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.)
Sirena & The Sea Kimono My Sunglasses & Bathing Suit Knit Shorts
Every time Francesca or I visit each other, one of us makes out like a bandit. Last time it was me, what with the Alaia heels and the Jimmy Choo boots and the Mulberry Alexa bag, and this time it was Francesca: she inherited a DKNY suit and crop top I love but never wore, a Juicy Couture leopard miniskirt that makes her look like she's on vacation in Positano in 1986 (this is a good thing), and a grey wool cape that we discovered at TJ Maxx last summer and that really should have gone home with her in the first place.
(Have I mentioned how fun it is to swap clothes with your friends?)
When I was growing up, New York City bagels were a "thing." You just couldn't get anything even approximating one once you left the boundaries of the city. People continue to act like they're still a thing, but by now Noah's and Einstein's and similar chains have made their way across the country, and while they're not anywhere near as good as an H&H Bagel straight out of the oven (I used to live a couple of blocks from the factory and walk over for a fresh bagel with cream cheese and lox on cold mornings, and oh my godddd), they're certainly acceptable. Even delicious.
But still: not the same. And since I don't have a solid bagel place anywhere within a twenty-minute driving range, I just don't really eat them very much anymore. This is obviously a shame.
Then my friend Alisa told me that she makes her own bagels. I mean...who does that? That is an insane thing to do. (I actually consider any bread-making an insane thing to do, since - as you may recall - I am oh, so very bad at it.) So she said she'd show me how she does it, using a recipe from Sophisticated Gourmet, and now...well, ok, I'm not going to make these myself, because I am wayyyyy too lazy and impatient for a recipe that involves yeast and waiting. But anytime someone wants to make them for me, I'll be right there, cream cheese in hand.
I would like my table to look like this, please.
I'm on a big redecorating kick, as you might be able to tell. First there was the exterior makeover, and then the kitchen makeover, and then the backyard makeover, and then there was the kitchen island/bar addition (I'm STILL waiting on barstools for this, and will definitely post about once I get the stools in, because I ENDED UP MAKING THE BAR MYSELF AND IT'S AWESOME).
And then I decided every single plant in my home needed to be moved to another location, and then I replaced my wood coffee table with a glass one, and then I started getting weird about artfully arranging books on top of it...and now I'm trying to figure out what to do with the console I bought to make the kitchen/dining room not feel horribly unbalanced once the new island/bar thing was in.
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.)
Santa Cruz, CA
I know this is hard to believe, coming from someone who posts pictures of themselves in various outfits on the (semi) regular, but I don't shop for clothing a lot. I shop for stuff for the house, oh yes (too much, probably), but I've spent the past year or so gradually whittling down my closet so it holds only the things I *actually* wear, as opposed to things I think I may want to wear someday.
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.
So here’s something no one likes to talk about: hair loss in women.
I know it’s pretty common - everyone’s hair follicles shrink as they age, making your hair
thinner, and my family has a history of hair loss, so there’s a hereditary component there. I also know it’s nothing to be embarrassed about (seriously, why?), but still. It feels embarrassing. Unfeminine, or something.
And I suspect that if I feel that way, there are plenty of you who are experiencing something similar and feel that way too, and I’ve found few things whisk away embarrassment more readily than just talking about whatever the issue may be. Because when you talk about a problem, you can get ahead of it.
Over the past few years -starting around the same time I started this website, actually - I’ve noticed my hair becoming thinner. There were bouts of lush gorgeousness - thank you, pregnancies one and two - but increasingly, I’m noticing that my hair just isn’t the same as it used to be, and every so often I see a photo taken from an angle that makes my jaw drop, because that cannot possibly be my head.
Ohhhhh fine, I'll show you one.
