From GC to Chief Trophy Wife: A Stay-At-Home Mom Reflects

Since the Anonymous Husband & I decided that I'd retire from my general counsel gig to be a stay-at-home mom, few are the moments in which I've questioned that decision. My general sanity, often, but the choice to parent Master P full time, even when wildly, teeth-gratingly exasperating, is one I've mostly embraced. I feel stupidly lucky to be able to do, if I'm being honest (for once).

Tonight, however, I tripped over one of those rare moments of doubt. After whipping up an actually tasty (as opposed to theoretically tasty, my usual M.O.) Italian dinner, I hunkered down - in my "Trophy Wife" apron, no less - to finish my personalized recipe binder project.

And here you thought I was kidding about the apron.

"Is this what I passed two Bar exams and learned all those pretentious Latin terms for?" I mused as I enclosed the last recipe, torn from some Smug Mummy "Cooking For Your Family Organically, Sustainably, and Taste-Free-Ly" magazine, in its little plastic tomb. "Next thing you know, I'll be ordering one of those Intergalactic Type-A Mom Organizer Agenda Uber-Schedules of Doom that Blogworld is all atwitter about again."

I paused to take another bite of said tasty dinner - believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are by this all-too-rare cooking result - and checked the video monitor, observing the slumbering Master P as I chewed on the thought. Am I OK with a life of cutesy aprons & insanely well-organized recipe binders?

The answer is yes - for now, at least. Should the need or career inspiration strike at a later date, the AH & I will revisit it then. In the meantime, I'll apply my Type A-Minus lawyering skills to keeping pediatrician appointments straight and accidentally cooking tasty meals; they're more related than you would think. And not to get too "I am woman, hear me roar" screechy about it, but I'm heartened and grateful to have the choice to decide what's right for my Ralph Lauren ad-style family, which may change at a later date, and which is not necessarily the same as what is right for yours, blah blah blah.

Either way, I'm keeping the apron. 

But Back to the (Rhymes with "Rabies"): A Smug Mummy First

Not that my crisis of shoe conscience isn't vitally important, but today we turn to one of our other main points of (also painfully relevant) interest. To review, our goals here at PK (post-kid) Pretty are twofold: (1) to figure out how to be Prettier Than Everyone Else; or (2) to prove that my offspring makes goal (1) unlikely, given that he's just the handsomest thing you can't buy at Neiman Marcus:

Here's the bit where you all comment on how irritatingly perfect he is, please and thank you.

Master P gave me a unicorns n' rainbows sort of first today, which has (mostly) forced all superficial wardrobe thoughts from my brain; therefore, I will force you to read about it too. You're welcome!

Ahem.

Anywhoodle - for the first time & in a sure sign of early Oxford acceptance, Master P toddled up to me today with book in hand - a Dr. Seuss, which as we all know is a mere step away from Dickens - and, via his new point n' grunt style of communication, made it abundantly clear that he wanted me to read the book to him. As I thumbed through those much-nibbled cardboard pages, he gazed at the book with what I will force myself to describe un-ironically as delight. Sheer, perfect delight.

Seriously. Y'all who don't love books go on and skip ahead to the next "Kardashian" re-run (not that I won't be watching too, but I'm sternly making a point here)(Ahem)(Parentheses), but for us capital "R" Readers - I can't adequately convey my own joy in that moment. Something along the lines of when my husband gave in to my abusiv... er, enthusiastic literacy campaign, times one squillion.

I will live to regret these words once Master P is an older toddler and enlists the "But just one more book, Mom!!!" going-to-sleep defense. And maybe I'm just in a bookish way this week, between the Goodreads joining and the hilarious re-read I can't put down, again, but - for now, this is a favorite Smug Mummy first.

Confessions of a Logo Whore

(*With apologies to my late grandmother, who is surely rolling her blue Estee Lauder'd eyes & tsk-tsking me from above for that title. Turns out "logophile" is already taken for a completely different, far more impressive issue.)

