My Tiger Mom Fail

Important, special note to the Cheerfully Child-Free crowd: I apologize that this site has turned into an excuse to post cutesty baby photos lately; I just haven't been feeling the "stuff" posts, but until I (inevitably) do so again please go admire the new Pippas (the bag, not the booty-in-waiting) here.

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I have an admission to make, one of which that I can't decide whether I should be Type-A Minus proud or embarrassed. Let's go with both: my wee CEO is already on preschool wait-lists and, wait for it, has been since he was in utero. That is to say, before we had any idea whatsoever of his personality, I waddled around a few schools, pregnantly pretending to be a responsible adult who has Important Thoughts about wee person education, and plunked down a few deposit checks. 

If you can believe it, that is apparently a normal thing here in my slice of overly educated, NPR-listening, Whole Foods-shopping Austin, where theoretically optional things like preschool aren't really.

Let me explain: some of the best advice I received in the wee CEO's early days - that I can recall, I should add, since that time is shrouded in a cloud of exhaustion and "WTF do I do with a newborn???" bewilderment -  was to find a group of like-minded new mothers. As I've mentioned before here, eventually I've been lucky enough to do just that, but I didn't meet them or have the benefit of that support group until after Master P's arrival - which resulted in things like pre-partum waddles around preschools pretending I knew how to parent a child, let alone select a school for him.

The "Where should I send my child to preschool?" chat broke out, as it tends to do, at our playgroup the other day, when I was reminded how happy I am to know these people. After discussing the merits of Montessori versus Waldorf versus, I dunno, letting children be children, one mom mentioned a local program that starts 2-year-olds on intensive Mandarin & Spanish lessons.

Blank stares abounded as I furtively looked from one mom to the other & thought to myself, "OK, I'm as big an education snob advocate as anyone, but at 2 years of age isn't my tot supposed to be doing things like learning how to play nicely with others?" I remained silent. "Will they think I'm strange if I want him to do big, impressive stuff like learning advanced calculus, but maybe not six months from now?"

"That's impressive," my friend continued, "I dunno, though - I want my kid bringing home the occasional finger-painting too, right?" I laughed and nodded in agreement, relieved. Yes, I do know.

So I may re-tour some preschools, less the hormones and the panic I had the first time around, armed with a bit more knowledge of Master P and what the AH & I want out of an early school experience for him. Sure, a good learning environment is a top priority, but so is a place where my boy will feel safe and adored and free to be a boisterous, ornament thieving toddler too.

I suspect this isn't the mindset a true Type A, Tiger Mom sort would encourage, but there you have it. Playing nicely with others is rightly up there with learning skillz on my list - and not a bad reminder for us here on the Interwebs, is it? 

Any advice for embarking on this preschool selection process? 

The Undomestic Goddess Confessions: Christmas Decor 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 three things: (a) publicly shaming myself into doing better wife- and mom-wise; (b) dragging y'all down with me into the anti-Martha morass; or (c) complaining for the sheer joy of it.

Because this will never be the blog you read only to feel ashamed that you have yet again failed to painstakingly hand-craft a papier-mache montage of the birth of Baby Jesus using organic free-range cage-free chicken or whatever.
***

O Christmas tree, o Christmas tree . . .

. . . how lovely are your naked-from-the-waist-down-thanks-to-the-toddler branches!

Stay tuned for my upcoming HGTV holiday special: "Christmas Decorating for the Under Two Set: Not Without My Stepladder".  . .

xoxo,
The Grinch Who Stole Half My Christmas Ornaments

Stockholm Syndrome, or Our New Thanksgiving Traditions

I think it was on my third plate of stuffing - 'tis the season to judge, so go right ahead, you Weight Watching wenches - that I realized this year marked my seventh celebrating with the Anonymous In-Laws. There's nothing remarkable in & of that itself, of course, but what struck me is how I've happily adapted many of their family traditions as my own, replacing their weird ones for those of my own (doubly weird) parents.

For starters, there's new food (eggplant parmesan = good) and a lack of others (no gravy = less good, potentially un-American), as well as a few other traditions new to me. With the addition of Master P and my wee darling niece to the festivities, other traditions have taken on more of a kid-friendly bent. Yes, if anyone's Spidey Sense is going off here along the lines of, "Hmm, she's totally going to make an awkward segue here into posting umpty million festive photos of Master P," golf claps to you.

We made a trip to the playground to play & ride the toddler train before embarking on our turkey dinner drive . . .

. . . where, upon arrival, I recommenced my tradition of not learning how to play the obscure, never-ending Italian card games that break out at these gatherings, substituting in my helpless one-year old instead. Like a singleton Southwest traveler avoiding eye contact as fellow passengers board, I feigned emergency interest in my laptop and finally watched the delectable "Downton Abbey" (related note: I'll be answering to "The Dowager Countess Duchess Queen Empress of Austenshire" from now on).

. . . while the eggplant parm and turkey cooked, Master P enjoyed scooting up and down (and up and down, and up and down . . . ) the stairs and toddling into the front door, giving "Turkey Trot" an entirely new, far-better-than-me-running-a-Thanksgiving-race meaning .  . .

. . . most importantly, Master P spent the holidays learning about body parts; note above where he helpfully flags the "ears" location. His latest party trick is lifting his shirt to point out his belly button, followed by his attempting to lift my shirt to show everyone where *my* belly button is. So that's fun. It's like a Britney concert circa 2001 with all the midriff flashing here lately - if Britney had a post-turkey-baby pooch and bad attitude, that is.

Belly buttons and Italian food - that's how I roll now. What sort of Thanksgiving party tricks did you get up to, and were there midriffs involved?

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner - "Xperience Days" Giveaway

Thank you, dolls, for playing along with the fantabuwonderful Xperience Days giveaway. I'm delighted to announce that the winner is, via Random.org number generator thingy . . . Danielle of A Day in the Life, whose excellent musings on her darling boys & culinary adventures should be on your must-read list. Ms. Danielle, I'll be emailing you shortly with info on how to claim your sparkly prize.

Good people winning stuff - well, it's enough to make this Ice Queen crack a rare half-smile. Thanks to Xperience Days for making it possible.

Back in a sec with my usual drivel; stay tuned .  . . Pretty please?

Getting Ready for Thanksgiving, Smug Mummy Style

Holiday shoppers, time is running out - don't forget to enter my giveaway of extreme awesometude here!

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When are we hitting the road for Thanksgiving dinner again?

