While You Were Sleeping

Among my children’s less-than-lovely qualities: they treat breakfast time as if they are sitting in a diner with a thirty-page menu, and I am their chef, server, and dishwasher (who is, of course, also tasked with getting them dressed and washed and brushed and out the door by 8:35 on the dot with whatever toy absolutely must be carried to school and then carried back home with me, because toys aren't allowed in school but no one seems to have internalized that fact).

One of them would like triple-berry pancakes with a side of bacon (extra crispy), and for the other only house-baked muffins and hand-churned cream will do (if you could just zest that fresh lemon real quick it'd be much appreciated, mama). And all of these things must be on the table right. Now. (I am kidding, obviously, but only a little. Seriously, they are SO SPECIFIC.)

I can't do it. NO ONE could do it.


It Took A Few Decades, But I (Finally) Tried Falafel

comparison of different meal preparation delivery services

Pictured: Noritake Dinnerware (click here for my curated collection)

I'm not a person who eats falafel. Which is weird, because I'm also a person who grew up in New York City, and falafel is definitely among the most consumed foodstuffs (foodstuffs!) within the five boroughs. I've never eaten falafel mostly because I'm not entirely certain what it is, apart from having a vague notion that it is spicy (do not like) and involves pita bread (which, you know: meh). Also chickpeas, to me, are really just a thing that makes salads look sadder, and my only serious interaction with them involved my ex-boyfriend eating a whole bunch, turning into a chipmunk, and almost dying (true story).

So what I've always understood falafel to be is, in a nutshell, "Pita Filled With Spicy Things That Might Make You Die." My desire to learn more has always sort of stopped at that point.

Makeup & Beauty

Just Like Mama

This post was created in collaboration with Eucerin Baby. The content and opinions expressed are my own.

My children inherited a lot of nice things from me. My son has my oversized smile, which makes me happy, and my daughter has my…oh, let’s just call it my “passion” (for many things, but mostly for getting my way). One not-so-nice thing they both appear to have inherited: my alligator skin, which I’ve been moaning about on RG for years and years.

My son’s dryness always seemed tied to the weather - during the dry winter months, his cheeks developed bright-red, flaky patches that only seemed to finally disappear for good once we moved to California - but my daughter is more like me, in that the dryness is all over her body, and while it’s worse during the winter, it’s really there all the time. I’ve even started to notice signs of eczema on her calves and the backs of her arms.


Carnival Cruisin’: A Cruise Virgin’s Review

The Pro Portrait Studio was clearly money well spent.

I have never been on a cruise. This is mostly, I think, because I grew up with parents who - based on literally zero first-hand experience - were absolutely positive that cruises were terrible in every way. And so I, too, spent more than three decades believing in the depths of my soul that cruises were, indeed, terrible, and swore that I would never waste my hard-earned money on one. And then one day a few months ago, a friend of mine explained cruises to me in the following way:

“They’re like Club Med,” she said. “But on a boat.”


Hello, Gorgeous

This is cereal that tastes (and looks) like a s'more.

While I was in LA, four boxes the approximate size of small vehicles arrived on Francesca's doorstep. They were filled with cereal - specifically Post's new cereals, OREO® O’s, HONEY MAID® S’mores, NUTTER BUTTER®, and CHIPS AHOY!®, which I was taste-testing and photographing for a sponsored Instagram. (This post, despite all those legally-required ® symbols -  is not part of any campaign; it is organic content in the very purest of ways, as in I want to eat and look at and think about and roll around in these cereals every day, all of the time.)

Francesca was far less excited about the boxes than I was.


Why HELLO There

Well HELLO there. Long time no see.

I’d like to say that I was all zen and “well, there’s nothing I can do about the total and utter absence of communication with the outside, Internet-having world” that I probably should have expected to have for the past few days - being, you know, in the MIDDLE OF THE OCEAN - but nope: I was a lunatic about it, and spent a minimum of two hours every day wandering aimlessly around the ship and riding glass elevators up and down from the bar at the bottom of the ship to the bar at the top of the ship, desperately seeking a spot that would let me do anything at all other than watch the rainbow wheel of death take another spin around my screen. Every time I saw a person whose WiFi appeared to be working, I hated them, even if they were a sweet old grandma.

I tried to be all chilled-out and it’s good to get off the grid; I’m on vacation!, I swear - but every time I got even a whisper of service all it did was let me see tiny glimpses of things like important client emails, or contractor updates, or massive Anthropologie sale alerts (kidding, kidding; Anthropologie’s sales are never massive). So I’d see these glimpses and become vaguely aware of their existence…and then, like the devil himself, the Oceanic Internet would SNATCH THEM AWAY.


Peaceing Out For A Mo’

Funny story: you know yesterday’s post? The not-very-long one that doesn’t even include the links it’s supposed to and almost certainly has weird typos or formatting issues (I wouldn’t know; a little blue line that enjoys sticking at the 17% mark appears whenever I try to look at it, and one thing I am REALLY sick of looking at is a little blue line that is stuck at the 17% mark).

It took me THREE DAYS to get it up.

I am assuming that somewhere in Cabo San Lucas there is internet, largely because Jennifer Aniston spends a lot of time here and I’d imagine she probably needs to check her email every once and awhile just to see whether she got richer somehow). But there is no internet here, on my ship. (I paid for internet on my ship. I think the effort required for it to dock overwhelmed its senses, and it can no longer handle additional requests.)

So, in the service of my sanity (and assuming nothing miraculous transpires in the Internet-having category over the next couple of days), let’s consider me the metaphorical equivalent of the photo of my children buried in the sand that you can see on my instagram, but that I cannot post here because Cabo Problems.


A Tiny Little Evolution

I hadn’t been planning to visit Brian at Body Electric on my next trip down to LA, but I'd also been hoping that I might be pregnant on my next trip down to LA. And you can't pierce your ears when you're pregnant, so the plan was to put it off for awhile - say, a year or so. Then I found out I wasn't, and wasn't going to be anytime soon - if ever, honestly - and finding this out coincided with a trip down to Los Angeles to so I could focus on finishing up our next book and also just be with Francesca while both of us take a minute to deal with some Big Life Things.

So I booked an appointment and went: all by myself, in the middle of the day. I took my time getting ready that morning; I curled my hair and put on an outfit I liked. Instead of coming in with a plan, I just showed up. Brian and I talked abut our lives for a bit - the good and the bad, but mostly the weirdness of these past few months - and when it came time to discuss what I was there for I just told him to do whatever he wanted.

This is what he did.