Children are apparently the levers by which retailers hope to pry open your pocket, if the nakedly aspirational catalogs I get are any indication. Because I once bought a monogrammed chair for my daughter, I am now on the Pottery Barn Kids catalog list for life.
(At right: the daughter in her reading nook. I had asked her to take off her shoes, but she got distracted by a book halfway through. I can't chide her for that because I do the same thing.)
The thing that always bemuses me about this catalog is how meticulously it details the fantasy of productive, achieving upper middle-class life. The tidy family calendars hanging in the background feature activities like "violin," "swim meet," "family movie night: Wizard of Oz."
The prop styling include a paper cup with the drawn-on face of Max from Where the Wild Things Are, homemade mobiles with wholesome wood and paper parts (no plastic, no garish colors) and air plants in glass globes. And then there are the names, everywhere the children's names.