It's catalog season, and somehow, they've found us at our temporary address. The catalog companies must use ruthless means to collect their intelligence. I'd bet my Boppy that they use waterboarding in the cutthroat catalog industry.
The other day, Joe walked into the living room to find Luke thumbing through the pages of Pottery Barn Kids. To me, PBK is total eye candy, full of moderately expensive wooden toys, and plush bedding emblazoned with names like Caroline and Oliver. These items are set in vast new-moneyesque McMansion spaces, devoid of any eyesores the rest of us normal folks have in our homes, like baby-proofing devices, stacks of mail, or breakfast dishes we haven't yet had the chance to put away. The kids are in adorable coordinated outfits, which I'm sure their mothers ironed and had them dressed in by 8:00, and have no visible juice stains dribbled down the front. There is nary a ketchup smudge nor snot trail on their faces. Without a hair out of place, these kids are precious. And, oh, the babies! They have cherubic little chubby cheeks, they look like they've had ten continuous hours of sleep, and the expressions on their faces whisper, "I wouldn't dream of spitting up on you."
Luke wasn't looking at the pages of boy toys. He had skipped the Star Wars and pirate merchandise in favor of the pages with Madame Alexander dolls and pink play kitchens. And here's the funny part--the part where Luke "pulls a Luke" and says something that makes us fall over laughing. He looked up at Joe and explained, "I'm just wookin' at the girls." Not to worry, Daddy, he doesn't want a doll for Christmas. He wants a girl!
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