George is my absolute favorite website for all things animal-related. All of our dogs have always worn this ID tag on their collars. I like to think of it as their little Doggy Guardian Angel.
And do you know what?
I just purchased a brand new one!
And Atticus? Well, he already has one.
So… Can you guess why I ordered a brand new Doggy Guardian Angel ID tag?
Hmm…
I love Katharine Hepburn. Like really, really love her. As in worship. Idolize. Adore. In fact, I’ll just say it… I wish I could have been her. Just for a day, even. She was so smooth and sophisticated and… masculine. But she was still all woman. That’s a feat.
I’ve often found myself thinking, “What would Kate the Great do in this situation?”
Well, now I have a manual of sorts to help me figure it all out.
The book is something that I cannot put down. Of course, as her Number One Fan of All Time, I devour any and everything on her. Even some of those really, truly God-awful films she made. And believe me when I say that some of them? Bad. A badness you’ve never known. But this little book? For me? A complete gem.
She was brash. That’s a tenet of the book. And I like brash. I appreciate brash. I get brash. She’s also referred to as a rabble-rouser. Geez, I just love the sound of that word. And she made no apologies for who she was. She wore pants. She smoked cigarettes. She skinny-dipped in the Long Island Sound. Every day. Even in January. She routinely bought herself out of contracts when things didn’t go her way. Even if it put her back at a big, fat zero. She spoke up, she ruffled feathers and she did whatever she wanted to do. And she managed to pull it all off with a certain style that I still envy and try to emulate to this day. In fact, when my mother nags me about “would it kill you to put on a skirt and dress like a girl?” I retort, “trousers worked for Kate the Great, and they work for me, too.” Because my mother and I? We are on opposing Hepburn teams. She’s all about Audrey. Sweet, demure, delicate and swan-like. Not me. Give me a good pair of tailored pants, a crisp white button-down shirt, a bun and a Scotch on the rocks and I’ll call it a day…
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The weather is finally starting to turn out here. For the better. I think we’ve seen the last of the snow here. And as the 12-foot high snowbanks surrounding our home continue to melt away, I’m thinking about spring. I’m thinking about barbecues and games to play outside with the little ones and Appalachian chairs for the little spot in the side yard overlooking the valley. I plan on sitting there in the evenings, after the girls are asleep, to enjoy a cocktail with my husband as dusk rolls in.
I’ve been avoiding Target like the plague lately. It’s not that far to drive, but the place is always packed. I’ve lived many places before, but none had a Target as unpleasant to shop as this one is. Carts crammed in the aisles. Parking three lots over. Wagons with malfunctioning seat-belts for the kids. Let’s suffice it to say that my “happiest place on earth” is no more. And I’m looking for a new one.
But. We needed diapers. And a few other staples. And to buy them here, where I live, is highway robbery. Make that highway-over-a-large-mountain robbery. The prices are astronomical. We’ve been told it’s because the truck drivers have to cross over a big mountain. Nooo? Really? A large mountain in Utah? Huh.
So, I packed up the girls and headed to that place. And of course, we found what we needed. At reasonable prices. Which leads me to assume that Target has made some kind of a deal with the devil to not have to raise their prices to account for that large mountain. But as always, I also found a ton of stuff we didn’t really need. But I’m going to justify the purchases by saying this: how could I turn down a Cynthia Rowley-designed Lacrosse set for Pea? Or a Cynthia Rowley-designed bowling set?
I could not. These items will fall under the category of Fun Things to Do Outside When the Snow is Melted.
Sold.
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One of my favorite designers for knits is Inhabit NY. The sweaters are gorgeous. Cashmere, merino wool and even cotton in the most feminine and well-cut designs. These are investment pieces, you know? You buy one or two a year and you hold onto them forever. They are timeless, sophisticated and elegant. And expensive.
Well guess what? A few times a year is no more. At least not for the next couple of days. Because from now until May 8th, the site is having a sample sale. Up to 80% off. That’s huge!