Why were the crazies already out at the grocery stores today, where I had to throw elbows to make it to the one remaining bag of candied walnuts? Who even wants "candied walnuts", which sounds more like a scandal at the nearby nursing home?

Who decided the stores needed to be decorating for Christmas already when OMG I haven't started even thinking about finding my comfy Thanksgiving expando-pants yet (Where, WHERE are they??? Can I credibly swing yoga pants instead???), let alone Christmas gifts?

Where did I hide the Pack n' Play this time, and can I find it before we leave? Before the turn of the century?

Is the family secretly expecting me to cook this year? If so, how do they feel about a festive Chik-Fil-A feast?

Do we HAVE to caravan with Anonymous Family Member who doesn't believe in bathroom breaks or giving riding the breaks a break at any time during the 3.5 hour drive?

Who's volunteering to babysit while I sneak out to see "The Muppets" movie?

Why can't I just focus on getting the wee preshus CEO ready for his Thanksgiving photos - holidays being but an excuse to play dress-up-your-toddler, after all - and forget the about the logistics and the candied yams and everything else?

Master P "helping" me make dinner.

Merry Thanksgiving to my American friends, and uh, happy third week in November to the rest of y'all.  I'll be off stuffing my Pretty face for the next day or few, but back soon with excess cellulite and more tot photos than you can shake your tailfeathers at.

Giveaway of Supreme Excellence: Xperience Days

Important, Special Note: This is a solicited giveaway, in that Xperience Days contacted me about doing this giveaway. They also asked that I use the phrase "unique gift" somewhere in here, but that's it as far as sponsor-driven language; no payment was exchanged, and all other language, opinions, blah blah blah are mine. I just thought this sounded like a fun gift idea that you might enjoy as well.


For those struggling with insomnia, I've updated my sponsor/giveaway/review policy over there to the left under that yellow "Contact" tab. It's more fun than a first year Torts class - or not.


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You know those people on your gift list who are totally impossible to find a gift for, the sorts who insist they don't need anything and if they did, you should just magically intuit whatever that might be? I am not one of them; I prefer prezzies involving: jewelry, books, Pretty Paper, spa outings, travel, ponies, and/or Colin Firth. Easy, right?

For those other people, though - you know who you are - I prefer buying unique gifts of experience versus tangible stuff - tickets versus toys, etc. This is why I was legitimately excited to hear from Xperience Days - yes, actually delighted to hear from a blog marketing rep; this is a rare thing indeed.

Anywhoo, Xperience Days offers gift cards for a wide variety of adventures, from a "food truck" tour of Austin to hot-air ballooning back in my home 'hood. From restaurant outings to sightseeing tours, this site has a fab array of options, at least one of which is sure to delight that tough-to-impress person on your list.

The way Xperience Days works is so blissfully simple, too: you just search by city, place your order online or by phone, and Xperience Days sends your recipient a gift pack containing all the stuff & information they need to book their adventure. Easy peasy. For those of us - ahem - who tend to buy holiday gifts last minute, express email gift certificates are available too.

Just in time for the holidays, Xperience Days is generously giving away a $50 gift voucher to one of you lucky readers. I'm allergic to complicated giveaway entries, so to compete for your $50 voucher prize, please do as follows:

1) For one entry - eave me a comment, including your email address, here;
2) For a second entry - go to the Xperience Days site and include in your comment the fabulous adventure you're most interested in gifting; yes, gifting to yourself is encouraged.

Entries close at 11:59 PM on Wednesday, November 23rd; I will select the winner via Random Number generator thingy & announce here on Monday, November 28th. Entries limited to US residents, alas, with apologies to my Canadian friends; it seems unfair to leave out the nation that brought us "The Kids in the Hall", but I'll get you in here somehow in the future.

That's it. Simple, isn't it - just like finding me the perfect, Colin-Firth-on-a-pony Christmas gift ....

The Undomestic Goddess Confessions: Cleaning Service Edition

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 three things: (a) publicly shaming myself into doing better wife- and mom-wise; (b) dragging y'all down with me into the anti-Martha morass; or (c) complaining, because it's fun.

While going about my stay-at-home-mom business this fine fall morning, I stumbled upon a scene reminiscent of Miss AP's recent, hilarious post about her attempt to hire a housecleaner and some passive-aggressive, "You're a stay-at-home-mom, surely you have all the time in the world to clean?" feedback she received:

Book Nerd Note: yes, despite the nursery location, some of these books are mine. Master P isn't quite up to Edith Hamilton's "Mythology" yet, but I figure we'll start on that once he breezes through Dickens next month.

By "stumbled" I mean exactly that - in the maybe two minutes I was putting up clean clothes in Master P's closet, just to the right of the scene you see here, Master P had managed to create that literary heap. Lest you think I could simply re-shelve those books there & then, that isn't part of the toddler game - the minute Mama starts putting them up, the wee CEO giggles with delight in throwing them down again.

I'm nothing if not crafty (in the diabolical, not scrapbook-y, sense), so I waited until Master P was safely distracted with his puzzles in the living room before attempting to tidy the nursery. While I was doing that, a box of cereal I thought I'd put away materialized, and this happened:

Note the Life cereal pixie toddler dust strewn about.

I'm so happy to have invested in that fancy red Pottery Barn Kids chair, which has served nicely as a dogbed and toddler means of scaling the TV cabinet.

Of course. The wee CEO enjoyed "helping me" sweep up that mess - picture me appearing with a broom, only to have it immediately seized and waved triumphantly in the air by a certain someone - whereupon I gave up the cleaning attempts and joined him with the puzzles.

This all ties in nicely to my Liposuction Theory of Housecleaning, which tells us that whenever one household mess is eliminated another one inevitably follows. Add a toddler to that mix, and it's a dilemma no Martha nor plastic surgeon has solved.

Suffice to say, this whole "keeping house" thing of the "housewife" gig isn't quite as simple as it may sound. Yes, absolutely, I can and do complete a few basics most days - now that Master P's no longer a newborn, I hasten to add, when all cleaning bets were off. While Master P is up, I try to make the bed, get marginally edible meals on the table, sweep and tidy messes as feasible, and throw some laundry in.

While the CEO naps - usually for 1 hour, on rare, glorious occasion for 2-3 - I try to shower, pay bills, do whatever household chores he won't let me do while he's up (dishes, mostly - otherwise, he makes a dive for the knives as soon as I open the washer) and that won't wake him up (in our small house, that eliminates the vacuum and Shark mop), and, yes, email and noodle around here. I took a lunchtime break while working outside of the home, and I try to do so now while I'm working in it too.

