When I was a teenager, I more or less lived at the Salvation Army on West 46th Street. (As an aside, if you've never been, you MUST go if you ever find yourself in the city; it's four entire floors of some of the best thrifting anywhere on the planet - furniture included). In more recent years, I've pretty much put my love of thrift stores on ice, largely because one thing thrifting does require is time...and that just so happens to be a thing that small children aren't hugely interested in letting you have when you are doing something like shopping for things that aren't toys.

But here's a fun little factoid about thrift stores: If you find one in a fancy area, you GO. Because fancy people do things like give their old Gucci purses to Goodwill, because they can't be bothered to list them on TheRealReal (even though they should). So when a friend told me how spectacular the thrifting is over in Thousand Oaks - about twenty minutes away from me in the direction of the water, a.k.a. in the direction of much, much more expensive housing prices per square foot - I suddenly found myself Marie Kondo-ing my kids' rooms.

You know, because once I had all my bags filled with stuff to donate, I'd have to make my way over to the Thousand Oaks Goodwill. It's really the only responsible thing to do. And once I was there, I had to just pop in, just for a minute. (And just saying: Goodwill is a great organization that does tons and tons to support local communities; they're worth both your donations and your shopping dollars.)

Me at yesterday's Noritake shoot (I ate my props after taking this pic). 

I learned about three things over the past twenty-four hours, and you should know about all of them. (Two of them I learned about from Francesca; #creditwhereitsdue.)

OK, so yesterday at about 4PM I had just wrapped the shoot above, and was happily ensconced in my office (my bed), wearing a chic little outfit (ancient pajamas) and eating a heart-healthy snack (leftover Buttercrunch Christmas Popcorn), when Francesca called and told me that I needed to come over. I protested that I was busy (watching Netflix). And besides, it was RAINING. People who live in Los Angeles do not drive to friends' places when it rains; they barricade themselves in their houses and panic.

Kind of insane just-us-three camping trip, Summer 2018

So here's an odd little post-divorce conundrum that hadn't occurred to me until just recently: How does one best go about having a "family vacation"? See, the kids have Spring Break coming up in April, and since they've gone on two trips with Kendrick recently I'd really like to take them somewhere special for the week (I know, that sounds competitive - and it is, a tiny bit, but also I'm finding myself craving that kind of magical time with them that seems to come with being out of your element).

But...what does one do, exactly? How do you vacation with kids when it's just you and them, without...I don't know...feeling like you're just spending the whole time herding cats? Or without feeling weird, being in a place that's very literally set up for the kind of family that you no longer technically are?

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.

Because sometimes it's fun to dream big.