Be Still

It's a funny double life we bloggers lead. On the one manicured hand, frequent posting and checking in online keeps us a part of this Invisible Internet Friends community; on the other, if we don't take enough time away from our laptops and cameras, we don't have much real life experience to write about - and, um, possibly more importantly - nor can we enjoy that "real life" much if we constantly feel the tug of an electronic leash.

It's something I've struggled with lately - yes, it's true, I don't only wrestle with deeply superficial questions as "Should I buy those shoes?" (Answer: I did) - and an excellent point raised by Invisible Internet Friends Hopsy and Erin in response to that blogging community post. How to indulge my little online hobby here and stay in touch with our online family without letting it sneak into the time I want and need to be taking care of my real-life one?

Because I love nothing more than setting up impossible expectations for myself, this week - the same one  in which I vowed to be a kinder, more responsive citizen of the internet - I also vowed to close my laptop and step away from the iPhone more during the daytime hours when Master P isn't napping. Some overlap is both inevitable and enjoyable, of course. After all, part of the reason this post-child Pretty 2.0 exists is to have a family document of these times together . . . but, somehow, I want to be fully present while doing my SAHM thing too.

Master P and I were enjoying one such computer & camera-free evening the other night in our backyard, by which I mean to say that the wee CEO was in full-fledged, Caps Lock'ed "YOU MUST PAY ATTENTION TO ME NOW NOW NOW BECAUSE I WILL NOSE-DIVE OFF THIS PATIO CHAIR!" mode. The skies clouded over while a brisk wind blew in, threatening rain. Master P paused from his chair leaping to point at the sky, then ambled over to sit in my lap and take it all in. We sat for a spell, a rare occasion in the life of a toddler and toddler mama, and just listened to the leaves rustling.

I don't know where it came from - a recent service? a post from one of you? - but in that stillness the Psalm "Be still. . ." came to mind. No cameras, no laptops, just us, in wonder. I might have missed it had I been distracted Tweeting or trying to get a picture of it. Instead, it was just us, just the right balance, being still.

Would that I had some stirring conclusion or words of great wisdom for you about this, but . . . nope, I'm still here just trying to find the right balance while eating way more candy corn than nature intended. Way. Speaking of:

This photo was (obviously) not taken during the time described; observant readers will note that one of those ships on Master P's romper is actually a candy corn. Yes, he gets the very occasional bite of candy; feel free to send the Internet Parenting Police over at your earliest convenience.

Pretty Gets a Face-Lift

I'm thrilled to announce that I've undergone the digital knife, thanks to the supremely talented Marina of Penny Lane Designs. Yes, you there reading this on Google Reader, feel free to click through and admire this nip/tucked new Pretty.

Over the next day or so I'll be busy tinkering around with cosmetic tweaks here and there as well as adding a Facebook page where . . . uh, I dunno . . . mystical wonders beyond your wildest dreams will occur? In any event, I've heard from some who prefer to read while logged into Mark Zuckerberg's magical kingdom of scary privacy violations, so hopefully this will make that easier; I'll also post photos & some other goodies over there.

These concessions to progress aside, I'll also be trying to live up to my word and catch up on my old-school responding to comments and reading your brilliance. Apparently I will not be living up to my pledge of only posting stuff I deem worthwhile, as evidenced by this banal housekeeping post. Ahem.

I'd love any thoughts and suggestions you have on the design - and yes, that is an attempt to wrangle free advice out of you. Before you say anything, I know, I know - more Colin Firth. With love to the Anonymous Husband, I'm on it.

Things You Shouldn't Let the Neighbors See

Let me explain.

Master P and I are now regulars at our local grocery store, kind of how I used to be at my post-work happy hour spot except infinitely more boring. Anywhoodle, the butcher came running up to us the other day to say hello & offer my wee CEO, renowned fan of balloons, the nearest one. The Anonymous Husband & I giggled at the time but didn't think much of how others might view a young (old) couple strolling around the store with a "SALE" display attached to their toddler.

I just want to clarify - as I just did to our nervous babysitter, who kindly pretended that this was all normal - that, temped as I may be given the discipline challenges we've been having here at Pretty HQ, Master P is not in fact for sale. Not today, at any rate. I may, however, print this photo & throw it in that baby book I'm allegedly keeping up-to-date just for safekeeping or until he reaches adolescence . . .

Learning How to Discipline Toddlers aka Chaos Theory

*Important, Special Note: the book discussed below was purchased by me & is not in any way a solicited nor sponsored placement blah blah blah, etc.*

Having learned the hard way that one - ok, *I* - cannot cram for a baby as one did for the Bar exam, I resolved not to buy umpty-million toddler parenting books as I did for the infant stage. Surprisingly, I've actually stuck to this resolution, if only because I'm so busy preventing Master P from sofa surfing that I have no time to read them all, let alone meticulously highlight and take notes on them*.

*Yes, I wish I was kidding about that. Yes, I believe there are some other Legally Blonde types reading this & nodding in silent, sticky-noted understanding. 

It was that first incident of sofa surfing, in which my wee CEO paused only to show me the devilish gleam in his eye before catapulting himself headfirst off the couch, where I realized I might need to read something about rule setting. You might think this would be an intuitive thing, but "Try not to kill yourself!" and "You will never, ever inherit Mommy's handbag collection if you keep this up!" are surprisingly unpersuasive with the toddler set.

So I ordered this book on the recommendation of friends and, after a brief scan, began to implement its discipline philosophy of encouraging critical thinking versus barking out a set of "no" based orders. "No, do not put your toys in the dryer!" becomes, "Uh-oh! If you put your toys in the dryer they might get hurt. Do you want your toys to get hurt or not get hurt?" and so on:

Master P's latest trick is "helping" me with household chores like laundry; this usually includes his dropping a toy, himself, or both into whatever it is I'm doing.

