For those of you who've been following on my IG, you may be aware that I've been going through it a bit (ok, a lot) these past few days. I'm currently in San Jose because K has the kids for the next couple of days, and being with my girls seemed like a better idea than being alone. I know I'm being opaque, but it's simply because I'm not ready to write about what's been going on. I will when I can, though.
Couch rehab in progress
A few important points, before we begin:
- I have always wanted a caramel-leather couch.
- I cannot afford a caramel-leather couch.
- I enjoy having a white couch, in theory.
- I do not enjoy having a white couch in practice.
Now. Recall the Ikea couch I bought shortly after I moved to LA? The one I was so excited about for a minute, before I realized that the words "white" and "couch" should never, ever go together when a house is inhabited by a) children, b) animals, and c) me?
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?").
Our old (old, old) living room, 2009.
Several lifetimes ago (by my count), I wrote my first of what turned out to be hundreds of posts that loosely fall into the "Diary" category - the missives about parenting, about anxiety, about divorce that I've posted here over the years. This first one, though, was about something a little different. A little more...tactile.
It was about my living room. The living room that I shared with Kendrick (and Lucy, and then later on Virgil and our infant son) when we lived on the Upper East Side. It was a wild, messy mix of hand-me-downs from my parents, pieces we'd found discarded on the street and fixed up with varying degrees of success, and the occasional element of inexplicable drama (chalkboard fridge! graffiti-covered chest of drawers! insane bird wallpaper!).
Totally casual magazine-reading outfit (dress by Cleobella)
On Friday afternoon, I arrived at Francesca's house for a little kid-free staycation only to find her triumphantly reducing some apricots to make a pork chop sauce. "I just invented this dish!" she declared. "It's SO DELICIOUS!"
We exclaimed over and over about the particular combination of flavors - how unexpected! how delightful! - and snapped a couple of pics, because clearly I would need to post about this unexpectedly delightful new dish.