Pottery Barn Kids Didn’t Grow Up In A Barn

When I get a new Pottery Barn Kids catalog, my mind starts to scream, “Look at that dresser! It’s so cute! I must have that for my girls!” And I’m promptly snapped back into reality when I realize my entire home probably costs less than the contents of the room blaring at me from the magazine pages. They seriously want $99 for some polka dots sheets? Just sheets, not even pillowcases. My kids are going to pee on them twice a week! Or $1,099 (a special, no less!) for a bunk bed. I’m sure at some point during childhood, one of my dear children will scrawl POOP on the bottom of the top bunk with a Sharpie. I wonder if anyone who has ever purchased the Darcy Dresser and Changing Table regretted the $949.00 purchase as they were scrubbing what seems like gallons worth of mustard yellow baby excrement from it’s elegant, shaped pewter handles. Pottery Barn Kids may not have grown up in a barn, but my kids have certainly grown up like kids. I don’t worry about the $4 sheets my kids pee on or the $20 bookshelf that has BUM scratched in the side. Like it or not, we’re messy and happy.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.


  1. Jo Lynn says:

    So so true, that place is a huge rip off…nonetheless still way cute though! Awesome post, thanks for your honesty! Love ya

  2. Lynne says:

    Cammi, don’t ever change! You are just delightful. I’ve never seen BUM on your bookcase, either. Love you!

  3. Dilip says:

    LaurieI am looking forwrad to being part of the 4H group and meeting new horse friends! I learned to ride on a beautiful mare named Firefly. Her nickname was Firecracker and she taught me to stay on.

  4. What a nice tight little jingoistic piece of pure wishful pablum. You're better than this bullshit. We are an empire–this isn't a high school pep rally where we all hold hands and pretend that we're all one (e pluribus unum). Grow the fuck up.PS If another 9/11 type attack happened we'd start bombing and/or invading the fuck out of anything that had even the slightest tinge of complicity, much less any real guilt. Or did the last 10 years just wash over you like a nice refreshing rah rah chant?

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