In theory, this mode of discipline appeals to this recovering lawyer. As a child, I was a champion tantrum-thrower who never did well with totalitarian regimes - aka "my family" - telling me what to do "because I said so", and the Anonymous Husband was the classic "Why? Why? Why?" kid. It's a wonder we ended up lawyers, isn't it? In any event, it seems inevitable that our progeny will be, shall we say, more amenable to a discipline style that gives him a feeling - if not always the reality - of control over his own decision making. 

In practice, however, this has lead to some ridiculous exchanges here at Pretty HQ of late, including:

- "Uh-oh! When you fly face first off of the patio chair, that means you could break your face. Do you want to break your face or not break your face?"

- "Uh-oh! When you try to climb into the oven, it makes mommy sad. Do you want to make Mommy sad or not make Mommy sad? Mommy doesn't much care for cleaning the oven..."

Apparently we're to pull off these question and answer sessions with a straight face and without employing sarcasm which is . .  . an unlikely event here at Pretty HQ. Very.

I'm still figuring out which parts of this work for our family; sarcasm is the coin of our realm, obviously, and there are some "OHMIGOD GET THE HELL OFF THE COFFEE TABLE NOW NOW NOW!!!" moments that just come with having a toddler. I'll just continue to try my best figuring this all out and keep as many toys out of the spin cycle as I'm able.

Any toddler discipline books or schools of thought you've liked?

The "I Don't Know How She Does It" Thing, In a Good Way

***Important, Special Note: thank you for your thoughtful feedback on my kum-bay-yah call to kindness. I'm slowly working my way through your comments, responding as I'm able, but in the meantime please know how much I appreciate your thoughts - well, except for you, real-life friend "Whitericebryce", whose comment re: farts I will politely ignore & allow to linger there just like a. . . um .  . .***


Last week was a rough one here at Pretty HQ, with Master P suffering from a cold and cutting a new tooth. A certain someone else was feeling mighty sorry for herself for having to stay home to deal with the crabby result. Irony of ironies, I'd considered myself a homebody before having a child; of course, now that my job is to stay at home, I find my sanity does best when Master P & I depart our abode at least once a day, something we of course try to avoid when the wee CEO is ailing & potentially contagious.

So by the time my playgroup's dinner date rolled around last Thursday, my self-pity and I flew out the door, desperate for some adult conversation - no, not that type of "adult conversation", Anonymous Husband - and the chance to wear something other than the Mom Uniform. I wondered what we as a group would have to discuss, having only ever met previously for daytime playdates with children in tow, but any concerns there were outweighed by my need to Just Get Out Already.

Though my playgroup largely consists of stay-at-home-moms, we have some working moms who meet up with us too; we're a jumble of professions, past and present, as well as parenting philosophies. On paper, it shouldn't work, but it does. And so it was at this dinner I was seated near a few fellow stay-at-homes as well as a working attorney.

Take the ladies away from their kids and give them a bottle of wine, and we talked about - our kids. Of course we did, but at least this was over wine & not half-distracted as one of us removed our toddler from atop the Venetian blinds. As we chatted about trips to the doctor and swapped labor & delivery stories, the choice to stay at home came up as well. We listened to our working dinner companion's tales of doing a mother's work on top of her attorney job, and she indulged us as we talked about our days at home with alternatively-delightful-or-teething one year olds.

What came next was so strange, but - pinky swear - it happened. The four of us grew quiet and looked around the table as we all uttered something along the lines of, "I don't know how you do it." "No, I don't know how *you* do it - you have the hard job." I promise this happened spontaneously, with not a hint of the condescension the "What do you *do* all day?" types sometimes bring to these sorts of discussions.

Thing is, we were all right. The working mom and the stay-at-homes both have difficult jobs, none more so than the other, and I'm so glad I have a strong group of women in both camps to remind me of that. In a week where I was struggling to do my SAHM job well, selfishly missing the personal time my old life afforded me, it was also nice to have the validation from someone working in my former world that, the stay-at-home parenting thing is challenging too.

Despite what the Internet Parenting Police may have you believe, this peaceful co-existence between the working in and outside the home mothers has been my norm to date. I've had exactly one woman - an attorney mother of two - inform me that my decision to stay home was a baffling waste of time. Yeah, that made for an intriguing company Christmas party, but otherwise, I've experienced nothing but support from the Mommy Mafia, working members and otherwise. Yes, really.

Postscript - Master P is on the mend, the (expletive) tooth is in already, I've beaten my self-pity into submission with sufficient Autumn Mix, and we're out & about once again. Amen.

A Post About, Um, Posting: A Saturday Morning Soapbox

I don't usually take to my keyboard to discuss State of the Blog housekeeping stuff - presumably you're logging on here to read my thoughts on overpriced handbags, and not the writing process that gets them here - but no one reads these things on Saturdays anyways, right? *taps microphone*

I intentionally took a day "off" of my irregular regular posting schedule yesterday to chew on the blog frustration I've felt lately. The suspicion that I'd been writing posts from routine versus inspiration. That I was paying more attention to my number of readers than the quality of my writing. That I'd been reading posts elsewhere written more for marketing than entertainment or informative purposes. That unanswered comments and Tweets I'd left others had fallen into a black hole of indifference:

Worse, recent posts from you & you & you suggest that a number of you have recently had negative experiences, from hurt feelings to unbelievable deceptions, as a result of detailing your lives online. People being people, there's inevitably going to be some nastiness, both here and In Real Life. There will always be the trolls who read us simply to mock, if not worse, but watching Invisible Internet Friends go through the gauntlet has me worried. It's the risk we take in doing this online diary stuff - if we didn't want the attention, we'd be journaling at home - but between reading those posts and the flood of feedback from that Tweet above, I started to think I wasn't alone in my recent disillusionment. Have we - more to the point, have *I* - gotten off-base from the point of all of this?