Admittedly, the heavy duty cleaning falls to my twice-monthly housekeeping service, a big privilege for which I'm utterly grateful - and make no apology. It allows me to put down the broom during the day and just enjoy Master P, especially when he's having a week, like this one, when he's in "All Mom All the Time mode" and creates stuff like book piles when left alone. It allows me to enjoy time with the Anonymous Husband on the nights he's able to be home for dinner; once Master P is snoozing, the dishes are done, and the toys are put away (all things the AH helps with, I gratefully add), we're able to relax versus my rushing around trying to deep clean.

I hope this doesn't come across as a braggy, "I have a maid!" sort of Trophy Wife thing, which of course isn't at all what I mean. I get that it's a privilege, one I could certainly do without, though I'd really, REALLY prefer to cut other expenses before this one (and have, by the way). My hat - a big, Kentucky Derby-style number - is seriously off to those of you who manage kids and cleaning house and/or a job AND a spouse-type all by yourself. I'm tired just typing that. Truly.

This is merely an admission that I don't feel I can do a good job juggling all the child-rearing and housekeeping AND husband caring myself, that I'm hugely appreciative of the household help I do have - and I'm a bit puzzled by those who would question that. If by budget or by preference household help isn't for you, fine, but why snark at those for whom it is?

At risk of making this the "Moms, Let's Just Get Along and Stop Judging One Another" blog, can't we just all admit we're doing our best and try to hold off judgment on others? How we run our respective households is a deeply personal, private business - yes, it's one I'm publicly delving into a tad here, but we can't possibly know the details of one another's every little circumstance. Motherhood - or keeping house - isn't a competition. It just isn't.

Let's reserve our Mommy Mafia Judgment for where it truly can help, say, with city governments issuing offensive, co-sleeping baby killer ads, shall we? Can I get an "AMEN"?

The Smug Mummy Soapbox: That Co-Sleeping Ad

Warning: serious post ahead (for once) 

I preemptively apologize for the serious tone here today; while I try to limit my few meaningful posts to significant global events like the Nordstrom anniversary sale, my proverbial panties are in a wad today over a slightly different matter. We'll get back to the fluffy side stat, pinky swear.

As you may have heard in the resultant media firestorm, the City of Milwaukee recently launched an ad campaign discouraging parents from co-sleeping with infants (for the Cheerfully Child-Free crowd, that means sleeping with baby in your own grown-up bed) - via an advertisement showing a sleeping baby next to a butcher knife, stating that co-sleeping can be just as dangerous.

Um, yeah. For reasons I'll get into in a second, I'm not posting the ad photo here; if you'd like to see it, you can click over to see it & the Huffington Post coverage here.

Here at the Pretty we have some future Mommy Mafia readers, as well as some of my dear parent friends who have co-slept with their babies, so I'm compelled to use my Pretty platform today to say this - I find this ad needlessly provocative, ill-informed, and divisive. It makes me deeply angry and sad for my dear friends, all informed and loving parents, who either by preference or by necessity (a baby who won't sleep anywhere else counts as a necessity to this blogger), made the educated decision to co-sleep with their infant.

I realize such things may be put out there to do just this - provoke discussion. If so, reluctant golf claps for succeeding on that front. If it takes a shocking visual to save one child's life, then I can see how this sort of scare tactic might be a success; my discomfort is not more important than the life of a child, of course. In a way it brings to mind the "This is your brain on drugs"  ads with the fried egg visual we children of the 80s may remember.

What bothers me here, however is twofold: first, that the ad contains zero facts to substantiate its claim, or even a website where a new parent might go to educate themselves on the issue. It merely lists a number that parents can call to obtain a free crib if they can't afford one. That's good, but many infants - Master P included - won't sleep in a crib during those early months. I absolutely agree that those choosing to co-sleep need to educate themselves on how to do it as safely as possible, but this ad does nothing to give a parent that information - it simply tells them to put the infant to sleep on his/her back (a safety practice I followed, after researching & talking to my pediatrician) and gave that number to obtain the crib.

Second, I'm angry on behalf of my friends who, having made the educated decision to co-sleep, are essentially being equated to murderers. It's bad enough the shame they have had to endure just from other meddling moms about the practice; many co-sleeping friends have told me in hushed tones they felt they had to remain "closeted" about the practice. The Parenting Police is bad enough, but when it comes on the taxpayer dime like this, I find it unconscionable and will not put that sort of visual guilt up here.

My message to future and new parents is this: educate yourself about the sleep & safety issue, and make the best decision for your child and your family. Read up, talk to other parents, and find a pediatrician you trust who will answer your questions about it. There is no blanket, one-size-fits-all answer here - and if there were, surely it wouldn't involve needlessly disturbing visuals of babies next to butcher knives.

Please repeat after me, class - we most of us are just doing the best we can as parents to raise our children in the safest, most loving, most enriching environment possible. Whether it's the age-old breastfeeding debate or this one, let's just try to be informed about our own choices and understanding when the best choice for someone else might be different.

Are there any marketing people in the audience who might help me understand how this sort of ad happens? Anyone who has co-slept or is doing it now care to chime in? Am I missing something here?

Review & Promo Code: Salmon Cove

Important, Special Note: This is a sponsored & solicited review, in that the company contacted me about doing this & sent me the sweater to review & keep. All language & opinions stated are mine, however. I only review items here I deem up to my Pretty standards & that think you'll enjoy.

When the fine folks at prep online retailer Salmon Cove first contacted me, I hadn't heard of the company. My first thought was, "Must be a Vineyard Vines sort of thing." I then wondered, "Hmm, or it could be one of Slynnro's Salmon Situations."

I'm delighted to report that Salmon Cove is neither. Though you'll spot some definite Vineyard Vines parallels, right down to the wee pink logo, Salmon Cove has a more sophisticated take on prep and a more pared-down menu of men's & women's basics. It's the place I'll go to now when I need the higher-end essentials I used to order from the now be-spangled J Crew, like polos for me or button downs for the Anonymous Husband. (Not that I don't love me some sparkle, but there are times when I don't want my cable knit sweater to look as if it were ready for a night at Studio 54.)

