Decor

Current Obsession: Nipomo Hand-Woven Blankets

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I discovered Nipomo's blankets at the MTHR retreat in Sonoma last weekend...and now I want to fill my house (and my Christmas gift lists) with them. They're gorgeous. And hand-woven. And come with (also hand-made) leather carrying straps, in case you love yours so much you feel the need to take it with you everywhere.

The woman who designs the patterns and color ways, Liz Clark, was one of the vendors during the Makers Pop-Up Shop on Sunday, and...you've heard the term "flying off the racks"? These blankets flew. (Liz's mom is the one who makes the leather straps, which is obviously wonderful.) I bought one as a gift for a friend, but am kiiiiind of wishing I'd picked up a couple more, because not only are they spectacularly pretty and unique, they're also crazy-versatile - you can pop them on top of a rug pad and layer them on your floor, use them as beach blankets or picnic blankets, toss them over your bed or the back of a couch...whatever.

DIARY

Where Is The Love

A reader made this. I feel silly about how much it means to me.

But there you go. 

I realized yesterday that I have become a parody; an actual walking, talking movie character. "The New Divorcee In The Cul-de-Sac."

I am Cher in Mermaids, dancing with my kids in the kitchen while the rice burns on the stove. I scrape off the black parts, and we sit down on the floor in the living room and eat with plastic forks. I am grateful they can't hear my heart pounding.

Last night, a new neighbor of mine came over with a basket of pumpkin muffins; I was on the phone with a client when the doorbell rang, and while I ushered her in with one hand, the other clapped over the mouthpiece - sorry, sorry, no no it's fine, come in! - I could see myself as she saw me: disheveled in my boxer shorts and t-shirt, with no bra and a messy bun, cats twining around my legs and kids wanting another Fruit Roll-Up yelling from the kitchen. She mentioned that the pumpkin muffins were made with applesauce instead of oil, in case I was a calorie-counter or healthy eater or some such. No no, I said, I'm currently on the Divorce Diet of Diet Coke and sadness. I could use some muffins.

Entertaining

Everything You Need For A Truly Epic Halloween

Here is why I feel okay about the fact that I will be putting in something akin to "zero" effort re: my son's birthday party this year:

Because this was what I did last year, and he deemed it "okay. Not very spooky though."

So I think it safe to say we're dealing with a tough customer. And my feeling is, you know: y'all got a trampoline a week ago. You're welcome. (I will be making a spooky cake, of course, but the rest of the festivities will involve takeout Chinese and plastic eyeballs stuck on top of supermarket cupcakes, and it will be great, because I will be sane and he will be on a trampoline, and there you have it.)

DIARY

The Impostor

Where I am, currently.

I've given a few talks over the years - at conferences and such. I know how to do it by now; I've (mostly) gotten over my stage fright, and have a bit of a formula going.

I start with the basic bio, make a few self-deprecating jokes about The Actress Years, and talk about what it was like starting a blog-as-business back in the Dark Ages. I tick off a list of experiences that my site has led to - shows, books, etc. It all makes me sound pretty successful, and pretty together, and at least passably like the kind of person who should be giving A Talk.

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DIY

Your Favorite New DIY Scalp Mask

I was extremely not into the concept of rubbing oils into my scalp. I mean, wouldn't that make it...oily? I had visions of that time in high school when I tried one of those olive oil/mayonnaise hair masks (mmhmm, sure did) and suffered the consequences for a cool week.

This scalp treatment - which promotes scalp health and hair growth, and also leaves your hair feeling like angel wings - is a whoooole different beast, and you have to try it. My hair has never, ever, ever been this soft (and said softness has been commented on by three separate people who had no very good reason to lie to me, so: corroborated).

DIARY

Tiny Little Things

Getting there.

Next to my bed, there is a white nightstand, on top of which sits a glass lamp, a stack of US Weeklys that I'll probably never get around to reading, and a half-empty La Croix can. It's exactly the same assortment of stuff that sat on my nightstand a week ago, with one little difference: the outlets aren't loose, so I don't have to jam the nightstand up against the light plug to hold it into the wall.

It's a tiny thing.

DIARY

Did It

I am fairly certain that I lived several lifetimes in the past twenty-four hours. I'm writing this from my living room floor, sitting on a sleeping bag and using an empty cable box as a desk. I just slayed a spider the size of a walnut, and am drinking tap water out of an empty CVS earplug container, because I forgot to bring cups and there is no way I am driving over to Target until I return that damn trailer, because backing up a trailer in a Target parking lot sounds like a bad idea for anyone, and especially someone who just drove seven hours with two furious cats and a comatose dog, and then "slept" (didn't sleep) on a bed-in-a-box mattress on the floor.

Solid parking form.

DIARY

Pieces Of My Life

Skirt | Shoes | Blouse | Sunglasses

Yesterday afternoon, I sat in my lawyer's office with a huge stack of papers in front of me. I signed, flipped. Signed again. Flipped again. I did this until I'd reached the bottom of the stack, then handed them over, and all of a sudden it hit me:

Wait. I asked her. Was that the thing that people in movies are always refusing to sign and crying about? And usually the person crying and not wanting to sign but signing anyway is played by Diane Keaton?

Eat

Oh Dear. It’s Sugar Month.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year, according to my children: Sugar Month. Yes yes, Halloween is technically one day, but that little detail appears to have escaped my two sugar monsters, who are under the impression that the second those first leaves fall, it’s all-chocolate, all-the-time. (I blame grocery stores; can we PLEASE put those ten-pound snack-size assortment bags on shelves beyond the reach of a four-year-old? …Please?)

Herein lies the problem: When children know that candy is (allegedly) on the menu, they’re not super interested in anything else, and especially not in coming inside because dinner is ready. No, they’re very, very busy hiding on the front porch with the trick-or-treat buckets that they pulled out of storage sometime in August and filled with pilfered munchies, thinking that Mom doesn’t know what they’re up to. (Spoiler: Mom knows everything.) 

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