I bought this hoodie and this cardigan and this sweater - cashmere! - all for $140. Free shipping. And think about this: that $140? It normally buys you one item at full price from Inhabit NY. A cotton camisole. I’m not kidding. So I’d say this is a sample sale to check out. The bad news? I spent a good chunk of my May “scratch” money on these sweaters. But I think it’s worth it. I feel like a million bucks in these knits. And sample sales? Possibly the thing that I miss the most about living in New York City.
Happy bargaining!
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We have hard water. I’ve never had it before. Well, save for the ski trips to Vail, Colorado. Oh, and the one summer I spent there working for a local veterinarian. But still, it was nothing like the hard water we have here. This hard water is exceptionally hard.
And supposedly, we have a water softener. No, we do. We do have one. But it hasn’t been working. But we didn’t really know that. Well, maybe my husband did, but he didn’t share that information with me. I’m on a need-to-know basis. So here I was, standing under the shower head, wondering why, when I was rinsing my hair of shampoo and conditioner, did it feel like my hair weighed 100 pounds?
And while I love the dry climate here, because my otherwise wavy, coarse and unruly head of hair is normally a rat’s nest without a ton of product in it, and here in Utah it’s smooth and shiny with very little product in in, it always felt like I still had stuff in it. Like it was just never clean. And no matter what I did, I couldn’t get rid of that feeling. And when I mentioned this to my husband? He said, and I quote, “use shampoo.” Duh. Really? Shampoo?
Enter Frederic Fekkai. I love him. Always have. And you know why? He makes my hair shine. And so I gave in and bought a bottle of his Apple Cider Clarifying shampoo.
Good call.
My hair feels clean again. Soft and light.
Of course, wouldn’t you know it, our water softener is now fixed. Timing is everything, right? But seriously, if you are anything like me and need to use a lot of product to get your hair to behave, you might want to look into this shampoo. Use it. Sparingly. Once a week. And it will have your hair feeling soft and clean and devoid of product. In an instant. I honestly feel ten pounds lighter…
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Yes, it’s me. I’m back. Again. Second time today. Something special is happening…
Remember last month? When I wrote about the Puella Grab Bag? And encouraged you all to order one? Because the line is fantastic? Well, they’re now offering one for your little girls. That’s right. Mini-me versions of my absolute most favorite line of clothing. Ever.
So I’ve already placed my order. Two, actually. One for Coco and another for Pea. And I’m seriously considering ordering a Grab Bag for my cousin’s daughter out in LA. And perhaps one for my little niece back in Dallas. In fact, what I should really do is order a Grab Bag in every size available. The offer is that outstanding. And I cannot resist a good deal. I just cannot. But even more so, I cannot resist this line of clothing.
And let me start off by saying this: I buy these clothes. With my own money. No one sends me the things that I write about. That’s not how I operate. Every single thing I write about, whether it be a book that I’ve read or a sweater that I’ve bought or a lip-gloss I’ve discovered or baby shoe that Coco wears? All bought and paid for by your’s truly. Me. So when I write about something? I write about it because I adore it, and hope that you will, too.
That being said… I am a firm believer in quality over quantity. My amazingly chic mother taught me that caveat. And I also have an appreciation for clothing that is not mass-produced and therefore on the backside of every other little girl at my neighborhood playground. Believe me, I know that Baby Gap and Old Navy Kids have their place in our parks. But dressing my girls? It is one of my passions. And I want them to learn to appreciate a special piece of clothing just like I do. And this line? Puella Petit? It just speaks to me. It resonates with me. Gorgeous pieces of clothing that will make your daughter the absolute belle of the park on your next visit. Heads will turn. Other mothers? They will ask you where oh where did you find that precious little dress? Or that fanciful shirt? I promise. It happens to us all of the time.
Both of my girls have closets full of this line. Dresses, shirts, leggings. And all in the most charmingly whimsical prints. The pieces mix and match really well. They layer well, too. The fabric is the softest cotton that holds up famously in the wash. I know. From experience. On occasion, I’ve stripped one of my girls of their Puella Petit in the evening, only to throw it in the wash and redress them in it in the morning. Let’s just say that I am dedicated.