The first step in recovery is . . . opening your closet, right?

Exhibit A, People vs. Yuppie Footwear of America

I've suspected this addiction for a while. Joked that people would begin to think I've joined a footwear based cult. Made fun of others for flashy logo-wearing while telling myself that my own be-logo'd brand preference was somehow different.

You might be wondering - as one is likely to do here at the Pretty - where is she going with this? So you have a preference for a certain, not-inexpensive-but-within-your-budget-and-of-excellent-quality shoe brand; why not stick with a good thing? 

But. But - is displaying a flashy logo ever as simple as preference for the design? Though I adore Brand to Not Be Named's accessories quality & aesthetic, logo or otherwise - obvs - when I opened my closet this afternoon to a bit of spring summer cleaning, my first thought wasn't "Ooh, how much do I deeply love my growing BTNBN collection?"

Ok, that was my second thought, but my first was - sixth grade. It's not a place I'd return to voluntarily -or if paid, bribed, and/or threatened with certain death - but peering at my branded stuff reminded me of how I obsessively coveted and wore certain things that the Pretty girls in my grade were wearing. You know the girls; same story, different school. At mine, the Pretty girls were wearing Guess jeans, in all their peg-legged, logo'd (in)glory - remember that triangle? - and I just knew owning a pair would change my life.

It didn't, of course, but I did walk a bit taller the first day I swaggered into school wearing mine. The Pretty girls may not have noticed, but I felt the difference. Though I'd bought the jeans for them, I continued wearing them for me. However, were they worth whatever exorbitant price my long suffering family paid for them? I, well... hmm.

Am I no better than a sixth grader now, with my be-logo'd leanings? Which Pretty girls am I trying to impress*, especially now that I'm living in a city where shoes bearing a "CONSERVATIVES ARE THE SOULLESS BANE OF MY ECO-FRIENDLY EXISTENCE" logo would likely take me further socially?  Am I truly dressing for myself here, or driven by some Other?

*I'd ask whether I was trying to impress the Anonymous Husband, but of course that's silly because us women are actually dressing for one another, if not ourselves, a good 98.2% of the time.

Any help from the Pretty gallery out there? Suggestions for change? Or do I just embrace this as my trademark & ignore any sinister Guess jeans undertones?

Postscript to My Smug Mothery-ness Day

Lest you be concerned after yesterday that I've irretrievably turned the Trophy Wife Wagon onto Smug Mummy Expressway, allow me to confess how the rest of that potentially perfect day went post-, er, post:

3:30 pm - 5 pm / Arrive 40 minutes late to pool party. The one way to ensure your toddler will take a long nap is to make plans near the end of his usually short one.

5 pm - 6 pm / Endure howls of boredom from said toddler as we ran unavoidable post-party errands in the Trophy Wife Wagon.

6 pm - 8 pm / Mildly disgruntled play, dinnertime, and bedtime preparation

8 pm - 8:30 pm / Endure howls of protest as said toddler refused to go to sleep, despite considerable direct evidence suggesting state of exhaustion (mine & toddler's).

Because of course it did. Of course.

The next time I'm tempted to toot my own Smug Mummy horn, please refer me to this post. Also, prayer Xanax. Remind me to be grateful for the weensy bits of days I accidentally get right versus expecting the whole she-bang to go swimmingly. Thank you for understanding.

Getting the Hang of Things

Upon review, it appears that I check in here at least once per month merely to congratulate myself for figuring out one aspect or another of this Smug Mummy business. Today, I fear, is no exception.

I hear much talk about Mom Guilt, but I don't see much mention of Mom Self-Doubt, which is a crippling paralysis the likes of which I've not encountered since my first (ok, any) junior high dance. The squillion different decisions a new mom makes every day are usually fulfilling, but also often overwhelming.

So on the days when I feel I get some things right, I, um, like to take to the interwebs and brag about it? That doesn't sound right, and in fact this is one of the few times I'm not actually trying to puff myself up, emphasis on few.

