Giant Plates and Cowboy Boots. Or: When I Grow Up.

I saw a woman interviewed on Tyra once (don't judge.) who had described a man's personality by what shoes he wears.  She wrote a whole book about it. 

I also saw a woman on a morning news show talking about being able to categorize a marriage and even its future by how two people sleep:  spooning all night = one is in charge and the other likes to be taken care of, a happy ending was surely in their future.  Back to back sleeping CLEARLY screamed the inability to look each other in the eye and most likely deep seeded hate.  These poor souls where on the freeway to divorce.

As I was unloading my dishwasher for the millionth time I was doing a little categorizing of my own.

After eight years of life as a stay at home mom with half of a normal salary to support the 5 of us, my shoes are in a very sorry state and don't even deserve to be photographed.  I'm pretty sure my husband and I sleep in the same bed, but if you asked me which directions, I'd be unable to answer - we are so happy to get ANY sleep at this point making it to the bed at all is an accomplishment. I do however, spend a LOT of time in my kitchen feeding these starving, chirping birdies who depend on me.

I've always known that we were a "top shelf" dishwasher kind of family; tons of bowls and glasses, not as many plates.  Today though, I realized my grown up size plates are sadly sitting untouched in  my cupboard.  Why don't we use the big plates?  

Does our lack of use of adult size plates mean my husband and I have thrown in the towel and eating on the "salad plates" and even on occasion flower or pirate ship shaped plates mean our romance is dead forever?  

Does it mean I'm horribly lacking complete meals?  I do feel VERY proud when I make a real dinner, and the definition of real to me is one that didn't come from a frozen cardboard box, so who on earth is making enough sides to fill up one of those gigantic plates?!  If I served a typical dinner I've prepared on such an enormous plate, the amount of white space would blind my family and then working on food presentation would be dashed forever.

Do the stacks and stacks of plastic Ikea cups and plates mean we have NO pizzaz?  That our love life is dull and scratched like the once gleaming plastic that caught my eye that day at Ikea? That we are on the road to paper plates covered with hamburger helper with a side of koolaid? 

Do the dusty boxes of my wedding china that languish in my closet mean that I'll never entertain again?!

I'm pretty sure it means we are into our 8th year of baby parenthood and that it will all come back to us and we'll grow up and use the good china some day.  I can't really think about it right now, though - the timer just started shrilling telling me my family's dinner from a frozen cardboard box is done.  I think I'll pick the pirate plate tonight.