Anywhoo, I chose the "Cashmere Blend V-Neck Sweater" ($84) to test drive because cashmere and me are like . . . uh, two things that enjoy spending a lot of time together. Tragically, it's rarely cold enough here in Texas to sport full-blown cashmere, so this blend of my favorite and cotton sounded like the ideal lightweight sweater:

You will note that the model above is not me. That is because whenever I try to get all fashion blogger, "outfit of the day"-y - you know the ones with the mysterious professional photographer friends who just happen to be available to shoot them every day - this happens:

I mean, doesn't that sweater make my camera look AMAZING? You can't even see that I'm having one of those Magical Mom Days in which my hair and makeup are both done. No, really. Pinky swear.

But seriously, this is one comfortable, lightweight sweater, and I consider myself a bit (a lot) of a snob about these things. It's comparable in cut and weight to my favorite Banana Republic v-necks, but the cashmere / cotton blend gives it the quality and comfy feel win. It traveled well with my on my Charleston adventure and has withstood toddler attack, so points for durability too.

Though I haven't seen these in person, I noted a few other Salmon Cove favorites I'm eyeing for holiday presents:

"Mackinac Button Down" ($88)

"Navy/Green Long Sleeve Cove Collar" ($76) 

The good people-ness of Salmon Cove goes beyond my lovely sweater - they're offering Pretty readers a fantabulous discount & shipping deal too! Use "ipickpretty" at checkout for 15% off plus free shipping.

Thank you to the kind Owen & Salmon Cove team for this sweet deal. With that, my comfy sweater and I logging off to enjoy a glass of red . . .

The "They Grow Up Before You Know It" Thing

Mildly Relevant Sidebar: While coming up with that Earth-shatteringly brilliant title, "I'm Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" started playing in my head. Just wanted to share that throwback, mildly disturbing bit of Britney earworm love your way. You're welcome!

I have a confession to make. When people - you know, those vague, capital "P" people - tell me the line about how your child grows up before you know it, I've smiled and nodded knowingly as if I couldn't agree more.

Truth is, until I returned from my Smug Married getaway two days ago, I didn't totally get it. Sure, now that we're well out of the newborn stage, most (non-teething) days fly by, and happily so. However, the one thing I've noticed about this stay-at-home-mom gig - a big perk, in fact - is how incremental most of my wee CEO's changes seem to be - that is, except for when he abruptly decides he no longer enjoys the formerly delightful food du jour, in which case he chucks it at me with the fervor of a third-world dictator happening upon a secret WMD stash.*
*Needless to say - but I will - this always occurs within 24 hours of my having stocked up on said food at Costco. Always.

This time, though, I came home expecting a baby and lo, there was a full-fledged b-o-y instead. I had to restrain myself from collaring the poor Anonymous Mother-in-Law and demanding to know where she'd hidden my wee precious infant baby darling angel. He was taller, he was less round, he was just . . .  just . . .

And - AND - he's picked up some party tricks I hadn't seen before, like flirting with any ladies within a ten foot radius . . .

. . . he's like an Ovarian Detection Device now ("ODD" - if only Naughty by Nature had thought of that obvious sequel) - as soon as I see the head tilt and the eyes glimmer, inevitably there's a mom-type cooing at him nearby.

Despite my ability to complain about anything and everything, I'm actually not whining here - what this realization reinforced for me again is that a little time away from Master P can be a good thing. I've mentioned different aspects of this here before; for example, our two mornings a week sitter, which allows me to do things like sit in coffee shops typing this nonsense, has been a mental saving grace for me.

What I hadn't realized, though, is that the occasional weekend away also gives me perspective on the "they grow up before you know it"thing - turns out, capital "P" People are right about that. Master P's life & mine are so inexorably intertwined, moment by moment, that it can be difficult to see much change in either of us. It usually feels like an "us", an inseparable team, in the best way.

Not to worry, darlings - this may read as my secretly itching for more time alone, but I still adore the stay-at-home gig and am not at all ready to trade in my Mom Uniform for the heels and Ann Taylor of my former lawyer life. And not only because I'm still dancing on the grave of that ill-suited career. Getting to see each little change as it unfolds is part of why I stay home; I'll just continue taking those occasional weekends away with the Anonymous Husband and appreciate coming back with a refreshed perspective when I do.

Know what I mean? Or do you suspect that I wrote this simply to post those photos and fish for complements about the obvious beauty of my child? (C), all of the above?

Pretty Holiday Gift Roundup, Under $50 Edition

Special Note: none of these products or sites were solicited or sponsored placements. They are all my own naughty, naughty online shopping discoveries or those of my friends, blah blah blah. Speaking of...

Special Sub-Note: Friends, this contains GIFT SPOILERS! If you are on my holiday list, and/or are the sort to moan about any sort of spoilers anywhere ever, please read no further - or do as you usually do and pretend you read my drivel while skimming for embarrassing photos.

***

Welcome to my regular irregular (in that I've never done one before) holiday gift series! Please note that I intentionally refer to this as a "holiday" gift list versus a "Christmas" one, since rampant greed favors no one religion - my membership in the First Church of Materialism, Reformed excepted.

Anywhoodle, it was brought to my attention on the Twitter last night that the holiday season is upon us, like, now. I know, I was blown away too. For those of us who do the present giving thing, this means there's only some forty days of shopping until Gift Game Day.

There are some of us - ahem - who tend to forget this is a limited timeframe until, say, December 23rd, when gift making decisions are based more on the availability of emergency one-day shipping than the awesomeness of the gift.

Readers, not this year. YES WE CAN. Or something similarly motivational. While I'm too realistic to strive for true Smug Mummy excellence here - you types who bought & painstakingly wrapped your gifts months ago when they were on sale, I'm (not) talking to you - but I do have a goal of ending the shopping by December 15th this year. OK, December 23rd. Yes we can?

Here's the Prettiest of what's around so far in the "friend / under $50 category":

Book Lovers:

Left: "Just Being Audrey"($17) / Right: "Sense & Sensibility" ($20) (Mildly Relevant Sidebar: Anthropologie is just killing it lately with their new books collection. Like, totally.)

I'd Rather Be Living in a Jane Austen Novel (Duh) (Also, yes, there's some obvious overlap with category #1 here) (Parentheses)

Left: "Emma" Embroidered Penguin Classics ($16) / Right: "Silhouette Cell Phone Case" ($42)

Travelers:

Left: "Pisa Luggage Tag" ($6.50) / Right: "Eiffel Tote" ($15 on sale) 

Do Gooders

Left: Kiva.org gift card / Right: ASPCA donation (conditional entirely on their ending those wretched Sarah Maclachlan ads, nevermind that they seem to be working here)

Darlings, any interest in other Pretty gift list categories - for tots & for Smug Husband types, perhaps? Friends, any objections to the gifts you weren't supposed to be looking at above? 