I started this site lo these three years ago out of frustration. Isolated in a job where I largely worked alone and in a new town where I hadn't yet made friends, this blog and, later, Twitter, helped me to feel connected when I wasn't quite there yet in my real life. The comments I left with others, and the responses and return comments I received, were a lifeline. It also gave me a creative writing outlet, a welcome counterpoint to the excruciatingly dull dry, technical writing of my lawyerly day job. The sheer joy I had in trying to cobble together just the right words - emphasis on trying - was a release I hadn't even realized I'd needed. Oh, did I need it.

One baby, one blogging break, and three years later, I still find that sense of connectedness and release from my time reading your online brilliance and plagiarizing it here - mostly. It's just that the occasional ugliness - my own particularly - gets to me more. I miss those early days of community, back when it was more about the back and forth of comments and less about which blogs were "popular" and how to make yourself into a marketable "brand" (which, like "moist", should just be banned as a word).

Pointing the finger at others is neither Pretty nor productive, so instead I'm going to pledge to do the following:

- I want to do a better job of responding to reader comments and checking out your blogs. Unfortunately I can't read all of the blogs I'd like to, but since you're doing me the huge honor of reading my drivel, I'd like to check out your inspired words..  Leave me a comment with your site and, better yet, make sure if you're commenting using your Blogger profile that it has your email address and/or site linked to it.

- I want to write on topics I feel strongly about only when I feel I have something worthwhile to say about them. I struggle with this because it's only through the daily discipline of writing that I, on rare occasion, come up with a post I feel is worthy. I also enjoy checking in with many of you who write daily & can maintain a high quality at that pace. I'm not at all sure that I can do the same, so I may save more posts in the "drafts" folder until they're fully cooked.

- I'll try to mix up the "stuff", more material-driven posts with those of more substance - what little I have, that is. I'll still write the occasional frequent post about handbags I can't afford; I recognize that those aren't everyone's cup of tea, but they are mine - sometimes.

- I'll endeavor not to take it personally when someone never responds to my comments or Tweets. We're all busy people and can't always take the time to reciprocate; I'm very much as case in point here. Plus, this online stuff is a bit like dating at times - we find someone who intrigues us, put feelers out, and sometimes a person just isn't into the other or loses interest, no insult intended. We move on and find others who are interested.

- I will give others the benefit of the doubt. My better self recognizes that 99% of us are doing our best here; my lesser one percent gets irritated when I see what looks like secret blog marketing - despite Federal Trade Commission guidelines and good manners - and cliquishness. Most of us are striving to do good here, and I can simply stop reading the few who may not be.

I can't believe I, the alleged Ice Queen, am advocating something so cheerful here, but - let's be kind, darlings. Let's remember the fun of writing for its own sake, for connecting with one another when someone's writing - or handbag - matches up with your own makeup and nothing more.

*steps away from the caffeinated soapbox*

Monograms Gone Mainstream

***Important, Special Note: The products featured below appear here merely because I covet them; they were neither sponsored nor solicited placements in any way. If, say, Santa or a certain Anonymous Husband wanted to bankrupt us buy me them for a certain upcoming anniversary, that's a different story...hint hint...***

It was just one month ago that our High Priestess of Hollywood Prep, Reese Witherspoon, announced to the world, "My rule is, 'If it's not moving, monogram it.'" At the time, I thought it merely another example of how she & I are destined to be BFFs - I mean that in that least stalker-y way possible, of course - but in the past few weeks I've noticed retail proof that we may not be alone.

This isn't to say that, yet again, prep is back - we never left, dears, except to pop out to the corner store for a bit more Hendrick's - but rather that this signifier of it may be enjoying a resurgence. I'm in need of some Pretty imagery today, and so I'm listing my recent personalized favorites below.

Please note that this has absolutely no relation to my upcoming wedding anniversary nor Christmas list. Nope. None whatsoever. I mean, I'm just not that sort of Material Girl. It would be a shame if the Anonymous Husband happened upon this list. Truly. 

Ahem:

West Avenue Jewelry "Medium Monogram Necklace" 

This one has been making the blog rounds - including once before here at the Pretty - but I nearly tripped over my Millers when I spotted a hipster-ish concertgoer at ACL last week wearing this. I barely restrained myself from flashing her the secret Tory Burch gang sign - in this corner of Austin, prep is an underground, alternative lifestyle thing - and settled for admiring how fun an accessory this is in person.

Jonathan Adler "Monogram Tote"

Of course Adler knows his prep patterns and colors, but I'd no idea until recently he'd done a design-your-own take on the classic boat & tote.

Louis Vuitton "Personalized Speedy 35"

I've never been much of a Speedy girl - it's a great basic, but who wants a bag that everyone else is carrying a copy of - assuming I could afford one in the first place? Besides, to hijack another high end bag maker's phrase, my own initials are enough. I confess this colorfully monogrammed take has me reconsidering my personalized Goyard pipe dreams.

Am I imagining things? The monogram proliferation, that is, not the Reese/BFF thing, because that's obviously going to happen . . . 

"Remarried & Reproduced"

Ever feel like your friends make group decisions at some clandestine board meeting you weren't invited to - "Hey, everyone, let's all get married this summer!"? I'd thought I'd long ago reached the end of this marry-go-round (pun intended, with apologies), having attended countless showers and weddings and, sadly, witnessed a few divorces over the past few years. What else could be coming, death aside, that would be so simultaneously happy and damaging to my credit card statement?

