On the Pretty Bookshelf: March '12 Edition

This is the latest in my monthly series about what I'm reading, either for myself or for/with my toddler; for more detailed bookstalking, please let me bore you over at Goodreads too.
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Do you believe in ghosts?

Me too.

Specifically, it's the one ghost - the ghost of my 9th grade Honors English teacher - who haunts me to this day with that skeptically raised brow of hers whenever I'm tempted by a popular, seemingly puff piece of a read.

With that specter looming over my reader's conscience, I mightily resisted this month's favorite, chanting "But it's popular, which must mean it's not very good" to myself as I kept adding it & removing it from my online library queue, clinging to the shreds of my literary snobbishness. It's where my Venn diagram overlaps with Hipster Nation's - if something is popular, I want to dislike it on principle.

Alas, I'm only human - and a human prone to loving trendy teenage fiction at that. With apologies to Miss F. - I tried to resist, I truly did - I bring you my March favorite, as well as one for Master P. I'm late to the trendy bandwagon here, but you know what they say about better late, etc.:

For the Grown Ups (and - ok, ok, Teenagers)

Divergent by Veronica Roth

Image via Barnes & Noble

You know when you finish a book and you just can't shake it? You walk around in a bit of a haze, forgetting things you're supposed to do and children you're supposed to be watching and staring off into space?

If I'm making this sound like a crush, that's because I'm in the first blush of book crush with Divergent, which I just finished today after staying up far too late the past few nights whizzing through it.

A fast-paced, action-packed debut novel in the young adult & dystopian genres, Divergent is the story of sixteen-year-old Beatrice, who is living in what appears to be Chicago of the future; it's a bleak, barely recognizable world divided into five factions, one of which Beatrice must pledge allegiance to in an upcoming ritual ceremony. Her decision there sets off a chain reaction which gravely affects not only her but also her family, her faction, and this new world (dis)order.

There is a temptation to write this book off as a Hunger Games knockoff. While there are definite similarities - a seemingly ordinary heroine who discovers unknown strengths, a dystopian world in which the grown-ups in power are the last people suited for the job, a coming-of-age love story, adolescent themes of alienation and struggling to find identity - Divergent stands on its own as a compelling exploration of that truism about absolute power corrupting absolutely, amongst other themes.

I am heartened to see a generation of young writers creating strong female protagonists like Beatrice, in a culture that still wants to reduce us to a number on a scale. You can bet your, uh, faction that Beatrice has better things to do than worry about her weight.

As bacon is the gateway drug for many a former vegetarian, so this should be not only a thrilling read on its own but also an introduction to the literary dystopian gems - Lord of the Flies, 1984, Fahrenheit 451, Brave New World, etc. 

For the (Trying to Discipline the) Toddler Set

1-2-3 Magic: Effective Discipline for Children 2-12 by Thomas Whelan

Image via Barnes & Noble

My wee CEO, perhaps in his own dystopian literary gesture, has taken to questioning authority. Repeatedly. While this is a terrific idea for your average fictional heroine (or, ya know, grown up person), it's less good in an almost two-year-old - unless you view an arms flailing, body-flung-on-floor screechy tantrum as good informed citizen training.

As with many things in parenting, the toddler discipline theory/book I wanted to love ("Love & Logic", for anyone else in the toddler trenches) just hasn't worked out for him. A friend sent me this, and so far, it's a much better a fit for my Master P.

This book, like any, has a lot that just isn't applicable to younger children; the bits that are relevant, though, have been very helpful in our coming up with a discipline system. It's an easy, quick read, which I appreciate since I tend to be reading these books when I'm at my wit's end and would rather be diving into the latest popular YA novel.

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What are you reading lately? Any recommendations on the dystopian literature front - or for resident young-rebels-in-training?

Smug Mummy Style: The Chevron Trend

Please note usual disclaimers about how none of these products are sponsored or solicited placements unless otherwise noted, how my definition of "budget" may differ from yours, how I am green eggs & ham, etc.

Remember that thing I said about working trends in around the basics you already have? Yes, it's true - occasionally I have a fiscally responsible idea or two.

Post Lenten shopping ban, I'm plotting to do just that with these colorful chevron patterns floating around. It's an easier pattern to wear than the stripe trend, actually - it draws the eye up & down versus horizontally - but is eye-catching nonetheless. I'm planning to keep my accessories mostly neutral or monotone to better highlight the pattern.

Here are my toddler-friendly looks, both in dream and in "less wildly unrealistic on my budget" edition; I invested in the neutral watch & sandals pictured a while back and am building from there:

Clockwise from left to right: necklace / watch / dress / ring / sandals / tote (Goyard, unavailable online)

Once upon a time I saw a mom using a Goyard as her diaper bag - for a laid back town, you wouldn't believe the Toddler Totes I sometimes see here. Then I promptly died of envy - after I was done wondering how much grief the inevitable leaky sippycup would cause in such a purse, that is. I'm all for using non-diaper-bags as diaper bags, but . . .