The Smug Marrieds Jet-Set: A Charleston Adventure

Note: A smoochy, ginormous thank you to my Pretty guest posters of extreme splendor last week:
Belle on Heels
I Love You More Than Carrots
The Preppy Princess
Haute Mommy

Y'all made me look much better than I deserve, which is all I ask of you favorite Invisible Internet Friends - my looking good. Mwah.
***
(Subtitle: "Because You Know You Love Looking at Some Stranger's Endless Travel Photos!!!")

I knew it as soon as we set foot in our first Charleston eatery for a late lunch. Our hostess, in the warmest, kindest manner possible, inquired whether the Anonymous Husband might not feel more comfortable leaving his baseball hat at the door. "THIS", I immediately thought to myself - shooting the Anonymous Husband a smug "I told you so!" Etiquette Police grin as I did - "This is a place I could call home."

Charleston is more than a town devoted to keeping up traditions, however. If there's a city more ideally in my happy, Anglophile-ing / ocean-adjacent-ing / grits-serving wheelhouse, I implore you to tell me. 'Til then, I'm declaring Charleston my spiritual Southern home and accepting all offers to buy me a "double house" south of Broad.

But before I launch into full-fledged Travel Channel review mode, a word about traveling without your young tot (or mine, more specifically) - it's wonderful. It's awful. It's wonderfully awful. In the weeks leading up to a Smug Marrieds-only trip, I long for the time alone with the Anonymous Husband; as soon as I get it, of course I'm missing Master P desperately. It varies between a dull ache and the feeling that you've somehow misplaced a terribly important limb, but it's always there on some level.

I've talked about living with that duality before, and I maintain my stance that the discomfort is worth getting some time away just with the husband - for us. I've left Master P now four times - a week at the longest, for four days this time (one more than intended thanks to a flight delay) - and, for us, for now, the long weekend is the right answer. It's enough time for the AH & I to relax and sleep in without worrying whether our wee CEO has finally picked up Mandarin or a mustache while we're away.

Coming home is another type of fun entirely as a stay-at-home-mom - that beaming smile of utter joy usually reserved for Dad when he comes home from work? For once, I got that look as I woke Master P up this morning, and I soaked up every toothy last bit of it. Returning from vacation to a job you love, versus my old Sunday night dread + end-of-travel self-pity, is worth the price of vacation itself.

The other main plus for this homemaker mom type is the forced leaving-your-kid-with-someone-else-OMG. No, really. Seeing that my wee CEO does well when staying with the truly wonderful Anonymous Mother-in-Law, who - gasp - does a few things differently than me is a good reminder that My Mothering Way is not the only way.*
*If you're thinking this means I don't leave a detailed, Type A Minus schedule, in outline form, of Master P's military-style schedule, you are, um, mistaken. My inner lawyer isn't entirely dead yet.

But enough of the mom ennui ("Mommui"?) - here are my Charleston Pretty favorites:

Eat 

We had a terrific, casual yet upscale"lowcountry" lunch at Slightly North of Broad, or "S.N.O.B." I was torn between my immediate love for that name (obvs) and my fear of it being a tourist trap given its location on the main downtown drag, but I'm so glad we went in. Give the cornbread and the crab a go. The service was outstanding, but whatever you do, don't try to wear your baseball hat to dine:

Husk came highly - almost too highly - recommended as a "foodie" slice of hype Heaven, having just won some fancypants Bon Appetit award thingy or something; I'm happy to report it lived up to the delicious word of mouth. The emphasis on local, farm-to-table ingredients, with a menu that changes daily, paid off in a meal that was creative while staying true to its Lowcountry roots (as much as this ignorant Yankee can tell, that is). The pumpkin soup was note-perfect, but it was the too simple to be believed watermelon & sea salt side that stole the show:

I'm so not the person to whip out my camera at meals - bad blogger, bad! - but I behaved just this once.

In typical farm-to-table form, the restaurant was upscale-casual (note to Californians / Austinites: "upscale casual" here means khakis or cocktail dresses, not jeans.). It's expensive but splurge-worthy for a date night. For a big occasion sort of night, though, I'd go with . . .

. . . Charleston Grill, where we had our official celebration of Five Years' Smug Marriedness and the best overall meal of the bunch. Don't let the fine-dining, old-world decor - stuffy dark wood paneling & all - fool you, because the menu was a terrific old/new world blend and the service pitch perfect. The buttery-but-not-too-much seared flounder & shrimp was my favorite, but there wasn't a bad dish in our bunch.

Coincidentally, this restaurant is housed at Charleston Place, the hotel we should have stayed at; naturally, I liked it so much I neglected to take a photo. Naturally.

Shop

I'd blown my shopping budget by the time this trip came around, but I enjoyed strolling down King Street and window shopping the mix of mass retail and local boutiques; I'd skip the touristy Market Street shops in favor of this. Follow that up with a drink at the delightfully horsey Thoroughbred Club at, yes, Charleston Place - I stand behind their dirty vodka martini and the clubby, English feel and people watching.

My favorite store find came by accident as the AH & I were meandering the South of Broad area (more on this later) with the aptly named Dulles Designs Exquisite Stationery. This paper geek had a lightheaded moment upon seeing Bernard Maisner cards in person for the first time. Though those Pretty works of art were well out of my price range, Ms. Dulles carried a number of more affordable lines - and was nice as could be to boot. Easily the best edited stationery store I've seen in a long while - and she ships, hurrah (uh-oh).

See

The twenty minute drive from downtown to Boone Hall Plantation was absolutely worth it. What a jumble of emotions this place brings up - the only thing more striking than the Georgian Revival, "Gone with the Wind"-style planation house (take the excellent house tour, BTW) was seeing the slave infrastructure that made such a manor possible . . . what a sobering juxtaposition between the opulent plantation owner's mansion (as re-built to "Tara" standards in the 1930s) and the 360-square foot slave quarters, in which families of up to 16 resided:

These were the allegedly nicer, "house slave" quarters - all 360 square feet of them.

I left with mixed feelings, both in awe of the splendor of the place - take a moment to savor the moss-draped oaks as you drive in, straight out of Southern central casting - and reminded of the dark history that made it so until too recently. It is one thing to read about such atrocities, but to see the remnants in person is another experience entirely. Such an interesting place to spend a couple of hours.

