Kendrick asked me the other day whether it's weird for me to live in a house that I don't own. He knew how important to me it was; the ability to work on a house and make it my own felt like...I don't know, like an intrinsic part of who I was. And the pride that I got from home ownership after many years of not thinking it was anywhere within the realm of possibility for me was enormous.
But you know what I said to him?
"Eh. I kind of love renting."
What pregnant people need are wipes, and diapers. Oh, and this book. But if they don't have children yet, they don't understand that really all they need are wipes and diapers. And if they do have children already, they might want a moment in their life that doesn't involve wipes and diapers.
So. Maybe consider giving them one of these things.
Kendrick and I fell in love on our third date. He'd stayed over at the house I shared with Francesca with a couple of bandmates after a show in Silverlake, and in the morning we put Lucy on her leash and walked over to the donut shop down the block to get breakfast for everyone. We held hands, and laughed at how weird Lucy is, and everything seemed very simple and clear.
Then he went off on tour, and eventually back to where he lived in New York, but in the six weeks that passed between when we met and when we got engaged, we talked constantly, of course - at odd hours, more often than not, because at that juncture in our lives neither of us was keeping a particularly normal schedule.
There was this one time when I called him super late at night (or super early in the morning, depending on how you look at it). I'd been out far too late at some club or another - these were my LA Party Girl days, when sleeping seemed optional. I should have gone straight to bed, obviously, but I felt anxious, almost panicked. Like at that moment I was the only person on the planet still awake. I wanted to talk to someone who made me happier than the people I'd just spent several hours having screamed non-conversations with over thumping club music, and so even though everything I'd learned about men told me not to - don't look needy! - I called him. He was asleep, of course - it was three hours later in New York - but he picked up the phone anyway.
Because sometimes it's fun to dream big.
I cannot tell you how many times I have triumphantly handed over a present to a friend's child, only to watch them open it and have the mom say "OH HOW GREAT IS THAT?!"...at which point the child informs me that um, he already has three of those.
This holiday season, when giving gifts to other people's children: Don't be me.
(These gifts also work for your own kids, obvi.)
This is not me.
The other day, I tried an aerial dance class at a studio near my house. I've been doing things like this lately - signing up for classes (dance, pottery, crochet) just because they sound fun. Because I want to, and because sometimes the kids are with their dad, and so I can. It was only me and one other woman in the class, and the other student had been dancing for a year, so I was a little embarrassed at just how bad I was clearly going to be. The first time I tried to kick my legs up I failed - obviously - and felt all graceless and vaguely elephantine, but even as I flailed there on the ring with my limbs sticking out in every direction, the other student and the instructor were standing there cheering for me. Actually cheering.
You're doing SO GREAT! You've got this!
Oh, holidays with relatives. So problematic. So fraught. So impossible to shop for. Instead of (yet another) ornament, I suggest the below.
Today, I thought I'd let my other half - you know, the one of us with better taste - go ahead and do my job for me.
The older I get, the more eclectic my desires become. I want things that are practical, and yet I still want things that are totally...not. Ergo, here are my very random holiday gifting suggestions. - Francesca
Is the significant male in your life all full up on flasks, hilarious golf socks, and those whiskey ice cube things that nobody ever actually uses? Could he use, perhaps, something that isn't underwear (although let's be real: all men, everywhere could use some new underwear)? Some suggestions, below.
Happy December, a.k.a. the month in which you *actually* shop for holiday gifts, despite the fact that your feed has been filled with gift guides since September. First up: Hostess Gifts That Aren't Soap, because while sure, these are excellent non-soap options for the next party you attend, they also work for kiiiind of everyone. Friend, neighbor, mom, in-law, office party Secret Santa thing: Done.
