Guest Blogger
Guest Post: I’m Dreaming of a Pottery Barn Christmas
Photo by Matt McGee via Flickr
Every fall, as the leaves redden and fall off the branches and pile up on my lawn, the magazines pile up in my mailbox, each whispering and begging me to open them, hoping I’ll add their goodies to my Christmas list. Mostly I roll my eyes, wonder how I got on the mailing list for Geriatrics Quarterly, and throw them into the recycling bin. Occasionally, I’ll catch my pack-rat eight-year-old trying to stealthily make off with Cardiac Surgeon Monthly (I’m just sure he’s saving his pennies to buy me a portable defibrillator!), which is always an epic battle of the wills, but usually I go unchallenged. I would personally like to offer a sloppy kiss of thanks to whomever invented the gift card.
The only catalog that I have any interest in spending time with is my Pottery Barn Holiday Edition catalog. That one is to me what Victoria’s Secret catalogs are to teenage boys: eye candy. I grab a nice tall glass of vodka and I sit down on my puke-stained couch and I fantasize. From the clean coffee table surfaces, free of broken toys and overflowing laundry baskets to the expertly arranged eucalyptus garland, roping around the mantle, where the stockings hang, just so. My own mantle is so outdated it could easily be featured as the “before” shot on one of those home and garden programs where people come in and make fun of your crappy taste. Instead of eucalyptus garland, I have some gaudy gold garland that my two-year-old fell desperately in love with and it’s held up not with coordinated stocking holders but duct-tape and some nails I found in the basement.
Their Christmas tree is always expertly decorated from the lead-crystal covered snowflakes, the mountain of balls, all made of the world’s most shatterable glass, down to the pointy-metal reindeer, which, as I look closely, would make wonderful projectiles to be lobbed at one’s sibling. My tree is surrounded by a makeshift baby gate to keep out small animals and small children who might otherwise bring it crashing down onto the floor, which isn’t something I see in any of these pictures. In fact, I don’t see ANY kids in those pictures. I saw one cat once, but I think it was stuffed. The tree in my house is covered with plastic balls, all gaily colored and none really my taste, but all chosen by my children who have declared them beautiful.
Another year, I know I’ll come across those hideous plastic balls packed away, a vestige of times gone by, as I pull out the coveted Pottery Barn sterling silver snowflakes and the leaded crystal balls and I’ll cry. My children will have grown and my sofa will be puke-free, my coffee table clean, and my house, while maybe it will be prettier or cleaner or more chic, will feel less like a home.
So this year, I’m tossing that catalog out, along with Crystal Growers of Illinois and Fit and Fabulous Over Fifty. Bring on the ugly plastic balls. Bring on the piles of laundry and the mantle from 1976.
These are the good old days.
—Becky Harks, of Mommy Wants Vodka
Tags: Guest Blogger, Mommy Wants Vodka
[...] This post ran on December 2, 2009 on Canadian Family Magazine’s Blog, The Family Jewels and can be found here. [...]
How about any catalog scene…….But I do love pottery barn kids …….nice size rooms too.
My feelings exactly. As much as I adore looking at Pottery Barn (and Pottery Barn Kids), I’ll take the homemade ornaments covered in macaroni and glitter. Those can never be replaced.
[...] I’ve written three posts for them. Satan’s Little Helper (which if you haven’t read, you should), one that will air later in the week and the one that I am most proud of. Here it is. [...]
Best post ever. Love you!
I feel the same way, with the added lust of restoration hardware’s holiday catalog. but for now it’s the plastic pigs and elmo.
Three cheers for ugly ornaments. I toss out the catalog, too.
i understand all to well the glories of perfectly coordinated and hung decortaions. all the christmas decorations i have belonged to my husband’s grandfather, which means that any mention of replacing them with some thing…”fresher” is met with the stare of doom. it wouldn’t be so bad, but for the fact that his grandfather “salvaged” most of the decorations from other people’s discard piles. which means that what we have was sad and pathetic 35 years ago, and they aren’t the kinds of things that improve with age. but you know what?
this year, i think they are awesome, just for the sentimental value.
I had a problem seeing your blog correctlly with the most recent release of Opera. Looks good in IE6 and Firefox though.
WTF Aunt Becky?! You’re all like, misty and sentimental & stuff. Wait, glass of vodka? Won’t SOMEbody PLEASE think of the CHILDREN! ‘Cause, you know, I know you can’t possibly be being facetious.
P.S. I dream of every room in my house looking like a PB catalog. If only I were rich & lived alone. Eh, I guess you’re right.
I mean, you’re right about the sentimental crap. ;-)
Pottery Barn just exists to make me feel shitty about the way I live. Except that pink girl’s kitchen set, which I want so much I ache. Don’t look at it, Aunt Becky, don’t! You’ll just have to get it for the Cinnamon Girl and play with it yourslef. I warned you.
Just when I thought I couldn’t love you any more than I already do.
I really like your feelings.
Well done, Aunt Becky.
I loved this post – as much as I strive to make my house pretty, it also has to be livable for my family and safe for my daughter. These things generally trump any attempt at decor or taste, unfortunately. So we’ll live with the baby gates etc., because I know I’ll be sad when we won’t need them anymore.
The Christmas tree, on the other hand, is probably going to involve an epic battle of wills between me and my toddler, since I luuuuurve my tree and she will absolutely want to climb and destroy it. I might have to invest in some baby-jail gates to put around it, to keep her out. Or maybe I’ll just get myself some of those shatter-proof balls and call it a day.
I love this! It is so true! My aunt’s house (who doesn’t have children) is like a freakin’ museum that is professionally decorated. I always get insecure when she comes here because, well, my house looks lived-in. And then I think about how many times I smiled and how many times i got a big, fat kiss from my kids and think, so my house looks lived in. It should. I live here. And one day it will be clean and orderly, and I’ll probably be begging them to come home so I can even cook for them. LIfe is funny like that.
you have a wonderful site!