It's 9PM on July 4th. My son is running up and down the street with my husband, watching our neighbors set off illegal fireworks while my daughter sleeps next to me on the couch, passed out fully naked in front of Nick Jr. because 12 straight hours of hot dogs and chocolate chip cookies and swimming exhausted her to the point where not even a brand-new episode of Paw Patrol could keep her eyes open.

I thought a lot about America today. I had a client who wanted me to post about what makes me proud to be an American, and it took me awhile to answer. I didn't even know if I wanted to answer the question, because when I think about my country, "pride" isn't the first word that comes to mind at the moment.

Then I got to thinking about the first time I was embarrassed to say I was American. George W. Bush was president, and I was doing a semester at University College London. I wanted to hide my face in my hands every time someone said the President's name. Sometimes I just told people I was from Canada, so they didn't automatically assume I was a jerk.

Oh hi undereye "freckles" (age spots). (I kind of like them.) 

My summertime face: SK-II Facial Treatment Essence + Neova SPF 40 Tinted Sunscreen + Glossier Cloud Paint (in Dusk), Boy Brow (in Blonde), & Rose Balm Dot Com. (And eyelash extensions. Don't worry; those are not mine.)

I had never heard of this "Privacy Pop" thing before it showed up in my Facebook feed, but now I think it might be the most genius invention ever. It's a pop-up bed tent that fits standard-sized mattresses (from toddler to king): it keeps out light out during naps, creates private spaces in dorms and shared bedrooms, and can be used for sleepovers, camping, whatever. GENIUS.

This is what adulting looks like in my world.

Wondering what grand sartorial statement to make this July 4 weekend (beyond nails jauntily painted in shades of red, white, and blue, of course)? Problem solved: our Adulting sweatshirt - you know, your favorite sweatshirt in your closet? - is now available as a tank top. And not just any tank top...the best tank top. Elise and I tried a whole bunch of different cuts and fabrics, and found one that is soft and ever-so-slightly slouchy in all the right places, meaning the muffin-top-concealing ones. (Visible bra straps not included, but obviously recommended.)

Note: this style runs a touch big - I usually wear a medium in tops, but am a small in this one because the armholes are a little oversized (meaning that the tank is extremely summer-friendly, but also that you'll probably want to wear a bralet or bathing suit top underneath regardless of which size you choose).

Here is me alone, because I was too shy to ask for a photo with Richard.

Cool, so I now officially have a HUGE crush on Richard Branson. (It's ok: Kendrick knows, and I think he has a huge crush on Richard Branson, too.) I guess I need to do some catching up on my Virgin lore, because I hadn't heard the story of how he started his airline before, and it's a doozy: he got bumped off of a flight on his way to see - and I quote - "a lovely lady friend," and was so annoyed that he hired a plane, wrote "Virgin Airlines, Flights $39" on a blackboard and wandered around signing up all the other passengers who had been bumped...and then called Boeing the next day to inquire about purchasing a used 747.

THAT IS SO BADASS.