I love Pyrex. Old Pyrex, not the new Corelle crap that splinters into a trillion shards if you drop it. Give some old-school, double-baked milk glass Pyrex dishes and nobody gets hurt!
See, I have the butterfingers. I. Break. Everything. I've gone through two complete sets of drinking glasses just this year so far, and half my stoneware dinner set. I don't know how it happens, things just break around me! Two glasses broke yesterday because Rachel's sunflower LEAPED off the windowsill and landed on them. The sunflower survived, the glasses did not.
Know what the problem is? The problem is that the old-school, double-baked milk glass Pyrex isn't made any more - it's all the new Corelle crap that splinters into a trillion shards if you drop it. Which I do. A lot.
I scour the thrift stores here for my beloved milky Pyrex, and I've amassed a decent collection of mugs and mixing bowls, with the random gravy boat or sauce pitcher mixed in. Clearly, that is not enough. Need more Pyrex.
It's always interesting to see which traits your children inherit. My mother is a dish breaker. I distinctly remember her opening the cupboard and glasses literally throwing themselves off the shelf to their doom. Mom switched to plastic around my 16th birthday. I think she got tired of cutting herself on broken glass. She passed the trait on to me, and I in turn passed it on to my girls. Maybe it's something screwy with the X chromosomes?
The other day one of my darling daughters dropped one of my beloved Pyrex mugs. Broke it clean in two. It's nice that it doesn't throw off slivers, but still. I mean, she dropped it on the concrete walkway outside (don't ask), so not much would stand up to that, but I'm still miffed.
I fear the kind of destruction my future granddaughters will be capable of.
(Go see Pyrex Love if you have no idea what I'm talking about. These people are my idols.)