And that they are offering a Grab Bag in mini-me sizes? Incredible. Seven (seven!) items of clothing for $100. You cannot beat that. I cannot emphasize enough what a great deal this is. Seriously. I pay full price for this line. It is that special. So to get a deal like this? Don’t miss out. You can see a few items from the spring season on their site that they still have available. Those prints? Those colors? Those cuts? So adorable. But in all honesty, this stuff goes quickly. Really quickly. Several times, I’ve placed an order only to be told that they are out of stock. And that is heart-breaking.
So my orders are in. And I will be anxiously checking my mailbox every day from now until the package arrives…
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Pea has a favorite book. Scratch that. Mommy has a favorite book. “You’re My Little Love Bug.”
Right after we sold our Fort Worth home, but right before we moved into our Utah home, we stayed with my in-laws in Dallas for about a week. Well, the girls and I stayed with them. My husband? He was in LA or something, on business.
And my in-laws’ home? It’s like Disneyland without the rides and the over-priced souvenir tee-shirts. Seriously, if I didn’t know better, I’d be convinced that they had babies and toddlers of their own. Living in their home. And lots of them. Because the toys and games and books in their house? Astounding.
But the best score of the week was the Love Bug book. We swiped it. We had to. I had to. If you can disregard the mildly annoying music and the flashing lights, you’ll become quickly enamored. It has this wonderful rhyming pattern and the most charming little terms of endearment. This book and it’s words will get stuck in your head, but not in a cloyingly cutesy and annoying way. Nope, you will find yourself calling your children nicknames like “Punkin Pie (that would be Pea)” and “Snickerdoodle (that would be Coco).”
My suggestion? If you get the book? Take out the batteries! If not, you will find that the very least charming thing about this book is that song. Thankfully, our batteries are completely worn out; that’s how much we read this book in our home. Almost nightly. It’s a sweet way to end our day together…
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I’ve been obsessed with handbags for years. I love a good bag. Usually a tote. Large enough to carry my life. Diapers, iPhone, digital camera, lipgloss, wallet. You name it, it’s in there.
But moving to this little ski town, I’ve noticed that I’m virtually the only woman carrying a bag. I am dead serious. Most women are running into the grocery store with a wallet. And here I am, struggling with my giant Kooba bag. And while I’m not quite ready to make the leap to being a woman without a bag, I am willing to simplify. I still need a large bag. I do still have a daughter in diapers. And I carry her diapers around in this cute little sac. And once I fill this little sac with 4 diapers and a package of wipes? It needs a large home. But again, things have changed since we’ve been here. I’ve changed. While I still like to put in some effort, it’s a lot more… how shall I say it… simple here. And I love simple. I do. I adore it. Because I’ve never been much of a stiletto-heels-with-jeans kind of a gal. I embrace simple. In fact, it’s the word, well, one of two words, that my husband once used to describe me to one of his close friends when we first started dating… she’s simple yet sophisticated. I love that. Wouldn’t you?
So, it was obvious that something needed to change. And it did. I am now the proud owner of this bag. From The Gap. Under $30. It’s utilitarian. It’s practical. It’s chic. It’s my husband’s dream come true.
Things are definitely changing around here…
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Two years ago, for Mother’s Day, my husband took me down to Austin, Texas. We spent a weekend at Sibby Barrett’s personal estate, Juniper Hills Farm, where I learned some new cooking techniques. The course I was really interested in was the “How to Cook Fish” class. Because while I can whip up a Beef Wellington and make my own pasta noodles from scratch, until recently? I could not prepare fish to save my life. Just ask my husband. But that particular class was filled up. So I took the course on how to prepare steak au poivre avec pomme frites. It was fun. A group of women in a real gourmet chef’s kitchen, preparing the meal, while our various loved ones looked on, anxiously awaiting dinner.
But lately, I have found myself in somewhat of a food rut. There are a number of things that I can cook up in no time, and I make them well. Plates are licked clean. Seconds are had. And then plates are licked clean again. I feel like a fantastic chef when I whip up these dishes. But I noticed the other night that I have made them so often that I can literally make them from memory. Like I’m on auto-pilot. Boring.
I need to shake things up a bit. Throw some new ingredients into the mix. Buy some new cookbooks. Because honestly? If the Barefoot Contessa ever needs a vacation from her cooking show, I can step in for her and not miss a beat. Boring.