The "absolute finito" of Charleston, as Ms. Gollightly might say, is in wandering around the South of Broad area downtown. There are ghost tours and house tours - the Heyward-Washington House was a favorite - and, um, tour tours aplenty, but I recommend doing as we Smug Marrieds did and just getting yourself lost down there for an afternoon. That's difficult to do, actually, given that Charlestonians have devised a remarkably logical, walkable downtown, but we aren't Smug for nothing.

St. Michael's, the oldest church edifice in town and stunning for any age. 

Part of the famed "Rainbow Row" on East Bay; my photo doesn't do justice to the vibrant colors.

In getting lost amongst these colorful, antebellum architectural confections, maybe the best bit is stumbling across the tiny details:

This last one is my absolute favorite. . . as I was snapping this, the actual homeowner came out and gave me the story behind the sign. In his gentle drawl, he told me about his family's long Charleston history and how they had "only" occupied this current home for eighty-odd years.  One of those travel moments when you remember why the hassle of getting gone is worth it

Be sure to stroll through the Battery too, which gives an incomparable view of both the Atlantic and the stately homes nearby.

While two full days gave us the right amount of time away parenting-wise, we barely scratched the surface of Charleston. Given more time we would have loved to have toured Ft. Sumter and seen the Citadel parade, as well as seeing more of where of the actual locals live and play.

To sum up, Charleston is a town that takes its history seriously but doesn't seem to take itself that way. It's tourist friendly and just plain friendly friendly but somehow avoids feeling overrun or inauthentic. In short, I'm deeply smitten. In deep smit and with the credit card statement to prove it. Sigh.

A Baby Changed My Marriage : : Guest Post by Haute Mommy

I normally blog about life with my baby girl at Haute Mommy, and I was thrilled to get my name on the list of Invisible Internet Besties to keep the Pretty Kingdom running while Pretty and the AH are away.  Since my Baby Girl is not yet six months old, I still have a fair amount of not-so-pretty days, but I generally feel that I'm getting the hang of things and getting back into tip-top-MILF shape as quickly as I can.  




Having just celebrated five years of Smug Marital Bliss myself, I first thought of offering up some looks at my own Smug Married Life.  Then reality hit, and I realized how much has changed for this Smug Couple in the past five months.  NO, not those types of changes, Pearl-Clutching Grandmother... but the changes I never, ever expected to happen. 

My own personal Anonymous Husband (although he's not so Anonymous) and I spent nearly nine years together before Baby Girl arrived.  We had our Smug Coupleness down to a tee.  There wasn't a more adoring, doting husband in town.  And my face still lit up every time he walked into the room.  No joke.  It was so make-you-gag perfect that other people commented on it now and then.  It simply wasn't possible for me to be any more in love with my own AH.

Then the baby came along.  And the impossible happened...I fell even more in love with my husband.  Where my face used to light up when he came near, now I burst into tears when watching him hold our daughter's tiny hand and stroke her little foot while telling her "Mommy's gonna hold you soon" when she was getting checked by the nurses after she was born.  I get tears in my eyes and have to walk away quickly when I pass by her room at bedtime and hear him singing Jesus Loves Me to her at bedtime.  My heart swells with pride and adoration when I think of how hard he works at his AH-like career every day only to come home and help me with bath time.



On the flip side, and you knew there would be one, I've never had such high levels of frustration with my own AH as during those first months of new parenthood.  There was a point at around the three month mark when I swore I was going to poke his eyes out with my (at that point in time, let's face it, not-so-perfectly) manicured fingers if he asked me what to do just one more time.  As in: "She's crying.  Is she hungry? Should I feed her?" or "She tooted.  Does that mean she's dirty? Should I change her?" or "She's rubbing her eyes.  I think she's tired.  Should I put her to bed?"  ACK!  Seriously?  I'm just as new at this as you are!

A very wise friend once told me to never criticize my AH, just let him find his own way and encourage him to help out as much as possible.  While I can't say I never yelled, "OMG just change the freakin' diaper already and let me take a nap!" (nope, not once did I ever yell that), we have managed to make it almost six months with nary a manicured finger in his eye.

I think it's worked quite well.  These days I rarely get frustrated at him, he helps out more than the average bear (or at least more than some other daddies I've heard about), and I'm still more Smugly in love than ever before.

All this babbling just to say...a baby does change things for any Smug Couple.  Some things are better, some are a bit more rough than expected.  But rest assured, the rough parts do fade away in practically no time at all, then you're stuck Smugger Than Ever, making everyone sick, with all of the big smiles and love-filled eyes that happen automatically whenever your AH walks into the room.

Why Don't You Just Sleep On It?

Hello and happy Thursday to everyone.  No, it isn't Miss Pretty writing, 'tis merely TPP, known as The Preppy Princess in some quarters. I do love sharing a monogram with her though, at those times  when she is acting in her capacity as Supreme Ruler of The Pretty Planet. (Get it, another TPP?! Too exciting.)

That moment of elation one experiences right after telling a friend you will help out? Yes, I enjoyed that right after saying I would be happy to post for Miss Pretty, it was bliss. For about a nano-second. Immediate panic is what I recall, what in heavens name could I write about that might be even remotely Pretty or Witty? Nothing came to mind. 

But then I remembered a story I had seen last week on women and sleep (more accurately, the lack thereof) and said, "Aha, let's write about this!" The story was in last Friday's New York Times, it had a catchy title: "Sleep Medication: Mother’s New Little Helper". Hunh?

As TPP readers are painfully aware, we are not blessed with children of the human kind, allow me to force them upon introduce you to our furry family members. After years of careful observation I can assert without equivocation sleep is not an issue for either of them.

 

In particular, Tubby Silly Tilly has shown no difficulties in this area.

But back to our primary topic, something that is a very real issue for an enormous number of women: insomnia. So many of our friends have become mothers in the last two years I pay attention to this sort of thing now, having learned long ago the images portrayed in those darling melt-your-heart-pictures of mother and child (you know the ones, the mother looking like she has just emerged from a week at the Greenbrier, the wee one resembling a cherub from a Michelangelo ceiling) are the exception, not the rule.

The Times piece was filled with fascinating information about women and sleep, particularly on the topic of mothers. Here is what really caught my attention:

"One of the cruel jokes of motherhood is that the sleeplessness of pregnancy, followed by the sleeplessness generated by an infant (a period in which a staggering — truly — 84 percent of women experience insomnia), is not followed by a makeup period of rest. It is merely the setup for what can become a permanent modus operandi."

