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Away We Go

Flying with small children always involves a fairly stunning degree of preparation, but flying with small children when you are divorced from their father and no longer have the same name as them and are taking them out of the country? That requires some next-level ninja-ing, right there. 

I have SO. MANY. DOCUMENTS on me. Passports. Divorce papers. Original birth certificates. Notarized letters (one for each!) from Kendrick saying that yes, he knows I am taking them out of the country, and no, I am not kidnapping them. 

And yet something tells me that I have a border patrol situation in my future. Let’s just call it intuition. And a basic understanding of the concept of historical continuity.  

My Looks

My Look, Apparently

Hell's Kitchen, 2015

I think that I have, at long last, found my look. I mean, I've been wearing one version or another of it since 2015, but only recently have I realized that I should just commit to it and call it a day.

What is this look, you ask? It is a silky blouse and matching wide-leg pants, and so essentially amounts to wearing pajamas in public (always a solid life choice, IMO - I am at this very moment wearing actual pajamas even though it is noon on a Thursday, and if you're wondering whether I wore these actual pajamas to school drop-off this morning, the answer is "Have you met me?").

Home

Let Me Blow Your Mind: Mobile Homes In Malibu

CLICK HERE TO BROWSE ALL AVAILABLE LISTINGS IN PARADISE COVE & POINT DUME CLUB

When I first heard about Paradise Cove and Point Dume Club - both trailer parks cozied up right on the edge of Malibu's beaches - I was a little perplexed about the whole concept. People pay millions of dollars...for trailers? And I get that they're in Malibu, but...still. And then my friend, Ren Smith - who's the primary real estate agent for the park - showed me around and explained the whole deal to me. And now I get it, and would like my own trailer in Malibu, please and thank you.

Want to see all the mobile homes for sale there? Of courrrrrse you do. 

Lifestyle

A Break From Our Regularly Scheduled Programming To Talk About Love

I read an article over the weekend - a transcript of a podcast, to be specific - and it didn't just "blow my mind"...it might have actually changed my life.

In this episode, titled The True Hard Work of Love and Relationships, the philosopher Alain de Botton (who, you might recall, wrote that NY Times article 'Why You Will Marry the Wrong Person' that everyone and their mother emailed you back in 2016), presents the argument that we, as human beings, would be much saner and happier if we altered our view of love away from the dizzying, romantic whirlwind that ends (miraculously!) with marriage, and rather recognized that the real work of love "is not in the falling, but in what comes after."

Here's why I think this podcast floored me to the extent that it did: I've been thinking a lot, these past many months, about love, and how one goes about doing it again after a major trauma (like, say, a divorce). The last time I was in this place - by which I mean a place of being open to new love coming into my life - I was, in so many ways (most ways?), a child. I had next-to-no responsibilities to anyone but myself, which meant that I could approach a new relationship with an abandon that, to me, feels both recklessly naive...and also completely impossible to avoid, if what we're talking about is on the "true love" end of the spectrum.

Lifestyle

For The Dads

Father's Day, like every holiday that involves giving a gift to a man, is a tough one, especially if you've already given the man in your life the whiskey rocks that every gift guide on the planet recommends that you purchase.

And so I present to you: Gifts for Dads that have nothing to do with alcohol. Or golf.

 

DIARY

Just, Yes

Tarrytown, New York, with Dad on Friday

Something has been in the air these past few days, and I've been having one beautiful little experience after the other. So I thought I'd tell you about them.

It started on my flight to New York, where I currently am for my high school reunion (more on that in a mo'). The woman in front of me was traveling with her kids, and one of them - the baby - started fussing, and immediately the woman next to her said, "Oh, let me hold him," and then just...helped her. The whole way to JFK. I passed stray toys that I found at the bottom of my backpack to the older one through the crack in the seat, and the flight attendant brought extra snacks and helped fill bottles, and there we were: A miniature village of women at 36,000 feet.

Lifestyle

Links & Love & Stuff

Suuuuper in love with my daughter's Verloop pom-pom pillow and Mimish Himalayan faux fur beanbag (which HAS STORAGE IN IT). It appears the feeling is mutual.

Contemplating wearing this (with the matching pants) to my high school reunion next weekend. Y/N?

There are actual conspiracy theories about this influencer and I am SO HERE for the drama. (Twitter Is Going Wild After This Influencer With Over 2 Million Followers Couldn't Sell 36 T-Shirts, via Buzzfeed.)

DIARY

Tears And All

Last year, on my birthday, I wrote this - and I think that even though I didn't know it at the time, that moment very clearly marked the end of one thing, and the beginning of another.

This year, my birthday was - for lack of a better word - weird. It was my weekend with the kids, and a three-day weekend at that, so I came up with all sorts of grand plans. These, alas, ended up getting sidelined by a monster head cold, but on Saturday night I rallied, having planned a whole hibachi dinner-bowling fiesta for myself, the kids, Francesca, and my neighbor Margo and her daughters. And then, at 6PM, Francesca took one look at me getting ready to head out, all sniffles and patheticness, and suggested we take it down a notch.

Here's the part that got weird: By 6pm, I didn't actually want to go to the hibachi-bowling thing; I was sick and exhausted and half-asleep already. So when Francesca suggested we just do a low-key dinner somewhere nearby I immediately agreed...and then, just as immediately, started crying. Like, heaving.

Just A Little Encouragement

A New Era Has Begun

It occurred to me yesterday that I hadn't made a dancing video in awhile. Years, in fact. (The last one we made was in our old house, wearing full Risky Business attire, but I can't show it to you because YouTube took it down. Because apparently you can't just use Bob Seger tunes willy-nilly. Shame.)

That clearly had to be fixed.


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