Anywhoo, here's a related dress & bag for a lot less loot. I often pair these shorter spring/summer dresses, a necessity in this Texas heat, with Target leggings for a more chasing-toddler-friendly (and chilly-air-conditioning) look; just throw 'em in your non-diaper diaper tote. Again, I'm incorporating my same sandals & watch here:

Clockwise from left: tote (on sale!) / dress (Piperlime, sold out) / watch / bracelets / sandals

A little kick of coral here really changes the look, yet doesn't detract from the Pretty pattern.

Stay tuned next for my spring Smug Toddler Style looks . . . what, you thought I'd let that DVF for BabyGap collection hit without styling it for my imaginary future daughter?

The Smug Mummy Evaluates: That "My Kid is Fat" Book Deal

It was the book deal heard 'round the parenting world - Dara-Lynn Weiss, the parent who described in this month's Vogue her efforts to put her "fat" (her words, not mine) 7-year-old daughter, Bea, on a Weight Watchers-style diet, just inked a book deal. And here we thought "French parenting" was controversial:

The lead photo accompanying the Vogue article (via New York Magazine)

After seeing the online explosion about this yesterday - nothing like a little Mama Drama to drive book sales - this Vogue subscriber actually picked up the magazine and . . . read the article. Shocking, I know.

What I come away with is a . . . jumble of feelings. Weiss is a parent who thinks she's doing well by her daughter but one who is also deeply torn about her own eating issues, who acknowledges the deep unpopularity of her & her doctor's choice to implement this diet.

She admits to denying Bea food when she was hungry. She admits to publicly berating Bea, other family, and wait staff over food choices. She states about her own daughter, in an international fashion magazine, ". . . that fat girl is a thing of the past."

*pauses to hit head on keyboard*

The little girl in me - the slightly chubby one who started middle school on a diet mandated by a coach*, the anorexic one who graduated high school with a scholarship and an eating disorder, both hard-earned - she grieves. Grieves for the daughter and the mother - yes, both - though of course it's the daughter who is the ultimate victim, the one who will have to live with that article & eventual book forever.  Are we to expect anything different, though, in a society so deeply torn about which messages we send about women's sizes - "Fight obesity!" "Love yourself for who you are!" "Beauty comes in all sizes!" "But you'll only see size 0 represented in a magazine!"

(*Thankfully, my family quickly figured out this wasn't ok - I quickly dropped the diet and the sport.)

The adult in me acknowledges that obesity, childhood obesity included, is a very real health concern, particularly here in the US. We won't solve it by not talking about it.

The writer in me believes, however, that there has to have been a better way to talk about this issue. All of us who blog about our families struggle to toe that line between honoring our people and over-exposing them. We write in part to connect with others, and I can understand Weiss writing that to reach out to others dealing with similar issues. What I cannot understand is the forum in which she chose to do so, and the language by which she chose to do it; it crosses that indelible overexposure line. "Fat" is forever, so to speak.

The parent in me realizes I'll have to make some unpopular decisions that others might not understand, and that someone else not understanding doesn't necessarily make those decisions wrong.

The parent in me is also ashamed to admit these things make me glad to be raising a boy instead of a girl . . . show of hands, who was surprised this article was about a mother getting her daughter, not her son, to diet? Me neither.

Perhaps most importantly, the parent in me will not be buying this book, nor any of the other recent "Freak-o-Momics" (thank you, Carolyn Hax, for that turn of phrase) literature publishing houses are pushing at us. I have enough to worry about with raising my wee boy CEO; respecting women of all sizes - no, people of all sizes - is a lesson he'll have to learn elsewhere, clearly.

Did anyone else read this? Whaddaya think?

Lessons Learned from a Shop-Your-Closet Month

So I'm officially 3/4 of the way through my Lent no-clothes-shopping challenge .  . . um, not that I and my AmEx are counting down the seconds until my BFF Target and I can get reacquainted. Not not not.

Would that I were typing to you here to share the secrets of how I've magically overcome the desire to shop entirely, that I'm channeling all of the money I would have frittered away on charitable endeavors instead, or that I've had staggering spiritual revelations on a daily basis.

Um . . .

The good news is, I have managed to identify some bad habits. I have freed up not a small amount of time that used to be devoted to shopping the latest flash sale. This Episcopalian isn't going to dive into the spiritual stuff too much here - it's well above the non-existent pay grade of this champagne bubble of a blog, for starters - but this challenge has given me pause for religious reflection too.

***Insert disclaimer about how not shopping for one month is hardly a hardship in the grand scheme of things, that I'm fortunate to have a perfectly sufficient wardrobe in the first place in addition to my other blessings, etc. blah blah blah. Insert yuppie cliche here.***

But back to the clothes, all the Pretty clothes I'm not buying until Easter Sunday. A few things I've picked up from this, in case it's helpful to any of  you:

Investing in the Classics Matters

I declared the No-Shop Month first and thought about it after . . . only to realize I had a conference and two weddings to attend, in addition to some other networky stuff that popped up - AKA, perfect justifications to set out shopping for that mythical "perfect outfit".