Summer is the perfect time to try out new recipes. The produce at the local Farmer’s Market is to die for. This much I remember from our summer vacation to this little hamlet last year, before we bought our home and moved into the neighborhood. But since summer here in my neck of the woods is still quite a ways off (snow expected! this week! in May!), I need to resort to what’s available at our local Albertson’s. Boring.
So I dug around on The Food Network website. I don’t go there often. The only reason to go would be to check on Ina Garten, the Barefoot Contessa. And since I have all of her cookbooks, I just don’t go. But something told me to take another look. And I did. And I found this recipe by Ellie Krieger for salmon cakes with ginger dipping sauce.
Oh my heavens. Not boring. Not by a long shot.
The girls were delighted. Something new to try, and yet it was still familiar, especially for Pea. Because I’m ashamed to admit this, but she’s going through a phase right now. She needs to be in control. Of any and everything that she possibly can. And since that doesn’t amount to much more then being able to decide if she wants to use her strawberry shampoo or her pear shampoo at bath time, she has taken it upon herself to challenge me at meal times.
Oh, yes. My child who up until several weeks ago would eat anything placed in front of her has since decided that she only likes Pirate’s Booty, “Dora the Explorer” popsicles, blue cheese and parmesan cheese right from the wedge and plain buttermilk biscuits. Oh, joy.
Well, she had quite the reminder this evening that she does in fact still love her salmon. And although it was quite different than the manner in which I normally prepare it, with a simple glaze made of a little mayonnaise and Dijon mustard, which is fantastically delicious, she was into the salmon cakes. Seriously. And you know what? Plates were licked clean. Seconds were had. And then, plates were licked clean again. And after the meal was over? And Pea had completely devoured what was on her plate? She clapped for me. A real clap!
And by the way, in case you are curious? Because you noticed that I mentioned how much salmon we consume in our home? I did finally learn how to cook a delicious piece of fish. From the cookbook called “Cooking School Secrets for Real World Cooks.” I’m not joking. In the end, it was a book taught me how to prepare the most delicious piece of fish ever. And the book? It was part of my Mother’s Day present last year. I’m starting to notice a theme here…
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My husband and I have been struggling here and there with how to discipline Pea. She’s one month shy of three. She’s intelligent, clever, beautiful, funny, loving and all of those wonderful things we want our children to be. Are you sensing an oncoming “but?” I hate to use that word, it’s as if it negates all of the good. So, I won’t. I will say this: she is three going on forty. No kidding. Her vocabulary is so far advanced that quite often I find myself completely without my own words to respond to her. She is cunning and a keen observer and she can literally run circles around me. I stand there, jaw on the ground, trying to craft a weighty response to whatever has just gone down, and by the time I figure it out, she’s a million miles away. The moment is gone. Poof. Just like that. Until the next time.
I want for my girls what I’m sure you all want for your kids. To teach them self-respect and self-love. Patience and kindness. To value education, in all of it’s forms. To have an adventurous spirit. To persevere through the hard times and to cherish the good times. To love and to be loved. To have a healthy question of authority but also to be respectful. Dignified. To have good physical health as well as good mental health. To know right from wrong. To speak up when they witness an injustice. To be open-minded and open-hearted. To be accepting of others, whomever they may be. Wherever they may be from. No matter what religion, race or sexual orientation. I want them to be happy. I want them to find their place in the world, their calling. Their passion.
But sometimes? Especially with Pea, right now? I just want her to listen. I want to be able to successfully communicate with her when something isn’t working. I want her to mind me. Follow the rules. And at her age? She’s testing everyone.
