, but I'm not holding my breath.
Tracey,
Before I had children, I had an image of what my home would be like once I graduated college and emerged a true adult. Since I was raised by a less-together version of Dharma's parents, I wasn't sure what such a home would look like...until I saw my first "Martha Stewart Living" magazine.
The long version of this story involves financial awakening, hot glue burns, and finally Martha dissing my soon-to-be-husband, one of two men who attended an early-90's Martha-fest where I imagined my destiny was to begin. (First clue: Keep man. Dump Martha.)
The short version ends in a similar scene to the one you describe. I hate to be one of those people who gets personal satisfaction out of seeing Martha brought down to earth, but it does help take the sting out of my boogered walls. Someday, though, I WILL build a gingerbread house with sugar-glass windows lit from the inside.
Those catalogs make me gingham-checked green with envy. I know those sets are designed by professionals, I know that no actual children ever live in them aside from photo shoots, yet I feel so, so lackluster and deficient when I look at my own kids' rooms.
Not lackluster and deficient enough to actually buy their stuff, of course; just enough to bruise my psyche.
Just found your site...does happy dance I AM NOT ALONE. Ok so I know I'm not alone, but so many blogs are by stay at home moms that my eyes have been turning a brighter shade of green…
On to my PBK comment - my 10 month old son's room is "Alphabet Soup" all the way - I got the sheets, and then more sheets, ginghams and the chamois ($29.00 bucks for a crib sheet are you kiddi...oh my GOD TOUCH THEM!!!! I MUST HAVE!!!!), bumpers, quilt (that is artfully draped over my rocking chair, what do you think I want to kill my child?) curtains, and RUG all thanks to a KICK ARSE baby shower and a way cool bonus because while 9 months preggered I worked 15 hours days to get a release out the door. However in addition to the PBK I also have "me" items. Giant "cow abduction" signs, Darth Tater and other Star Wars toys, cow hampers and and....well I think you get the picture. I tried to get the catalog look, but apparently bits of me just can’t help but seep out. Do you think it’s too early to have a battle ax in his room?
Tracey,
I, too, wish I could live like they do in those magazines but with 5 boys it isn't ever gonna happen for me, lol.
Just wanted to let you know I read your blog all the time, even though I don't post to it all the same.
Hugs, April & her 5.peas
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