It took a chat with an older, wiser friend over the weekend to realize that I've entered the "Remarry & Reproduce" next phase of Secret Group-Decision Making. Weddingpalooza 2011 will conclude with my having attended five weddings all together - all out-of-state - and those are just the ones we were able to attend. This number includes the second weddings of two dear friends, whose first weddings I attended just a few years back. This year I've also sent more adorably monogrammed first baby gifts than I care to remember - after having received a gazillion billion last year when, at age 32, I was one of the first of us to have a child.

This photo is apropos of absolutely nothing in this post except he's (1) cute; (2) mine; and (3) I felt like it.

Someone is VERY pleased with himself for figuring out how to sit up in Big Boy Chairs like this.

This isn't a complaint - ok, it is in regards to my American Express bill, which has seen more action this summer than Don Draper in a room full of secretaries - so much as an expression of bittersweet surprise. In all the Life Stage Planning stuff I got caught up in during my teens and 20s, I forgot that there might be both a first and second (and, possibly, additional) round of weddings, and that the kids may be coming not in our twenties but thirties and forties too. Not to wish divorce on any of us, of course, but - that the happy endings may not come in the tidy package we imagined as young 'uns, but that we might be so fortunate as to eventually get an eventual stab at them - this, darlings, gives me hope.

And so it goes on. That same friend - one of those who happened upon the right marriage the second time around - tells me that the Secret Board Meetings continue on throughout life. I may soon find myself in the "major career moves and second babies" phase, to be followed by the one she finds herself in now - the mixed bag of "graduations & life-threatening illness" era. I only ask that there be a "able to send my child to college and keep up all with these changes" phase in between...

What phase are you in? Am I missing something in between now & sending Master P off to OxforStanYaleHarvardbridge aka University of No Pressure?

The Smug Married Judges - Joint Social Media Accounts

Just like I was a perfect parent before I was an actual one, I had the Smug Married thing all figured out before I was actually married. Not to talk about m-o-n-e-y or worse, m-a-t-h, but I figured the equation of (Shared Bank Accounts + Shared Home + Shared Religious Beliefs) + (Spouse Not to Be Shared With Others) + (One Credit Card of My Very Own to Buy Shoes With) = Marital Harmony, more or less.

Of course, I now realize that there isn't one right answer to how people go about the business of being happily partnered. Though I'm occasionally tempted, I try not to judge those who go about the Smug Married business differently than the Anonymous Husband & me. Yes, really.

That being said, I did recently run across one thing that activated my Smug Married Smirk of Judgment - the joint marital email account. Yesterday I spent no less than fifteen minutes attempting to identify the sender of an email giving me detailed instructions about a new volunteer thingy - clearly I'd met this person, but when? Who was she - or he? By whom would my reply email be read? Most importantly - here comes the ugly Smirk - this person was clever enough to get online and send an email, but not so to establish their very own account? This only got me thinking more about the few joint Facebook accounts I've noticed, and I remain . . . confused.

[Imagine Smug Married Look of Judgment in lieu of post photo here; I apologize for the lack of visual splendor here today.]

Let me rush to state the obvious - yes, I'm somewhat traditional in many aspects, marriage included. I took my husband's last name without much consternation, and of course I'm happily home raising Master P and making a mess of this homemaker stuff. That being said, it would no more occur to me to share an email or Facebook account, or share my passwords for the same, with the AH than my wearing a fanny pack in public would.

One of my favorite aspects of this Smug Married gig is the trust factor. Call me naive, but I like being treated as someone who can be trusted to have some privacy, email included, and I believe/ sincerely hope I've married someone worthy of that respect too. I don't want to get into the business of monitoring his communications - why bother marrying someone when that is even a question? The AH & I are united as one, according to the tenets of our religion, yet we're two separate people too.

Should there come a time in which my Spouse Not to be Shared With Others theory is called into question, for example, I imagine the AH & I would quickly revisit this separate accounts thing. For now, however, surely building in some space to trust one another is a healthy thing - for us, at any rate.

In my dotage, I now try to ask the question, "Maybe I'm the weirdo here?" when I find myself in these Smirk of Judgment types of situations - so, am I the weirdo here for believing in individual online accounts? Is there a comfort in sharing accounts or passwords I'm overlooking? A generational thing?

Re-Learning Fun, Smug Mummy Style

*The following post is brought to you by the power of caffeine - not for the usual post-music-festival festive reasons, but because poor Master P kept us up all night with teething. If my non-sequiturs, painful puns & atrocious grammar are even worse than usual, blame Keurig. Er, I mean, I apologize.*

You know how parents are prone to issue dire warnings to those of us sans children about how kids are the Death of Fun ("DOF")? That, once we have kids (assuming we do), we'll never leave the house again, let alone make it to dinner on a whim or a 3-day music festival? I mostly brushed off those warnings, determining that having my 2.5 perfect, Ralph Lauren-style children outweighed any high-class concerns about the entertainment factor of parenting, but I admit the doomsayers got to me a bit.

I'm here to report that the Fun sky is not falling post-child - it sure is different, but the reports of Fun's death are greatly exaggerated. If your definition of happiness hinges on spontaneity, granted, then the arrival of a child may - ok, will - be a 7.5 pound bundle of Issues for you. Of course, gone are the days when, for example, the Anonymous Husband & I knew the latest trendy restaurants and actually had the ability to check them out on a moment's notice. Pulling off the ACL Festival this past weekend* was a strategic exercise over many months of babysitter and work scheduling.

*Mildly Relevant Sidebar: Should any music lovers accidentally happen upon this site, please go check out this remarkable New Orleans jazz band immediately; they were by far the best ACL show we saw.