So… as I am prone to do, I googled a question about parenting. And as is generally the case, the first response came from the Berkeley Parents Network. Has this happened to anyone else? You type in some innocuous words in the search box on Google, and… there they are? Always? The Berkeley Parents Network? Well, it happens to me all of the time. It’s like they are the Great and All-Knowing Wizard of Oz. And although I am poking fun at them here, honestly? More often then not I’ve found the answer to what I am looking for with them. And the group is just what you’d think it is, they are a group of volunteer parents in and around the Berkeley, California area who write up little responses to all things parenting-related. And sometimes, not parenting-related. And one time? There was a recommendation for a parenting book called “Love and Logic.” And although I thought I was finished with parenting books when Pea turned one, that I could handle it from that point on by myself, I was wrong. She has since entered a phase in her life where the time-out doesn’t seem to be working and honestly, I am tired and so have begun to take the “easy” way out. That’s right. I am a mother who, on occasion, will bribe her child. But that just doesn’t seem like it’s going to be beneficial for either of us, in the long run. I need to get a handle on this. Now. After doing a little digging around, I decided to order the book. Why not? What did I have to lose, right? As much as I adore “Supernanny,” the time-outs were just not working in our home. We did everything we were supposed to do. Firm consistency, no engaging. And… nothing.
The book arrived. I briefly glanced at it and then set it aside amongst the other books in the towering pile on my nightstand. And then one night, I happened upon a class being taught at the local high school on… you guessed it… Love & Logic. It’s four weeks long, once a week in the evening for an hour and fifteen minutes. So I signed my husband and myself up. Thankfully, we are equal partners (and parents) in this house, and so when something isn’t working for one of us, we are able to come together and figure out our plan of attack as a couple. So I knew it would be a non-issue, that my incredible husband would happily join me. So off we went. All the while, with a quietly spoken plea to the universe that this class not be a dud.
It wasn’t. I think we’re onto something here.
I pulled the book back out, threw it on my husband’s pillow so that he could peruse it. And tonight, I plan on diving in myself. And I’m not coming up for air until I finish it. Because since last night, I’ve met a whole slew of couples with children who, like us, are not afraid to admit that they don’t know what they’re doing with their little kids. Nice couples. They look like us. They speak like us. They love their kids like we do. And they are in this class with us, wanting so much to learn what we are aching to learn: how do we parent our children successfully so that our kids feel that they have a semblance of control over their own lives? So that they feel they are being heard and they feel valued and respected? And how do we as parents also feel the same? In control? Heard? Valued? Respected? I don’t have the answers. Yet. And I don’t expect perfection. Ever. But I am hopeful that I’m going to learn how to navigate through Pea’s life with her. And Coco, too, as she grows out of babyhood and into her own little person. I want to be their teacher. Their guide. Their safe place to land. Their soft shoulder to cry on. Their cheerleader. Their sounding board. Their confidante. Their mother.
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Pea is turning three in early June. And she wants a dollhouse. It’s all she can talk about. Currently, she’s playing with a plastic Fisher-Price dollhouse. It’s nothing special, but it does the trick. The little people, a mama, a daddy and a baby, keep getting lost. The furniture, a table, two chairs and a bed, has been missing for months. And it is covered in crayon, as is most every other toy in our house.
We’ve been doing research. Because that’s what we do. Because there is nothing more important, at Pea’s stage in life right now, then getting her a dollhouse that is going to knock her socks off. We have taken the hint…
When I was little, my dad made me a dollhouse. It wasn’t fancy. Just three rooms, one on top of another. Eventually, he added on two more rooms. And then, one night, while I was asleep, my mother, the interior designer, went to work. Unbeknownst to me. And when I awoke? I was ready to pack my bags and move into the dollhouse. It was perfect. Every detail had been lovingly and painstakingly recreated in miniature. There were clocks, fireplace pokers and even a little pie in the tiny little oven.
I loved that dollhouse. Played with it endlessly. Hours and hours and hours I’d sit on my floor, creating life in that little house.
I don’t have the dollhouse any more. I held onto it forever, but I eventually had to let it go. But now and again, a tiny candlestick or a miniature bedside table will turn up in some odd place. It brings me back. And I can’t wait to watch the lives that Pea will create in her own little dollhouse.
The latest issue of “Cookie” magazine had a spread with what they deemed the best dollhouses. Among them was this dollhouse by Greenleaf. It’s their best-seller, and I’ve had my eye on it for ages. And Pea? When she saw it? She insisted that that was the dollhouse for her. And no other would do. And so she’s been toting around that issue for a week now, all dog-eared and stained with sticky juice.
