Magic Makers

My kids, enjoying the Moncton sunshine

I love my Canadian family so. much. It's been nearly impossible to get up here - New Brunswick, where I am now - for a few years, because flights from California to the East Coast of Canada are both epically long and epically expensive. But it's just been too long, and so my mom and I decided to make it happen.

Now I'm here, in Moncton, sitting at my Aunt Jo-Anne's dining room table while my Aunt Trudy reads to my son and my mom pours a glass of wine at the kitchen counter. It's been too long, but apparently that doesn't matter; this place is as familiar to me as the bedroom I grew up in. So many years later, everything is somehow still the same - except now it's my children running through the grass I ran through almost four decades ago, dodging bees and trailing bubbles. I've moved on to the grown-ups table, where I sit now, and it feels like the conversation we're having on this cloudy afternoon is the same one that's been happening all along, for centuries, in my family and others.

Before & After Renovations

The Alexandrite Accent

alexandrite green jade wall paint

The very best thing about my house: all the lightness and brightness. It makes life as a blogger who routinely photographs herself and her surroundings much, much easier.

In other words: I love me some white walls. But I also love the idea of finding small, meaningful places to add color - at the end of a hallway; as a backdrop in the master bedroom; in a bathroom or office. And the more I lived with the office in my house, the more I realized it could use an update. A face-lift, if you will.

Before I continue: This is a rental house, so to answer your question, yes, I asked the owners for permission to paint. Before I even moved in, I talked to them about how important it is to me to be able to play around with a house and put my own unique stamp on it, and they were super down, which made me even more excited about living here. Because even with a rental, my feeling is…you know, you live there. There are reasons to put effort into a house that go beyond property value.


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.  

Shop My Favorites

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?").


Let Me Blow Your Mind: Mobile Homes In Malibu

Here's Betsey, just chilling in her mobile home in Malibu, being perfect in every way.

Like everyone else who was born in the '80s, I have a lot of feelings about Betsey Johnson, and all of them are magical. I wore one of her dresses to my very first school dance - and then to a significant proportion of the subsequent ones, because they were the BEST. And of course Betsey's legacy goes way beyond fashion - she's iconic. She cartwheels down runways, for god's sake.

I love her.


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" 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.


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.



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.

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