I don't know if it's our advancing ages - thirty-three, for you party-poopers keeping track - or just having spent years in the "When will my (expletive) spouse / kids / picket fence get here already?" trenches, but I've found along with Master P's arrival our desire to be out doing DINK acts of spontaneous fun has subsided somewhat too. Even the scheduled fun has changed - for example, I found myself listening to a favorite act this past weekend, amongst the sweltering heat & crowds, and decided I wanted nothing more than to be at home with my wee darling Master P, the Anonymous Husband, and my air-conditioning instead. Almost entirely in that order, too. In fact, we skipped the 3rd day of the festival to do just that.

Bottom line, though I miss the ability to spontaneously schedule things like meeting a friend out for drinks, the joy of Master P really does outweigh that. I've nattered on about the importance of keeping date nights up Smug Married style, and the AH & I work to do just that, but we happily stay home as a family more too. I also look forward to when Master P is a bit older and we can bring him along to more events. I'm not saying it isn't hugely frustrating at times to lack control over one's schedule, particularly for us Type A Minuses, and that I don't miss traveling or dining out more, but it isn't the DOF either.

Plus, as Master P has grown older, I'm getting better at scheduling the grown-up fun. We have a solid rotation of babysitters now - turns out it actually does take a village -  and a more realistic expectation of how often we'll be able to do Date Night or travel stuff. It's something to look forward to now even more so than when we were cheerfully child-free. Though we have the inevitable cancellations now too, like today when I had to cancel lunch with a friend to stay home with Master P, the Fun will still be there. Pinky swear.

Beer, Hipster Watching & Other Hobbies I Enjoy

There is a time to pontificate, and a time to drink beer and people watch. With Austin City Limits kicking off here today, I'll let you guess which option I'm picking.

You know that one friend of yours who discovers every offbeat band, movie, or restaurant that no one's ever heard of until, eventually, everyone has? I'm not that friend, not even a little. Nevertheless, the painfully mainstream AH and I are off to pretend to enjoy obscure music and make fun of hipsters, as made possible by the kind Anonymous Grandmother coming to babysit for the weekend.

I snapped this on my morning stroll with Master P; you should have seen the Parenting Police looks of disdain from people who assumed I was taking him to ACL. My Icy Glare of Judgment has nothing on the PP.

I'll be over in the Twitterverse for the next couple of days complaining about These Kids Nowadays and how I can't hold my liquor anymore. Merry weekend.

When Life Is Running Behind Schedule

For as long as I can remember, I'd planned by age 25 to have a husband, 2 kids - one boy and one girl, please and thank you - and the "Father of the Bride" house, picket fence and all, plus a prestigious, wildly interesting career while somehow also staying at home with the kids. I'd flash my Mommy Mafia gang sign - in the shape of the Tory Burch logo, I'm guessing - as I swiftly took over the neighborhood playgroup & PTA with a snap of my always manicured fingers. You know, just the basics.

Via

Some of your recent Tweets & posts reminded me about how many of us Type As, past or present, get these Lofty Life Goals set in our minds and then are mystified when it doesn't all unfold on our timeline, if at all. How infuriating it is to pass whatever time stamp we've set for ourselves, especially when we see others reaching those goals before us.

I vividly recall the wistfulness I felt on my 25th birthday, which brought me not the Norman Rockwell future I'd envisioned but rather a deeply questionable boyfriend and an impending law school graduation with no job on the horizon, let alone a marriage, house or kids. Watching friends easily snap up great jobs or meet the One was an exercise in choking back my envy to feel properly excited for them. I was having a blast doing what twentysomething singletons do - travel, happy hour & dating the wrong people - but on some level I still wondered when that (expletive) picket fence was going to show up already.

I was off by 3 & 7 years on the marriage and kid respectively. I have a bamboo fence in Austin instead of the Southern California picket one I'd wanted, and I'm still waiting on the "Father of the Bride" house and wildly interesting career - but, at the ripe old age of thirty-three, I'm here.

My religious slip is showing with this, something this Episcopalian isn't entirely comfortable with, but - I look back and feel so grateful that it unfolded how it did, on a timeline not of my making but capital "H' His. I wasn't ready for the family I craved at the age I'd thought I'd wanted it. Wouldn't have appreciated my now husband had I not first dated the Messrs. Wrong and You Can't Be Serious. Would have balked at the staggering responsibility of mothering had I not partied and goofed around and traveled through my twenties.

I hasten to add that I don't think this marriage/kid/house timeline is something everyone does or should crave, nor do I think we should all sit back meekly while we wait for whatever higher power you do/n't believe in to make our goals possible. It is maddening to feel like you've fallen behind on your goals, whatever they may be, when you're doing everything you can think of & then some to get there - particularly when those around you seem to be achieving them without effort. Nothing I'm saying here is meant to gloss over that pain, which truly just, well, capital "S" Sucks..

My thought is simply this - sometimes - not always, but sometimes - it works out even better than you had hoped, or the Lofty Life Goal changes without your even having realized it. Besides, when you take the scenic route to the goals your peers have already achieved, you get the benefit of learning from the mistakes they make by being there first - and that, darlings, is a price beyond Tory Burch, gang signs & all.

A Coffee Shop of One's Own

I type this to you from temporary Pretty HQ at my local coffee shop, enjoying week 2 of that part-time nanny helping me out two mornings each week. I despise how Oprah this sounds, but - in skimming that post again, I can see how much I needed permission to take a few hours for myself each week; sometimes it's just the knowing you can do something even more than the doing itself that brings peace.

On top of that I had the guilt that came with admitting I needed a few hours away from my darling tot each week & having the luxury to do that. Pre-child me - the one who knew absolutely everything there was to know about parenting - would have been horrified by my eagerness to enlist childcare help.