Yikes. Upon learning some of the realities about newborns and infants and the concurrent sleep challenges (there's a euphemism), I have ached for their mothers.  In most cases the husband has been extremely helpful but the hard truth remained, the mother was the one who suffered most. Friends with children now in their teens and beyond have also talked about struggles with sleeping in a way that transcends, or at least differs from temporary insomnia. More on this from the Times story:

They also do not take into account the many women who have no trouble passing out at 10 p.m. — but zing wide awake at 3:30 a.m. with thoughts like those of Anne Kimball, 46, a mother in Oxford, Pa., as she runs “down the menu, from kid to kid”: “Did I send in the permission slip by deadline? Should I chaperone the field trip? Am I green enough?”

Or those of Susan Stoga, a mother of two in Barrington, Ill.: “Did I send that e-mail to my client? Is the permission slip for pictures due today? Do Carrie’s dance shoes still fit? Is Girl Scouts on this week?”

For years I have had marveled at my own upbringing (along with my three brothers) and pondered a point of immense curiosity about our mother, "How did she do it? How in heaven's name did she do it and stay sane?" And then I think of all the incredible women like Miss Pretty, and so many of you reading this; I am forced to ask the same question: how do you do it?

When you have slept perhaps a few hours over the course of several days, how do you keep picking up one foot and managing to place it in front of the other?  Let alone while burping one child over one shoulder and feeding another its sippy cup while in the checkout lane at the grocery store? One friend described the level of exhaustion this way: "It felt like there were nails in my eyes."

With never-ending awe at your capacity to function, I would love to know how. you. do. it.  Prayer seems like something anyone would need, but what are the other coping mechanisms? Please don't be shy if not a mother, either, I need all the insight I can glean.

Thank you for indulging a most un-Pretty issue, clearly we have no shame when it comes to guest posting.  

Just When You Thought It Was Safe :: Guest Post By AP

Hello, there! I'm AP, mommy and blogger extraordinaire over at I Love You More Than Carrots. Notice how the extraordinaire was strategically placed after "blogger?" There's a reason for that. 

I want to take a minute to express my sheer congratulations to the Smug Married Pair as they take off gallivanting through the beautiful city of Charleston, drinking their Smug Albeit Pretty Little Married Faces off. And by "sheer congratulations," I obviously meant that I am just head-over-heels green with envy. 

Today I chose to write about a few one of the many times that Motherhood has truly just downright kicked me in the rear. You see, if you were reading my blog, I would have said a**. Hands down. But? I'm here to try and make a nice impression on you fine and fabulous readers of I Pick Pretty and in doing so, I'll keep the defacement to a minimum. 

Just when you thought it was safe to say that you've finally mastered the art of Motherhood, your toddler goes and does one or more! or all! of the following. Thus otherwise proving to you, that you in fact, have absolutely no idea what you are doing. Even after fifteen months. 

Just when you thought it was safe to say that you've finally mastered the art of Motherhood, your fifteen month old, while in Rare Toddler Form, takes off running up and down the family room sectional, an act that you have forebode many a time, culminating in an impromptu swan dive off of the rear arm landing right smack on his noggin. With a side of temple-to-cheek rug burn to boot. 

Motherhood = 1. AP = 0. 

Just when you thought it was safe to say that you've finally beat Motherhood into some sense of submission, your 15 month nabs your Breakfast Dr. Pepper on the sly (no judgies) and takes off running with it into the kitchen. Only then does he proceed to spill the entire can of said Breakfast Dr. Pepper topping the whole disastrous situation off by laying down in the middle of the puddle trying to lick up his mess. Mothering at it's finest, Pretties. 

Motherhood = 2. AP = 0. 

Just when you thought it was safe to say, "I kicked Motherhood's Ass Tush!" Daylight Saving Time rolls around and royally screws up the months of sleep scheduling you've worked so hard on with your Crazy Wildebeest Toddler, thus rendering them asleep at 6pm and wide awake shouting your name at 5:30 in the morning. I always thought hearing my child lovingly say my name would bring tears to my eyes, but at dark o' clock in the morning, friends? It makes me want to choke myself with my Yuppy Tempurpedic sleep mask. 

Motherhood = 3. AP = 0. 


And lastly, just when you thought you had this whole Motherhood thing figured out, your toddler decides its time to cut not one, not two, but three of his molars all at the same time. Do you know what this means? Frankly, there is not enough Children's Motrin and Ketel One this side of the Mason Dixon line to survive Molar Teething. For clarification, the Motrin is for the toddler. The Ketel One for his sanity-hemorrhaging, grey-hair sporting, weary-apparent Mother. 

Pretties, Mothering is not for the weak. Motherhood = 4. AP = 0. 

Happy Anniversary Getaway, Smug Married Loves. Thanks for letting me hijack your slice of the Internet for a day! It's been real and it's been fun- now hurry up and return to Reality, wouldya? Happy Wednesday!

Guest Post: An "I Pick Pretty" Wedding

{Disclaimer: If you're in Google Reader, you won't see the inspiration board.  Click on over for the real thing.}

Hi everyone!  Sarah from Belle on Heels in for Mrs. I Pick Pretty today. 

When our heroine asked me to fill in for her while she's gallavanting in Charleston with her Anonymous Husband, she suggested I maybe post something wedding-related.  That was all the nudge I needed, since I am already struggling with major wedding withdrawal since my own nuptials just over a week ago.  Since it's a not-so-well-kept secret on my blog that I dream of one day running my own wedding planning company, I decided to plan a wedding for Melissa.

Yes, yes, I realize this whole Anonymous Husband thing means our gal is already hitched, but I thought it would be fun for me to imagine the wedding I would plan for her if she were my client.
My inspiration board was inspired by her gorgie hometown of San Diego, her love and adoration of "Pride and Prejudice", and her drool-worthy shoe collection, the crown jewel of which are her patent leather Valentino pumps. Yum.

I picked a TDF Monique Lhullier gown from her Fall 2012 collection.  The lace version of her beloved Valentino pumps {aren't these just the perfect wedding shoes?!} Naturally, she would carry a bouquet of lily-of-the-valley, just like her doppelganger, Princess Grace {the original Princess Shinylocks}. Pearls and lovely coral bridesmaids dresses from J.Crew.  Of course, we can't forget AH, so he gets a preppy and dapper green-and-white striped bowtie.

The setting for this affair would be a darling little church and a reception at the classic Hotel del Coronada {if you've never been, add it to your list of must-visits!} Invitations feature a sweet silhouette of the couple and  Elizabeth Bennett-esque calligraphy.  Guests are treated to a charming basketweave wedding cake and delicate little sand-dollar cookies on a bed of brown sugar as their favor.  And we'll send the newlyweds blissfully on their way in a glamorous vintage convertible!

