Yesterday I told David that for Christmas I want a digital kitchen thermometer. Makes total sense. I always break glass candy thermometers, I think I've broken at least four. And the other day I roasted a turkey breast that I didn't know the weight of, and I don't have a scale, so I had to wing it. Pun mostly intended. Due to my awesome kitchen skills I cooked my turkey the proper amount of time, but it would've been nice to know exactly when it was done. Enter: digital kitchen thermometer.
Then I reflected upon what asking for that for Christmas really says about me: I am officially lame. Who asks for something that practical for Christmas? What am I gonna ask for next, a really nice can opener?
The longer I am domesticated the lamer the things I want/buy/covet are. Sure I still get the standard new clothes and shoes when I get the chance to go shopping, but for every one thing I buy for my own personal use, I buy one thing that is lame or not even for me, dang cute kids clothes. I buy some overpriced leopard print flats for myself, then I buy new sheets for my bed. I buy a couple of jeans for me, I buy ten outfits for my kids. I buy a new coat, I buy kitchen canisters which I was overly excited about finding for 50% off.
When I want new kitchen stuff, I'm not the only one who is going to be benefiting from it. I end up buying the new plates, but everyone else in my house eats off of them. David is the buyer of fun stuff, like toys. I buy new pillowcases and curtains and picture frames. That is my role as the lame-o and the mom.
Even though I realize that the stuff I want isn't for my own exclusive use, I still want it. No one else cares if we use old scratched plates, so if new ones are desired, by me of course, I'm gonna have to go out and get them. I cannot explain my desire for chevron striped plates and bowls, or for some new sheets for the bed, or even for a new vacuum. I don't exactly fantasize about a new vacuum, but I will admit to detouring down that aisle in Walmart.
When I find myself picking a new cake stand over a new shirt I know I have a problem. And I can't attribute this trend to having turned thirty, because I've been doing it longer than that. I blame the kids. Motherhood made me do it. Its nesting, but extended into their childhood. Combine that with the inevitable decline of coolness that happens with each child, and I am doomed. My coolness was at a questionably low level far before I even had kids. If I have more kids, and surrender to the call of the minivan, I will be a lost cause. You can then refer to me in the past tense. Remember Jennifer? She was nice, right? I wonder what ever happened to her. I heard there was a tragic rice krispy treat making accident. Before she had fully recovered she was trying to obsessively vacuum her house daily. Then she got a minivan and put a stick figure family on the rear windshield. No one ever saw her again.