I'm happy to report that the part of me not feeling Bad Mommy-ish about taking these two mornings is enjoying the (not Missoni) pants off of them. I confess that in the weeks prior to starting the sitter, I'd find myself sneaking off to check email or diddle around on posts here when I should have been 100% devoted to playing with Master P; my Invisible Internet Friend Meg spoke eloquently about this feeling a while back. I couldn't jam in all the cleaning house and showering and personal time and whatever else I needed to do during his daily naptime, so it had started leaking into my time with him.

Most importantly, Master P, my formerly independent tot who has recently been besieged by stranger & separation anxiety, adores his new sitter. When she arrives, he flaps his arms in the universal "WANT HUG NOW!" gesture at her & toddles off to play, barely concerned with my departure. It is simultaneously a relief & a miniature heartbreak, surely a sign of school drop-offs to come.

I won't say that I never take a phone call or check email now when I'm home with my boy, but in the weeks I've had some designated alone time I feel more able to devote my attention to him. I can close my laptop & more fully enjoy this nevermind that I was snapping photos while doing it:

I'm grateful to have these few hours to do not only the Smug Mummy necessities (gym, doctor, dry cleaning - like "Jersey Shore" minus the booze, sadly) but also to carve out a few minutes to waste in a coffee shop. Waste isn't the right word, really - just to be, rather. I imagine one day the right part-time job or other volunteering may take the place of this, but for now, it is just right.

For anyone else feeling guilt about needing a bit of your own Smug Mummy space, I hereby wave my magic wand - is Hermes making those yet? - and give you my SM seal of approval.

The Smug Mummy Shops: Missoni for Target

Let me begin by saying - YOU MUST CHILL (name that movie!), Target shoppers. If the mayhem I witness in-store and online this fine morning is any indication, we've all been flattened by the multicolored marketing juggernaut that is the Target / Missoni collaboration.

That being said, I'm as big a Mombie as anyone, and a longtime Missoni-loving-on-a-Target-budget one at that. And so it was that Master P & I sped off in the Trophy Wife Wagon this morning pre-music class to investigate. I returned those  ZARA tees, so I had some wiggle room in the Pretty budget for some Operation MILF tees and flats.

To be concise - for once - the collection reminded me of past Target/designer collaborations: (1) the clothing quality is iffy, especially considering the 20-30% markup over normal Target prices; yet (2) there are some darling shoes & housewares to be had:

Left: "Pasione Train Case" ($24.99) / Right: "Zig-Zag Pattern Flats" ($29.99); both available online as of this writing

(Train case interior)

I scored the above - the last of each at my Target, I should note, which was already picked over by 9 am. Target flats are my exception to my general "If you buy the best quality accessories you can afford, you can cheat a bit with the rest of your outfit" rule. I'm typing this now in flats from the Loeffler Randall collaboration from a few years back, and these knit Missonis look & feel similarly well made.

The clothing I saw, however, included some mumsy, unflattering cuts, flimsy materials and a few technicolor pairings at which even a diehard Missoni fan would raise a manicured brow. For the elevated collection prices, the quality just isn't there.

If you're simply chomping at your Gucci bit to get your hands on some of this collection, head to the shoe & housewares departments; my favorites of what I saw - what was left, that is - included these:

Left: Appetizer Plates ($2.99) / Zig Zag Rain Boots ($34.99) ; both available online as of this writing

Did anyone else brave the Target retail danger & live to tell the tale today?

The Mom Job Title

My titles tend to lag behind my Major Life Events. When I married, it took me about a year to sign checks (remember those?) & introduce myself Smug Married-style as "Melissa (Married Name)". It took years working as a general counsel before I had the courage to claim that title & not merely refer to myself as an "attorney" when asked that quintessential American small talk question, "What do you do?"

Since fate has a sense of humor, I predicted one year ago - correctly, as it turns out - that I'd have a difficult time trading in that "general counsel" job title for "stay-at-home mom" one. I don't miss the actual job for one hot second, having always preferred the idea of being attorney to the reality of it. As I've nattered on endlessly about, I consider myself incredibly lucky to be staying home with my wee darling Master P. However, I'm ashamed to admit that, as I'd suspected, my ego misses how my old job gave "good dinner party".

Speaking of self-absorption, whatever did we narcissists do before the iPhone 4 2-way camera thingy?

I'm further chagrined to confess that, when asked the "What do you do?" stuff, this is what slips out:

- "I'm a retired lawyer" or, if pressed for further details,
- "I'm just a stay-at-home mom now."

Yes, the "just" sneaks in there somehow, though of course it isn't a "just" sort of job. I adore this job & have wanted the position since forever, so why do I choke a bit on the title? Is it the slightly glazed over look I get from the singletons & DINKs, men especially, when they hear of my apparently less glamorous reality? What's with my throwing the lawyer thing out there, and why do I need people to acknowledge that I once had a fancy job?

Whatever the motivation, I finally remembered to pause this weekend when greeted with the inevitable question & responded, "I'm a stay-at-home-mom", no "just" or further explanations included. Maybe like breaking in a new pair of shoes, this too will take a few uncomfortable moments before it fits. I proudly own both, so why not wear them as such?

Anyone else experience this title hang-up, or have I once again raised navel-gazing self-absorption to unheard of heights (lows)?

Developing Your Signature Look

In my recent closet cleaning, I stumbled upon more than the fall '11 accessories - more on those in a bit - for which I'd originally been hunting:

Not to depress you or me, but this is what plane travel used to look like. Also, note the belted cardigan & pearls there to the left, topped with camel-hair coat.

Hats! Also, those suits would hold up style-wise today, handsome grandfather's to the far right included.