Well, what do you think?  A wedding fit for Mrs. I Pick Pretty?

Melissa, thanks for letting me use your blog to continue my wedding obsession.  I hope you and the Mr. have a wonderful time in Charleston!

Gone Celebratin' - Five Years of Smug Marriedness

Who has one law degree and, as of Friday, five more wedding anniversaries than the Kurrent Kardashian administration? THIS GAL!

Hence we Smug Marrieds are off this week to visit a sparkly, new-to-us city and generally congratulate ourselves on five years of connubial bliss. As much as I'll miss the wee CEO, I'm beside myself with excitement at getting to spend quality one-on-one time with my new camera my not-so-new-but-still-hawt Anonymous Husband (all photo credit to Winfield Little Photography):

SPEAKING OF anticipation, I'm all caps lock giddy at the guest posts I've got lined up for you during my absence. Seriously, these are some of my Invisible Internet Friend besties whom you probably already know, but if not, I want to beat you about the face with their awesomeness - or something less violent but equally effective like that. Seriously, do check in the rest of this week; I sincerely hope their wonderfulness somehow rubs off on me while I'm gone.

With that, I'm off to finish the forty-two squillion errands that come with leaving town in this post-child New Normal life. I hope to be back next week with travel recommendations, a fairly awesome product review, and more Smug Married anniversary photos than you can shake your rolled-up secret copy of "US Weekly" at.

In my absence, please enjoy these other shameless wedding photo "OOH, LOOK AT ME!!!" braggy favorites & feel free to comment on how strikingly like the Duke & Duchess of Shinylocks Cambridge we look:

In case anyone was in doubt that I was a big ole cathedral & dress sort of Smug Bride...

Sign of the (Old) Times

It is a happy afternoon here at the Pretty, where we've scheduled a park playdate for Master P followed by a happy hour playdate for Mom (minus toddler, plus girlfriend). I should say it's happy with a slice of wistful, that is, for while picking out an outfit to somehow take me through those two disparate events I realized I was missing something.

Ladies of a certain vintage, remember having a "going out" section of your closet? I do too - what I don't remember is having traded it all in for sensible flats and shirts that camouflage spit-up stains. I'm keenly aware that I've been seeking out Operation MILF attire, trying to straddle that balance between chic and comfortable, but I didn't realize that I'd also entirely edited out the clothes that were, ya know, going out clothes.

What I mean to say is this - my wardrobe is now entirely sensible. Not that I'm running around the playground in bhurkas, exactly but there is no longer an option that doesn't include covering all of the relevant ladybits in entirely respectable, machine washable, non-sparkly material. That is assuredly for the public good, said bits no longer looking as they once did, but the wardrobe change gave me pause today. (For you there clutching your pearls, don't act too surprised - Pretty prude that I am now, even I was once a college student. Yes, really.)

Funny thing is, now that I have the budget to get a few of the clothes I wanted in my going out days, of course I'm more inclined to spend it on things less likely to make me popular in a bar. There's definitely a shoe or two that still sneaks in under the "wildly impractical" radar - ahem - but today, for example, I'm finally ordering that DSLR camera I've been eyeing, my AnniversarChristmaBirthday gift to self. I'll get less Happy Hour mileage with it but more photos of my scrambling about toddler, and that's a more than OK trade in my book . . .

I don't promise an end to the low-fi iPhone photos, but I will try to learn & do better with the fancypants new one.

. . . but I still may add a not-too-scandalous strappy top or two just for old time's sake; I'm not conceding the "Prettier than Everyone Else" quest until the AARP card arrives, if then.

On the Pretty Bookshelf, Smug Mummy & Toddler eds.

Note: the books reviewed below were either purchased by me or given to Master P as gifts by (non book publisher) friends and in no way are sponsored or solicited placements.

Let us move past yesterday's unholy mash-up of Mr. Darcy and bachelor parties - which was a bit like "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" if you sub in the unclothed for the undead - for Prettier climes . . .

I've been kvetching an awful lot here lately about things I cannot do - cooking, sewing, and generally being a competent housewife, for starters - but if there's one thing I know my way around, it's a book. READING, dolls - it's what's for dinner. Because you don't want whatever I've actually cooked for dinner, but at least I can feed your mind & soul . . .

Or, um, ya know, I could just tell you what I've been reading lately. I usually do this over at Goodreads, but I've just spent the morning with toddler in lap reading and thus am in a general book nerdly sort of way today:

You can have your ocean views - I can think of no vantage point of which I'm more fond than this one. OK, I'd *also* like an ocean view, but if forced to choose I'll take this.

Anywhooo, here are two recent favorites of mine followed by two of Master P's, in case anyone is looking for a fab gift for a one-year-old yuppie and his book mongering parent(s) (all photos via Amazon):

"Major Pettigrew's Last Stand" - my favorite read of 2011 to date. It can be read at surface level as a quiet love story between a retired English major and a Pakistani shopkeeper in the nearby village. To leave it at that humdrum description, however, is to understate its devastating, deadpan wit as well as its insightful look at class and race relations in the UK (and the US, to a certain extent). I had a quibble here and there with the prose, and the end is not unpredictable, but I adored this intrinsically in the same way I felt at home with "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society" - it couldn't be more up this cobblestone-lined Anglophile's alley.

At the recommendation of Mrs. Smith, I just started in on this champagne bubble of a memoir, in need of a break from the intensely creative but mystifying "Middlesex". I couldn't have asked for a better palate cleanser; this is light reading but a captivating one at that about two World War II era college girls and their summer working at Tiffany. There's just something about that shade of blue, isn't there?

And for the discerning toddler...

"First 100 Words" - as you can see from that Master P photo above, my wee CEO lives to plop down in my lap and flip through these colorful pages. He exclaims "DOH!" and jabs his chubby index finder at photos, demanding that I read the designated caption to him. I highly recommend this as a one-year-old gift.

"Busy, Busy Town": a classic with vivid, colorful illustrations Master P loves to page through, with a simple enough storyline to suit his one-year-old attention span (and one that doesn't bore me silly in the reading process).

Class, any other recommendations?

***

On the toddler reading note, I'm participating in a toddler book swap with my longtime Invisible Internet Friend, Beach Bum & Baby; if any other Smug Mummies would like to participate, please leave your email address in the comments or drop me a line at ipickpretty AT [gmail], etc. Mwah!