I think she might be a very happy little girl, come one early June morning. Just so long as her dad can find the 40 hours it is estimated to take to piece it all together. And since Pea is a huge daddy’s girl, something tells me that those 40 hours will not be a problem for her daddy…
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Three nights ago, I had my first night out with two of the nicest women I’ve ever crossed paths with. You know how there are a select few people that you encounter in your life who just have the ability to make you feel like you’ve known them forever? Well that is how these two women made me feel. It was like being out with old friends rather than new acquaintances. And all of my “first date” jitters? What would I wear? What would we talk about? Will I like them? Will they like me? What a waste of time. I decided to just go in dressed like myself. Like I would dress on any given day. Yes, after all that worrying about what was I going to wear? Would I be too casual? Not dressed up enough? It all boiled down to would there be a connection? And when I stopped worrying about whether we’d like one another, and took on the attitude that these are just women… people… just like me, everything changed. I loosened up. I lost that fluttery feeling in my stomach. And although I did wear my new James Perse peacoat, and my gold hoops, it was still me. I wasn’t putting on any airs. I didn’t waste a lot of time and energy. I didn’t want to seem too eager.
Making new friends at my age is tough. Even with children as an ice breaker, it is still intimidating for me, to see groups of women who are bonded to one another already. It feels like being the new kid in school. Which I was. My first day of high school was just that. New kid, way over-dressed, in a freshman class of nearly 1,000 students. And making new friends here? Or anywhere? Feels just like those bygone days. I wish that I could fast-forward to a point somewhere in the future where I’ve done all of the hard and awkward work. And my phone is ringing. And it’s my mommy friend, telling me to hurry on down to Starbuck’s.
Although I’ve always had friends, I’ve also been somewhat of a lone wolf, if you will. I need a lot of space. Always have. As a kid, I was a reader and a thinker. And while I dabbled in sports and student government, I also flitted around between social groups. As I grew, that didn’t change too much. Until college. When I really came out of my shell. There was, apparently, a raging social butterfly inside of me that was just itching to get out. And get out she did. But once I left college and got out into the working world, making new friends became more difficult. There was a group of four of us from my first job at Showtime Networks who bonded. And eventually we all left Showtime and went on to new jobs, but we were still connected. Living in New York City, we clung to one another. We did everything together. As four women, we could not have been more different. There was Jen, who was living with an attorney, a Partner is a huge practice. They took me under their wing. We had such fun times, the three of us, tearing up the city. They were older, wiser. We ate at incredible restaurants. Drank the best wine. Took day trips to Block Island on a tiny plane that he piloted himself. I hosted her bridal shower when he finally popped the question. But they eventually traded in city life for a large old house in the country. Never had kids. Didn’t want children to interfere with their lifestyle. And then, there was Rachel. She was dating a guy. Forever. They broke up. Got back together. Broke up again. She was NYC born and bred. And a lot of fun. Eventually, she and her boyfriend took the plunge and got married, moved to Kentucky, had a baby just one month before we had Pea. And, Deb. Married. Dying for a child but having trouble getting pregnant. She had such phenomenal taste. She was gorgeous, the spitting image of Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy. But she moved to LA with her husband. Was pregnant within months. Then divorced. And as far as I know, still out there in LA. And… me. I left NYC for Iowa. Then returned. Got married. Moved to Texas. Had my babies. Then, on to Utah. And these three women and myself? Lost contact. Different paths. Different goals. Different lifestyles. Sigh. I miss them. But when your circumstances change, everything else tends to change, too. Good friends become old friends. Old friends move on. Move on hopefully to make way for new friends.
And back to my new friends, one of the women sent me an email before I left my house telling me that since we’d never met before, she’d be the one with the pink rose in her lapel. I knew, right then, that we were going to hit it off. I was so right…
They are business partners, one is the financial brains and the other is the creative mind. And they are close friends and balance each other well. One is married, in her late 30s with a kid. The other is in her late 20s, and single. And they are awesome. And my newest girlfriends here in my adopted hometown. That’s right, I have girlfriends!