No, today I'm merely expressing gratitude for a day in which I've got a good stay-at-home-mom schedule going, a dicey thing with ever-changing nap and eating schedules. Today - so far - things are happening in the vicinity of when & where I'd hoped. Wee darling Master P and I  walked with a friend & her newborn this morning, and after he wakes from his nap, we're off to swim party this afternoon. Sure, the house is a disaster, and I'm skipping the Operation MILF makeup/ outfit routine in order to take an illicit laptop break, under guise of "pool party casual"; nevertheless, on these days when our routine allows for socializing for child and mom alike, both of us seem the happier for it.

Speaking of happy, I continue to post this week in an attempt to forget my recent trip back to my perfect, super-Cali-fragi-listic homeland and the homesickness scenes like this encourage:

I'll never again take for granted 72 degrees & ability to play outside, in the afternoon, in summer. Wah-wah.

So if you'll forgive me today's Smug Mummy pat on the back, I promise to try and stop moaning on about missing home. Home is here in Texas too, and it's a good - if Death Hell Heat'ed - one.

Summer '11 Trends: A (Rose) Gold for the Rest of Us

Once upon a Nordstrom, ladies with a penchant for jewelry had two choices of metal - silver or yellow gold, and never the twain should meet. Much like Coke / Pepsi or Aniston / Jolie, you had to pick a team and stick with it; none of this mixing metals business. Those of us with a, shall we say, more English (read: pasty) complexion tended to side with Team Silver.

*Mildly Important Sidebar*: Since you were wondering, I'm definitely not writing this frilly fashion post in an attempt to distract myself from a case of painful homesickness. Nope. Because going home to Southern California in perfectly weathered July, leaving behind the Death Hell Heat of Texas, only to return one short week later to the still Death Hell Heat'ed Texas, was a completely brilliant plan. I also certainly, 100% am not missing my dear friends back there or the cheeseburgers Animal style.

Ahem. *End Mildly Important Sidebar*

But back to the accessories . . . rose gold, an intriguing alternative & complement to the Silver/Yellow Gold divide, popped up in Spring '11 fashion, and it's an ongoing trend I'm signing up for as part of my ongoing Operation MILF wardrobe updating:

Sunnies by Michael Kors here, Earrings by Nadri (Nordstrom) here

To this yuppie's eye, rose gold is more vintage, less "Goodfellas". A bit less flashy, but still dramatic when the situation calls for it. It looks good with a summer tan (or tan-in-a-can, more accurately here), but doesn't demand it like yellow gold does.

As part of my intrepid blog journalism / distracting self from missing homeland desperately, etc., I unearthed some other rose gold favorites:

Left: Tom Ford "Rickie" metal sunglasses here  / Right: Majolie Rose Quartz Egg Drop earrings here

Left: Michael Kors "Runway" grey mother-of-pearl watch here; Right: Fossil (who makes MK watches, BTW) rose gold chronograph bracelet watch here

Left: Diana Warner "NYC Tree of Life" necklace here; Right: West Avenue Jewelry "Script Monogram" earrings (available in rose gold here)

What do you think, darlings - any plans to hop on the rose gold train? To buy me a plane ticket home to California or, failing that, those Tom Ford sunnies? 

Travel with Young Toddlers, Or Things You Should Avoid

To call a trip involving wee toddlers a "vacation" is to misunderstand the term. "Working travel" or "less sleep & more labor than you do at home or anywhere else, ever" would be a more apt phrase.

Despite the Anonymous Husband being stuck on a deal for the entirety & darling Master P struggling to adapt to Pacific time, we had a glorious trip back to paradise, aka San Diego. If one must do working travel, one might as well do it while surrounded by good scenery & great friends.

Playing at a dear friend's house & finally adjusted to California time - the day before we left, naturally.

