Pottery Barn catalogs can be fun when you’re in the right frame of mind. (The ‘I’m looking for cool color combos’ kind of frame of mind.) But if you’re not fully Shields Up and you happen to open one unprepared, you’re in for a world of ‘why doesn’t MY house look like that?!” pain.
Will just had his first ‘disappointed that my life doesn’t look like Pottery Barn’ experience. It’s kind of a right of passage.
I grabbed the mail on the way to pick up Will from preschool, and he saw the back page of the Pottery Barn Kids catalog (I would have dumped it [and its evil Pottery Barn Teen brother] straight into the garbage this week). It’s the October issue, so of course the back page was all costumes and trick or treat accessories.
“I WANT TO SEE THAT BOOK!” (he calls catalogs books. last Christmas he drug around his ‘kid stories’ for months. he IS my child.)
No sooner had his fingers opened the first page before I heard the gasp of joy. Quickly followed by “I want to have this Halloween party! And these Halloween plates and the Halloween chairs…”
I had to have the same conversation with him that I have with myself. “I’m sorry honey—I want to have that Halloween party, too. But it costs too many moneys.”
He continued flipping pages. Followed by more gasps. “It’s a Batman room! Like we saw at the store!” and then “A STAR WARS ROOM!”
Each time I had to agree that yes, it was the coolest thing ever, but no, we did not have the funds to create such awesomeness. And then came the inevitable conclusion.
“Mommy? How come all these things cost too many moneys? How come these things are so ‘spensive?”
“It’s just an expensive book, honey.”
And there you have it. His first Pottery Barn Catalog Induced Depression experience.
