by mayberry on May 31, 2011
At the beginning of the year, Jeff received a personalized calendar from a vendor. We both thought this was a bit of an odd choice for a grown man. When is the last time anyone over 13 got excited about seeing their name spelled out in letters made of flamingos (May) or fireworks (January)? We’re all familiar with the power of mail-merge by now, and the personalization bloom is off the rose. Way off, given how much it’s abused by emailers who are lazy (“Dear Mommy Blogger”) or too quick with the trigger finger (“Dear <name>”).
But here’s a tip. If you are going to distribute a personalized calendar, one that says “Designed and produced especially for … ” at the bottom of every page in addition to the flamingos and whatever the heck?
You might want to make sure you are spelling the person’s name right. Or else he and his wife are going to laugh at you for an entire year, because his name is not JEFFERY.
One-oh-one, folks.
by mayberry on April 28, 2010
At least according to the (pre)school pictures. Seriously:
Overlook the graininess and the fact that I forgot it was picture day and he’s wearing something dumb and it looks like someone licked his forehead right before the photo was snapped.
The pose. Is that not the most ridiculous way to pose a FOUR-YEAR-OLD for a photo? Lounging, but not quite, against a fake rock? With his hands folded in the prissiest possible way?
And then, beyond the fake rock, there’s the ridiculous fake grassy meadow, and fake rustic picket fence.
People must buy these pictures, because why else would the photographers continue to use the cheeseball poses and the cheeseball backdrops?
I would like to know, who are these people, and what is wrong with them?
by mayberry on May 14, 2009
I thought I was almost done crossing things off the list of “things I will never allow/resort to/say when I am a parent.”
Apparently not, because my car now has stickers on the insides of four (four!) windows. Better yet, two are Sponge Bob, one is Sesame Street, and one is Transformers. They all came from the doctor’s office. (I know they didn’t come from the haircut place because you should see my shaggy-headed children. It’s a little hippie up in here right now.)
Yes, I drive a station wagon. One that’s eight years old and has a big dent on one side because I practically rammed it myself with a shopping cart. One that’s carpeted with crumbs and critically important crayon drawings and reusable shopping bags and gum wrappers.
But really, the stickers have driven away any last shred of decency and coolness I had left.
by mayberry on September 23, 2008
I know it’s been all blasty, prompty, memey around here lately but I have to do this Mix ‘n’ Match, Pop ‘n’ Swap (warning, links to headless dolls! But they do seem to be a good solution to the typical Polly Pocket Problem) one too (via Parent Bloggers Network):
Because that picture just needs to be shared.
It’s hard to get a good look at the socks but they’re red with a yellow windowpane pattern and navy trim. Of course.
My kids pick out their own clothes every day and I pretty much never make them change. I won’t let them wear jeans to church or swimsuits to the grocery store, but I will let them wear whatever wackjob color/pattern combinations they come up with. I will let them wear pajamas under (sometimes over) their clothes if that’s what gets them out of the door smiling. I will let my toddler boy wear a tutu with his tool-emblazoned long johns.
Choose your battles, mamas. Choose your battles.
by mayberry on February 27, 2008
Many years ago my parents lived briefly in a house that contained three of the most hideous rooms I’ve seen before or since. In a remarkable sin of omission no one took any photos of these rooms before the family fled. So, a propos of absolutely nothing today (perhaps this is my effort to reclaim Wednesday for words), I present three reasons why wallpaper should be a controlled substance:
1. Ahoy, me hearties! This room predated today’s pirate craze by at least 20 years. It was a large room of indefinite purpose — on the same level with the garage and the powder room (coming up next) and nothing else. Family room? Office? Spare bedroom? It was a mystery. Also mysterious was the wallpaper, a blue-and-white pattern of foot-long clipper ships sailing the open seas. The vessels covered every inch of wall and carried right on over onto the matching curtains too. And on the floor, a nice blue shag carpet, of course.
2. Pledge your allegiance. Despite its small size, this half-bath again featured wallpaper with a ridiculously oversize pattern–one that celebrated the greatest hits of American patriotic music by reproducing its most garish sheet music covers, accented with brass trumpets and stern-looking eagles. The fixtures were a brilliant shade of royal blue. (Have you ever seen a royal-blue toilet? I hadn’t.)
3. The woodland baby bathroom suite. In the basement, adjacent to an honest-to-god knotty pine-walled rec room with burnt orange shag carpet (and to think, that one didn’t even make this top 3 ugly rooms list), was the WBBS. The nearest bedroom was two flights of stairs away from this large, nonsensical bathroom. It had dark wood trim throughout, a sauna, a huge vanity with double sinks and an imposing wooden chair, a big whirlpool tub set two steps up from the floor, and separate shower stall. Oh, and beige carpeting (squick) throughout, including on the steps surrounding the tub. Tying all this together, and inspiring the name, was the wallpaper. It featured nearly life-size, realistically rendered illustrations of baby woodland animals–rabbits, squirrels, and other Bambi contemporaries. Very much like these wallies, but monochromatic. So if, say, you decided to take a soak in the tub, you might be eyeball-to-eyeball with a chipmunk or a raccoon. Relaxing, no?
And you? Wallpaper horror stories? Let’s hear them.