I'll be back in a few with more of my usual drivel. In the meantime, I'm working on a post to be delivered later this summer, after Master P & I take to the friendly skies a few more times, involving my best travel-with-young-infant advice:

1) Don't

2) If you must, pack half the clothes and twice the onboard snacks / diapers / drinks you think you'll need.

Off to go about the business of re-entry aka eating restorative dark chocolate ...

Pretty Postcards from Paradise (Subtitle: Alliteration Gone Wild)

Baby's first day at the beach. Lady Lunch & swim at La Jolla Beach & Tennis. I won't say that I had to be physically removed from the (pretty perfect) premises, but it was close. Ahem.

Gone Beachin'

Photo Credit: Flickr

Please direct any fan mail to the Pretty (and pretty imaginary, alas) beach residence. Bonus golf claps if you can ID the beach in question...

It's Friday I'm in Love: Shoes Ed.

His n' hers new shoes: his are cuter, but mine are running a close second...

Operation MILF - The "Natural" Date Night Look, Draft Ed.

Of the many kind, outrageous lies our significant others tells us, "I prefer how you look when you wake up first thing in the morning" must rank up there with that old chestnut, "No, those skinny jeans don't make your assets look fat" or "I watch Halle Berry movies for their cinematic splendor."

Knowing this "I like you without makeup!" thing to be a ruse - absent a minimum of makeup or a map, you can't locate my weensy eyes or cheekbones, let alone admire them - I've nonetheless fallen into a regular pattern of less-than-my-already-minimal spackle. On many Mom days, it's an absolute necessity - but I'm finding I've forgotten how to do a more pulled together look when a date night or Vegas trip arises.

Plus, there was that thing the AH noted a few months back - you know, back before Big Law Firm Life took over all his free time & we still did Smug Married-style date nights - when I was discussing the Mom-ouflage & he observed, "You know, not everything about your look needs to be practical Mom-stuff." Uh-oh.

(Also, I see his comment as implicit permission to resume buying wildly impractical shoes, which I will no longer link to here as the AH is apparently reading my drivel here again. Uh-oh indeed.)

Anywhoodle, I'm inspired to get my war paint together; let's call it the "natural" date night look to keep the spouses happy, though we'll know better. Sparrows & Sparkles, one of my favorite Invisible Internet Chic Mamas, pointed me in the direction of this Pixiwoo video which gives us mere mortals techniques & tips on the Kate / Catherine / Duchess (ie, my ideal "natural" pulled together face) look.

I should repeat here that I do not believe myself to be, nor do I desire to be, the Duchess of Cambridge. I've already had a job requiring pantyhose, and I've no desire to go there again. Not unless, say, a title & unlimited wardrobe budget were also part of the deal. That being said, girl knows how to get her "natural" spackle on:

And so, Master P's schedule permitting, I'm off to STOP READING RIGHT NOW ANONYMOUS HUSBAND NO REALLY I MEAN IT the mall to assemble my (still minimal, I promise!) war paint, with a few changes here & there to suit my (pasty, be-wrinkled) complexion. I've already obtained & love the bronzer, so so far, so Pretty.

**Edited to Add: Since posting this I've also tried the following products from above video & highly recommend: (1) Chanel Pro Lumiere Foundation in 20 (oil-free, semi-matte, blendable, gorgeous) and (2) Chanel Poudre Universelle in 20. Will update more as time & budget permit me to test more of these products.**

If only I could get (1) Big Law Firm Land to allow us a Date Night to debut my new spackle - er, I mean, to spend time with the AH; and (2) obtain my old-school Caboodle to house it in - remember those? Here's hoping Kate / Catherine / Duchess trots one out & gets the trend going again...

Any other date night look tutorial help? Suggestions for overcoming my CopyKate tendencies?

