Business in the front...
I own a skort. (I know this may be painful for you to hear. I'm sorry.)
It's not my fault, exactly - it's just that I love the idea of a skirt, but almost never actually wear one because a) it's hard for me to find one that flatters my swizzle sticks, and b) Although my underwear is actually pretty cute nowadays (thank you Gap Breathe), let's skip having the neighborhood see it, shall we? (Related: I trip a lot.)
This picture has so many things I love in it. First, my still-cuddle-aged son (always cuddle with meeeeeeee). Second, my Crocs sandals that still - yes, STILL - are my go-tos, like fifty thousand years after I first announced that they were perfect. Third, that completely glamorous Shop Strands beach towel, which was a gift from my completely glamorous friend Audrey. And finally, that bathing suit: it's by Summersalt (hee), and has little mesh cutout panels and a low back, and is suuuuuper flattering (it also comes in black if white suits aren't your thing).
On my lips every day this summer: Eos lip balm in Fresh Grapefruit (with SPF 30).
They probably have toddlers at home. (Female Dragonflies Fake Death To Avoid Males Harassing Them For Sex, via Newsweek.)
In my defense, she was technically tall enough - the extremely disinterested teenager in charge of the massive piece of machinery that would be dropping my offspring from enormous heights said so - and she insisted she wanted to go on this ride. And yes, she was POSITIVE.
Oops.
My children have officially entered a picky phase. But their version of pickiness is so bizarre and selective: they will happily put whatever slimy/raw/completely insane piece of food I offer them - oysters, grilled octopus tentacles, salmon roe, you name it - directly into their mouths (PLEASE look at the pics at the bottom of this post, because omgggg), but drink a glass of milk?
Abso-freaking-lutely NOT.
My son won’t drink milk at all. Like, not a single drop of the stuff has touched his lips since the day he gave up drinking from a bottle. My daughter will drink it, but only if it is on top of cereal, and in a bowl that either my husband or myself are at that moment trying to eat from, because when she sees us eating something she realizes that she must eat it herself RIGHT NOW.
Image via
Five years after every other blogger on the planet decided to own a fiddle leaf fig, I decided I wanted to own one, too. (I am nothing if not consistent in my late-to-the-game-ness.)
Remember the kitchen island that I bought? The one I needed your advice on stools for? It arrived, and I put it together...and then I decided that I hated it (too bulky for the space; totally not barstool-friendly thanks to the shelves that I totally neglected to consider; too dark of a tabletop for the room). And sold it. And then I searched online for the kind of table I wanted, couldn't find it, and decided to just go to Lowe's and buy a whole bunch of plumbing pipes and make one myself.