We met for cocktails and appetizers. I got there at 4. Assumed I’d be home by 5. Rolled into my house at 6:30 to a husband who thought he’d all but been abandoned. I had fun. So much fun. Laughed, talked, joked and made future plans. Lots of future plans. These girls are right up my alley. Smart, funny, down-to-earth.
And when I returned home? An email from my other new mommy friend. We are having a play-date - my first ever - on Friday. I just love filling up my little day planner with social events. It feels like I am finally in the loop. The mommy loop…
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When I was pregnant with Pea, I gained about seventy pounds. I was eating for two, right? So it was okay, right? And as my girth grew and grew and grew, I did a lot of shopping at Mimi Maternity. A lot. The saleswomen knew me by name. I was just so determined to be the best-dressed pregnant woman around.
After my pregnancy with Pea, I never entered Mimi Maternity again. I’m told that sales dropped dramatically that year that I was pregnant with Coco. Just kidding. Sort of…
My pregnancy with Coco? Much different. Although I still gained an obscene amount of weight, it was slightly less. Twenty less. I gained fifty pounds. I don’t know what happened. Sure, I was still eating for two, right? But I was also chasing around a toddler, so…
I decided on a uniform. It was important for me not to completely give up on my appearance during those nine months. Those brutal nine months. I wanted to look simple but put-together. But I wanted it to be effortless. And I didn’t want to spend a fortune. For everyday trips to the grocery store, the park and walks to pre-school? Cute sweatpants, a tank top with a shelf-bra (my boobs ached and I couldn’t stand to have anything touch them… and the universe scrimped big-time in the chest area, so I was able to do without a bra… lucky me…), a bright and happy-colored tee-shirt layered over the tank and sneakers. And then for an event that called for a little more effort? I slipped off the sweatpants, threw on my jeans and changed my shoes.
I didn’t shop as much. I just didn’t. I bought what I knew would fit the bill in the beginning, and that was that. I headed out to TJ Maxx and discovered velour sweatpants that were cute, fit well and were inexpensive. I bought some in a size larger then I normally wear. In several different colors. And I wore them throughout my entire pregnancy. And then I invested in a great pair of pregnancy jeans. And although they were ridiculously over-priced and I knew I was only going to be wearing them for 9 months, I did a cost-per-wear breakdown in my head and realized that they were so going to be worth it. Because any place that I had to go where my beloved sweats were not going to be appropriate, I was going to wear my hot new designer pregnancy jeans. Those jeans? At the end of my pregnancy? They walked out of my closet and begged to be put out of their misery.
And in addition, I bought a slew of new shirts - on sale - from C&C California. Gorgeous colors in the softest cotton that just got better and better with each wash. I again bought one size larger then I normally wear and they worked for me my entire pregnancy. Actually, I even wore them beyond my pregnancy, in that weird stage where you still look pregnant. And the check-out girl at the Petsmart will ask you when you are due? And you will say “three days ago. That’s when I had my baby. Three days ago. Thanks for asking.” And then, you will walk out of the store, mutter “bitch” under your breath and cry.
And for those rare occasions when I wanted a little more “oomph,” I found some cute and trendy tops in the Junior Department at Target. Of course, you knew it had to be Target, right? And since Junior’s sizing is fairly small, I went up to a size large or extra-large so I could guarantee enough fabric to cover my expanding belly. And paired with my designer maternity jeans, cute ballet flats, pretty earrings and a chic little clutch, date-night with my husband was a success. No standing in my closet, screaming about having nothing to wear. Once I was dressed, you would never have known I was pregnant. Mmmm… that’s not true. At about 3 weeks into my pregnancy, I was already doing the duck waddle. But I looked cute doing it, so there.
Anyway… the most important thing for me during my second pregnancy, which was a tough one, was also being able to comfortably deal with Pea. She was coming up on The Terrible Twos and was quite the handful. I was sick, exhausted and busy. Non-stop. And I just could not be bothered with anything that wasn’t completely comfortable. I found what would work for me. What would feel good to put on in the morning, when I wasn’t feeling so good. What was going to stand up to multiple washing machine cycles in a week, sometimes even in a day. Something that wasn’t going to devastate me if it got stained and had to be tossed.