A Pretty 2nd 4th

You know those rare days that actually resemble the idyllic movie (the family friendly one, I should clarify) running through your head? Like something running on ABC Family, except funny & starring actors you've actually heard of? Yesterday morning was one of those here at Pretty HQ. Observe:

Also - I'm about to get all Norman Rockwell up in here. I apologize, but it cannot be helped. Consider yourself duly warned:

Anonymous Husband & Master P headed to our neighborhood 4th of July parade

If you haven't yet expired from the cheese factor here, let me add a bit more fromage - this was one of those mornings where all of my recent complaints melt away for a time, and I recall why it was I've always wanted a family (Pug included). Doting husband / father, marching about with our patriotically-clad neighbors, watching Master P take it all in .  . . yes.

Because this is me, the Pretty feature film didn't last long - alas, the hard-working Anonymous Husband had to go into work, and I ended up with the bug Master P had thoughtfully brought home the previous day. Of course.

It could have been worse, though - observe our first 4th with Master P, when he was shiny, new, and mightily pissed off (*sorry, late Grandmother! I was pearl-clutching as I typed that, pinky swear*) for much of the day about . . . something:

Same bib as above, different everything else. Praise Neiman Marcus.

Hope my American darlings amongst you had a happy, Hollywood-worthy 4th too.

This is a Test of the Emergency Uterine Broadcasting System

You people - the ones who were busy not telling me how some of us aren't cut out for that hellspawn newborn stuff - I blame you for this one too.

Yes, you.

You're the ones who see me at a party, learn that I'm a parent to a sparkly new 1 year old, and lead me straight off the small talk plank that all freshly minted moms - ok, most - ok, this one - dread, "So, when are you having your next kid?"

Short Answer: I'm inclined to ignore your question, Miss Judas. We've already covered this ground in my stirring State of the Uterus address; to sum up, my people will issue a press release the second my ladybits are occupied with issue (assuming if/when such a time happens). Look for my Bravo TV reality series, "From the Moment of Conception!" to follow immediately thereafter.

Long, Retired Lawer Answer: Dude. DUDE. It depends.

The AH & I pinky swore to discuss this topic once Master P turned one, having discussed before the possibility of having not just one but two Ralph Lauren ad-style children. We each have one sibling whom we enjoy most of the time & figured we might follow in two-child suit. Master P has since turned one . . . and, scene. Not a peep from either team.

The topic has been kicking around in my head, lo these two weeks since Master P's birthday. However, like a mental game of Whack-a-Mole, every time I begin to entertain the thought, NONONO MUST FIRST HAVE MORE SLEEP WINE TRAVEL GET BABY #1 POTTY TRAINED AND INTO PRESCHOOL FOR HIGHLY GIFTED & TALENTED TODDLERS IF NOT OXFORD CAPS LOCK PANIC pops up & squishes the thought with a definitive splat.

Ahem. So there's that.

Like we chit-chatted about in that baby hater post, I find myself relieved to be done with Master P's newborn stage. I feel vaguely guilty about that. However, if another baby could show up cooked Medium Well, so to about 7-8 postpartum months done, and look just like my husband and have all of his good qualities and none of my (many) bad ones, we'd be in baby #2 business yesterday.

Absent the stork making an appearance - or you nice people agreeing to raise spawn #2 through the newborn stage - I think I need a drink & a while. A few whiles, maybe.

The Pretty Pug, seen here hovering under the high chair waiting for Master P to begin his customary food flinging, is pro-baby #2 - or pro-baby #2 once we hit the dine-n-fling era, that is.

On the other (manicured) hand, I'm 33. I have PCOS to boot, so I don't take my old lady self & iffy ladybits for granted. We've discussed adoption - I was raised & unofficially adopted by my late, fabulous grandparents, so I particularly have a liking for this option - but I'm cognizant of keeping our, ya know, biological options open too.

To conclude, nosy small talk partygoers - we may try at some point! Or we may not! I have faulty ladybits that may factor in somehow! Um. Aren't you glad you asked!?!

Any advice, darlings, if you have more than 1 kid on how to time a second child (to the extent any of this is in our hands, that is?)

More importantly, what's the question asked at parties once you're definitively done having kids? Is colonoscopy chit-chat next, or do we do a few years in school board purgatory first?