I have a point here for once aside from boring you with old family photos, I promise. Anywhoodle - the pictures I'd been neglecting in the back of my "Monica Closet" included these gems of my late grandmother, the one who (as long-time readers will recall) raised me along with my late grandfather. I'd always admired the strong signature look of her younger days - hair up! ladylike separates & lipstick on! ballet flats & matching bag at the ready! pearls somewhere! - but I'd never before connected her statement style to my own.

Though I don't aspire to copy anyone's look note-for-note, Grandmother included - her trademark blue eyeshadow especially - I'm recognizing her mark throughout my wardrobe. Let's look at those fall accessories I find myself coming back to again this season, both by budget necessity and by preference:

***Mildly Relevant Sidebar: note that I pair the otherwise summer-y pink with orange, gold, or navy to make it a more fall choice. Plus, I just like pink, and this is my blog. So there.***

Starting from left: Target skinny scarf; Michael Kors watch; Tory Burch flats; Marc by Marc Jacobs bag; Longchamp tote; Kenneth Jay Lane bangles; Charming Charlie's cocktail ring. Conspicuously still absent: Modalu "Pippa" Bag    

I've updated the bags this year, but otherwise these are old favorites I find myself returning to again and again: large sport watch, ballet flats (I've decided my potential logo-strumpet issue here is instead my look), and a cocktail jewelry piece that wouldn't feel out of place on a "Mad Men" set. No matter how large my wardrobe or the latest fashion at any given time, I gravitate towards one or two pieces in each of these categories - similar to a certain someone I used to know.

It's a comfort to find a bit of my style not in my "In Style" subscription but rather in my own family's past. Maybe there's an upside to closet cleaning after all . . . maybe . . .

Who's your signature look inspiration?

The Undomestic Goddess Confessions: "Monica Closet" Ed.

An irregular series in which I air my dirty domestic laundry - sometimes literally - in the hopes of .  . . of . . . I'm not exactly sure what, but it's likely one of two things: (a) publicly shaming myself into doing better wife- and mom-wise or (b) dragging y'all down with me into the anti-Martha morass.

Newton's Fifth Law of Physics specifies that there will be a designated location in any household, no matter how tidy, wherein all items the owner knoweth not what to do with shall be concealed.

Or something like that. Whether it be due to physics or a certain late 90s sitcom, I'm living proof of my theory that everyone has a secret spot in their home for stuffing, well, out-of-rotation stuff. I try to be tidy, am allergic to clutter, and somewhat OCD about my personal closet space, yet my "Monica Closet" in the guest room remains:

The overflowing contents include my wedding dress - as preserved for the Imaginary Future Daughter, who will surely want to wear it - as well as ancient riding trophies, posters I'm hoping the Anonymous Husband will forget we own so they can "disappear", a few fancy dresses, and . . . actually, I'm not sure. 3.5 years after moving into Pretty HQ, I can't get in there to find out what else lurks within.

This wouldn't be a problem if we didn't have the occasional houseguest who - wait for it - wants to actually use the guest bedroom closet. I know! I can't believe their presumption either, but since said guests are either related to or friends with us, I feel obligated to pretend to consider making it available.

It gets worse - within my Monica Closet lurks a pile of lovely old family photographs I've been given to scan & preserve, having recently inherited the unofficial family historian job. Nearly a year later, here they reside:

This fabulous photo is of my late grandmother, the one who taught me the importance of Good Shoes & Good Husbands, preferably in that order.

Faced with the damning evidence, I did what any responsible housewife & mother would do:

I know. I need to clean the Monica Closet already, but . . . but what if it's like liposuction, and the bad stuff goes away temporarily, only to return to some other part of the house in two months? Wouldn't it be against the laws of physics, or at the very least, seriously cut into my "Rachel Zoe" viewing time? It's just all too overwhelming.

Hence the Monica Closet remains for now, but the family photographs scanning & framing resumes today.  No, really. I mean it.

Care to share your own Monica Closet secret?

Operation MILF - Early Fall Fashion, Classics & ZARA Editions

*Important, Special Note: the products in this post were selected & paid for entirely by me, unfortunately. I'll always note when a sponsor has paid for or solicited a post or product placement.*

At the end of long, nap-free day of parenting yesterday, I found myself in desperate need of some mom inspiration - or "MILF-spiration" as it's known here. Having spent the day nervously watching Master P with the eye of an explosives expert, wondering when the inevitable sleep explosion would *finally* occur, I wished to forget the boogery, sleep free reality of my day and indulge in some idyllic mom & child moments for a spell. Thanks to my new favorite Tumblr - one of those sites you want to propose marriage to, or at least eternal BFF-ness, upon arrival - I got my fix:

                                                  Source: lessonsinlovely.tumblr.com via Melissa on Pinterest

                                                              Source: lessonsinlovely.tumblr.com via Melissa on Pinterest

                                                 Source: lessonsinlovely.tumblr.com via Melissa on Pinterest

Alas, today I awoke to my messy New Normal - if also a currently napping one, thank Neiman Marcus - and a closet badly beaten up by the past few months of full time toddlery. Enter ZARA taking their magnificent mass-market fashions online in the US today, and the forecast looked a bit more Jackie again, if a Jackie as clad in my more-realistic-with-kids version of budget boatneck tees & capri pants.

I discovered ZARA a decade ago, long before Kate / Catherine / Duchess / Whatever popularized the store here in the US. Before I go sounding too Smug Shopper about that, I confess that only happened because I was dating a questionable South American at the time, and we'd go shopping on trips abroad to visit his parents. Half the appeal was being able to drop into conversations - "What, this old thing? I just picked it up on my last trip to Caracas," - and the other half was that ZARA made clothes that were current & that I could afford on a student budget.