But I am human. This is me, twelve days before Coco joined us. I was still trying. Actually, it was the very last day that I was trying. And that belly? It had a mind of it’s own. And I am pretty sure that the day following the one on which this picture was taken found me in one of my husband’s flannel shirts. And that would be exactly what I wore for the next 11 days…
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We have TiVo. Actually, we have several TiVos. Okay, we have one in every room. And it’s not that we watch a lot of television, because we don’t. But once you’ve had TiVo, you cannot go back. You just cannot. I have no idea what stations correlate to what channels any more, or what day and time that programs are on. No joke. We get to watch what we want when we want.
But the real reason I’m loving those awesome little machines right now? Kids. Kids like to watch TV. And in our house? We let them. Not a lot. But, still. We are not one of those households who will proclaim, “TV? Children? Not in our home.” I grew up watching TV. So did my husband. And we are, I like to think, okay. We turned out okay. And besides, almost every show out now that is geared towards children has some redeeming educational value to it. It’s not the same old “Tom & Jerry” from my youth.
So it seems now that most of the programs scheduled on our TiVo are shows like “Caillou,” and the occasional “Sesame Street.” Oh, and let’s not forget “Dora the Explorer.” She is an integral part of Pea’s life right now. So much so that I know I’ve written passionately about Dora before. And so I was really excited when the editor of the Smart Television Alliance newsletter asked me if I’d be interested in writing a guest post about children’s programming. Of course, I was. And, as you can guess, it was about none other then my little friend “Dora…”
You should check out the Smart Television Alliance. I think it’s a great idea. I subscribe to the newsletter. I read the newsletter. I want to stay on top of what goes on in my home where television entertainment is concerned, and this is a great way to do it.
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My husband found this local “mom’s group” that was having a new member social on Saturday. Kids were invited. He suggested that I attend. I resisted. I’m not good at this stuff. But… I sent in my RSVP. Because I’d like to have friends in my new community. But then I worried all night about what I was going to wear. And what would my girls wear? Would the other moms be nice? Friendly? Would I be nervous? Like first-date nervous? How much make-up should I wear? Should I wear earrings? Or is that trying too hard?
Ugh.
Seriously, why so much anxiety? One of the main reasons we moved here was to be surrounded by people who are like-minded. People who enjoy what we enjoy. Value what we value. So…
I went to sleep and paid the whole thing no more mind.
Woke up, went about our schedule, dressed as I would normally dress. Dressed the girls in what they’d normally wear. Got in the car and headed out.
We were the first people there. Good. It’s much less intimidating to be there first, watching all of the other nervous moms enter then to be one of the other nervous moms.
And you know what? These women were nice. Really, really nice. And like-minded, just as I suspected. And we had a blast.
Coco crawled around and patted the murals on the wall at our local library, which is where the event was hosted. And Pea? She could make friends with a tree stump. She engaged other children. They chased one another up and down the steps. She ate pineapple and drank Capri Sun (two!) and painted pictures with these cool little markers that had lids that were permanently attached. So no throwing out dried out markers because it never occurred to Pea to place the cap back on. Clever? Insanely so!
And me? I made a new friend. A mommy friend. And we’re getting together this week. With our kids. To have fun. I can’t wait.
I’m the first to admit that making new friends as a mom has not been easy for me. In Fort Worth, I never found my place. And I blame that on no one but myself. I always knew that we were just passing through, that we were not going to be there for the long haul, and so I closed myself off. I figured, why bother? I’m just going to leave anyway. And on top of that, my social personality is an interesting dichotomy. On the one hand, I am something of a social butterfly. But on the other hand? I am shy, which often translates to stuck-up. Which I am not. But… you can see how that can be assumed, right? Standing off by myself, not talking to anyone. Hmm. What a snot. But I am not.
But now, here we are. My social calendar is filling up. I have a date for cocktails tomorrow night with the friend of a mutual friend. She and her business partner are meeting me at a local place for appetizers and drinks. And later in the week? A play-date with my new mommy friend. Not bad for two months, right?
But… what am I going to wear tomorrow night for cocktails?
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