Not trying to be controversial here,
but I fully believe that the
Pottery Barn catalogs
are pretty much p@rn for women.
(I don't want to put the real word in... too gross.)
Everything is perfect.
Nicely lit.
Out of grasp.
Far from reality.
Makes you dislike what you have.
Makes you want what you cannot.
Most of the time they go straight from the mailbox
to the recycle bin.
But sometimes I am weak.
I sneak a just a little look.
Then suddenly, I get sucked in.
To my PB fantasies.
Here are some of my current ones:
I would blog from this chaise while the girls slept peacefully.
Wearing sunscreen of course.
I would plan designs and pin inspiration on these dress forms.
I would sew for hours on this beautiful table.
Always neatly organized, naturally.
We would all eat healthy meals,
that we prepared together, happily at this table
After a long day I would retreat to my bathroom.
Nobody would follow me in.
Or knock on the door.
Then I would sleep through the entire night to the sound of the ocean.
The girls would have a playroom with comfy seating.
Desks to get good grades on.
A flawlessly organized craft space to imagine and create in.
A clean, bright, cheery bathroom.
A vanity for dress up.
Lulu would dream of surfing.
Janey would sleep soundly.
Halley would feel like a big girl with her loft bed.
But for now,
the closet any one of us is getting
to a Pottery Barn room,
is the one at the mall.
Where it seems I have unconsciously trained my
four year old to have PB fantasies as well.
(Special note to the grumpy PBK sales woman:
You didn't need to yell at my kid for dreaming
a little dream in your display. She always makes
her bed when she gets out.)
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