I'm well past my dating Latin douchelords phase - it's OK, Holly Golightly went through one of those too - but the ZARA habit has stuck. And so this morning, I happily hopped online to check out their online wares; though we do have a store here in Austin, thanks to Master P I much prefer shopping online *if* I can find a good free shipping/returns deal (ahem, J Crew), which ZARA is offering as of this writing.

In my new mom reality, shirts & pants take a beating, so I can rarely justify crying into my dry cleaning bill over a spit-up covered silk shirt. Hence I try to save money when it comes to buying those two items, knowing they're unlikely to last past a season, and put that money towards investing in better quality accessories (more on those tomorrow). Besides, I have a trip & a camera to budget for, so a high priced Fall '11 wardrobe isn't in my AmEx cards.

Please also note that today's temperature here is predicted to be 95 degrees, so we will not be speaking of fall fashions like wooly cardigans or delicious riding boots until I can bear to think of them.

Enter today's Operation MILF Early Fall via ZARA purchases, all still available as of this writing:

Left: Zip-Up Blouse ($49.90) / Right Skinny (!) Trousers (These don't look perilously skinny, so I'm trying) ($59.90)

Left: Knitted T-Shirt ($49.90) / T-Shirt with Cutwork Detailing ($25.90)  

Where are you finding your MILF-spiration lately?

The Smug Marrieds Jet-Set: Anniversary Trip to...

I know what you've been thinking.

You've been wild with anxiety, thinking, "OMG I cannot believe that Pretty left to wonder about where she & the Anonymous Husband are jet-setting off to for their fifth Smug Married anniversary. I mean, how are we to enjoy a long holiday weekend with such unbearable suspense?"

I apologize for causing you this unbearable agony and announce, without further travel planning procrastination ado, that the Pretties are headed this November for a long weekend in...

                                                            Source: google.com via Toni on Pinterest

                                           Source: google.com via Museumist on Pinterest

                                                                Source: google.com via Sam on Pinterest

                                           Source: towntoiles.com via Ashley on Pinterest

                                            Source: theberry.com via Sharon on Pinterest

Source: blessyoursweetheart.tumblr.com via Sharon on Pinterest

We went with majority reader opinion and, based largely on your terribly helpful advice, excitedly booked our trip to Charleston. We've sorted out our Historic District-based hotel, but I would very much appreciate any restaurant, shopping (of course), and sightseeing recommendations, either in the comments here or at my highly top secret email at ipickpretty AT gmail etc.


Again, my sincerest apologies for keeping you in such agonies. The staff - wherever they are - has been duly informed that such unkindness will not be tolerated.


Charleston restaurant/ shopping /sightseeing recommendations? 

***

PS - You know how I love a PS - many thanks to my Twitterati who gave me such helpful advice on buying a proper DSLR camera. We - as in, the Royal We - are trying to de-ghetto-fy the photography quality here, and the near unanimous consensus was to start with this Canon. I'm bargain hunting now & hoping to have one - and staff to train me on how to use it - secured by the time lovely Charleston rolls around ....

Happy Un-Labor Day

One year ago this weekend I resigned from my general counsel job to stay at home with Master P. I feel like I'm supposed to say that it was a difficult decision. Sure, there were parts of my New Normal I struggled to accept, not the least of which was losing my ego-boosting job title, and I've had my moments since when I've questioned the decision.

In the end,  however, every bit of me wanted to be here to see every bit of messy this grow up. I still do, truth be told:

The irony of this wonderful shot is that the Anonymous Husband took it yesterday when I wasn't actually home.

One year later, I can say this without reservation - it is a joy to finally be doing something I love, even on the days when it isn't.

One of my best friends, a fellow escapee lawyer turned stay-at-home-mom, and I have taken to wishing one another a Happy Un-Labor Day. That's a misnomer, of course - we would more accurately refer to it as "Re-Labor Day" or "More Labor Day" - but the sentiment remains the same. 

Happy Un-Labor Day, darlings. May your last day of seersucker'd summer be a fine one, and all that other sentimental clap-trap.

Lest you think this is one of those suspiciously ideal, "Look at my perfect child in monogrammed jon-jon!" posed shots, please note the battle wounds on Master P's darling face from his rumble with our rock garden. 

My Non-Accent Accent Vlog

Let the record reflect that I generally do not abide vlogs. I enjoy reading & writing, and I generally hop on the internet to read your brilliance & plagiarize it as best I can versus watching videos.

That being said, I'm hugely enjoying these accent vlogs started over at Jenna's Journey, particularly you Southerners with that dra-a-aaawl & Jersey-ites with that, well, Jersey who deny you have an accent at all. Kittens, *this* is what a non-accent accent sounds like, by way of a Southern California upbringing and some six years in Central Texas.

Please note in the comments not only my lack of an accent but also my striking resemblance to Grace Kelly neveryoumind the terrible roots. Also, remember back when I was an "anonymous" blogger who mostly talked about shoes instead of myself & my child? Me neither.

The vlog "rules":

The instructions are to say these words: 
Aunt, Route, Wash, Oil, Theater, Iron, Salmon, Caramel, Fire, Water, Sure, Data, Ruin, Crayon, Toilet, New Orleans, Pecan, Both, Again, Probably, Spitting image, Alabama, Lawyer, Coupon, Mayonnaise, Syrup, Pajamas, Caught

And answer these questions: 

·  What is it called when you throw toilet paper on a house?

·  What is the bug that when you touch it, it curls into a ball?

·  What is the bubbly carbonated drink called?

·  What do you call gym shoes?

·  What do you say to address a group of people?

·  What do you call the kind of spider that has an oval-shaped body and extremely long legs?

·  What do you call your grandparents?

·  What do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry groceries at the supermarket?

·  What do you call it when rain falls while the sun is shining?

·  What is the thing you change the TV channel with?