Here is what I’m learning: If the baby skips his afternoon nap, he is an evening trainwreck. If the baby does not skip his afternoon nap, he is a nighttime trainwreck. Choose your own adventure. Either way, make brownies. You are aging, as is your body. Resist the temptation to be tormented by its progression;
In this questionnaire, so so so many of you asked that I share a list of the sites and blogs everyone else recommended. And so, in the spirit of spreading the love and shedding a spotlight on some well-known friends, here’s an unofficial list for you: 10 blogs you love to love. (Fun fact: I’ve
For all the areas of my life I claim minimalism (or, at least, a graceful version of the sort), my beauty drawer cannot accurately be included. What began as a teenager’s dopp kit carrying little more than waterproof mascara and acne concealer has, over the years, morphed into a full-blown arsenal for any skin “need”
I love grocery shopping. It’s always been my favorite place to shop (perhaps because it’s the only place I shop?). Forget Target; just point me to the nearest grocery store and set me free for an hour or two. Heaven. And while I’m fairly rigid with ingredient lists, I’ve found I’m all-too-often thwarted by healthy
You want inspiration. Insight. Advice, wisdom, a lifetime’s worth of perspective, and you want it served in one tidy spot to lap up in five minutes or less, no? You could try meditation. Prayer. Call a mentor, perhaps book an elusive five minutes with your therapist. Or you can sneak into your kid’s bedroom and
I haven’t been writing things down. There are so many things I want to write, so many thoughts I’m trying to catch in the kitchen while the potatoes brown, so many ideas that come while I’m rocking the baby. They come and they leave, and I’m left standing in the kitchen as the skillet begins
It happens every year, without fail. Around early December, Ken will peer at my phone on the kitchen counter and see dozens of incoming texts from my friends’ husbands. He’ll raise an eyebrow. Gift suggestions, I’ll say. For all of them?! he’ll ask. Yep. All of them. It’s what I do, I suppose. Some girlfriends
When your dad’s a photographer/filmmaker, you’re bound to pick up an interest sooner or later. It’s in the air, a synergy of moments and movements, of creating and curating, of noticing, of stillness, of shhhhh. The edit. — Can I have my own camera? she asks. Someday, I say, and I find myself asking Ken