This is why we can't have nice things. Not for a few more years, anyway.

You may recall that back in January, I decided to spend out.  I can't say that I've made great strides, but we have eaten on the nice dishes a couple times, and I'm trying my best to change my hoarding nature.  It's very hard to do, in case you were wondering.

I've recently decided that a little hoarding is in order when it comes to some of my precious possessions.  For example, my bright, colorful afghan is one of my favorite things in the world. 

My grandma made it from leftover yarn.  I can look at those flowers and imagine a thousand other crocheting projects that she did.  I decided to take it down from its "for display only" location and throw it onto the back of the couch so that we could really use it.  Two days later, Alec was rolling himself into a human burrito, and Theo was pushing his fingers through all the little holes.  I folded it back up and removed it from their reach.

I inherited four of these juice glasses from the same grandparents as the afghan.  Are they beautiful, or what?

The first time one of my boys broke one, he started crying and waited for me to freak out, because he knew that they were special to me.  (I didn't freak out.  It was a rare moment of zen parenting.)  Just the other day, another son broke another glass, leaving me with just two.  I kept my cool again, but decided to take them out of circulation.  Now they drink their smoothies from vintage Tupperware cups that Matt inherited (stole?) from his parents' kitchen.  Tupperware bounces.