Thing is, until recently I've been trying to buy less things, but better things; for example, I'd rather have one very well made dress that will last me years versus a few for the same price that won't go past a season. In forcing myself to shop my own closet, I discovered I had plenty of basics that, though they may not be the trendiest thing going, are more than appropriate.

("Not the trendiest thing going" . . . "More than appropriate" . . . yes, Grandmother, I've finally become you. Happy?)

Shopping for Kids' Clothes is More Fun, and I Miss it Desperately

The number one, biggest temptation of this whole no-shop thing? Cuteness for Master P.

In fact, I confess to you that the one time I've fallen off the Lenten wagon was to buy the wee CEO wannabe Wayfarers, which he obviously needed - NEEDED! - for our beach-trip-that-wasn't:

Apologies for the blurry Instagram repeat iPhoto here - but . . . wee tiny Wayfarers!

Not to worry - in a spectacular display of karmic balance, guess who broke my favorite pair of aviators within 24 hours of my buying these? Well played, God, well played.

Shopping (in part) Due to Boredom, Not Need

Turns out no matter what the job, my default vice when bored is to online shop. Not that I was spending every minute of the day on this - far from it. That being said, I can't believe how much time and energy I've had to devote to other goofing off favorites - reading, for example - now that I'm not shopping.

Organize What You Have

Something that has helped in shopping my own closet is organizing what I already have:

Enter the LBD of organizing, every Type A Minus' dream

From jeans to jewelry, turns out I had a bunch of goodies I'd forgotten about - because I couldn't find them. Um.

A Plan for the Trends I'll Invest In

This child of the 80s is ten sorts of happy about all the bright stripes and candy-colored denim floated around; this shopping break has given me pause to consider how I'll eventually incorporate those trends around the staples I already have.

The 48 Hour Rule

All of this waiting confirms for me that continuing my "48 hour rule", in which I take at least two days to think over any item before buying, is worth getting back to once this challenge is over; it isn't always possible, given our flash sale buy now sort of world, but as a general principle it has saved me money and mistakes.

Some people do this by keeping tags on new purchases for a set amount of time; I, however, am nothing if not lazy about life generally & returns specifically, so I prefer to do my waiting period pre-purchase.

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The above lessons aside - after this Lenten challenge is over I clearly need a replacement pair of sunglasses. And the entire April J. Crew catalog. Then there are those Kendra Scott baubles I've been eyeing. Need need need.

More after I complete this fashion fatwah - though obviously I've learned everything I need to here. Obviously . . . 

Getting Back to Your Secret Superpowers

Remember those things you loved to do most as a little kid, the things you proudly identified yourself as - "I'm a soccer player" or "I'm a reader geek", back before things like modesty and Being an Adult got in the way?

It's an odd place, this approaching the mid . . . thirties. There, I admitted it, in public, here on the interwebs for all to read. As I inch into decrepit elderly status, I'm actually getting more young in some ways.

Of course, life now doesn't quite have that carefree, "What will I be when I grow up" wonder to it as it did in my not-so-recent twenties - thank God. I have neither the energy nor the vanity anymore to properly devote myself to a quarter-life crisis, though if I concentrate I can still hear the faint strains of the Alanis & John "Wish We Didn't Know What a D-Bag He Actually Is" Mayer soundtrack emoting softly.

I don't know that I have any more answers at 34 (it's awful seeing that number just sitting there baldly like that). However, not only do I feel like I'm finally reaching some of those picket-fence life milestones, I'm also getting back to the things I really love to do, those things where I am most Me, the stuff I was too busy studying partying and daydreaming and careering through my twenties to have time for - if you'll forgive me the cheese, they are my "3 Rs" of readin', writin', and horseback ridin'.

Clearly my inability to look decent in a photo is also an ongoing superpower - let's focus instead on the cute pony.

I'm writing more. I'm reading more, and one day, I hope to get back to the riding. About that latter bit - I'm one of those girls who never truly recovered from the pony phase of life. While I have neither the resources nor the time now to get back into it on the competitive level, the desire is there, quietly biding its time in the background. I can't wait to give Master P his first riding lesson, and not only because that will give me the excuse to sneak one in for myself, but to see if that joy is there for him as well.

Ironically, of course, this return to my roots comes at a moment when I've never had less free time. The thing is, the older I get the more I gain a Yoda-like perspective on this - if you want to make something happen, you will figure it out someday, somehow.

Funny how as we get older, if we're lucky, we become more childlike too - and I don't mean in that tired "old people wear diapers" (hold me . . . ) sense. Rather, as much as I've changed over the years, those places where I most truly know joy, know peace, have not. In the pages of a book, typing at a keyboard, or holding the reins is where I'm at my best, and I'm finally old (young?) enough to start realizing it.

What are some of your secret superpowers you hope to get back to one day?

How Caring for a Sick Toddler is Like Being in a Bad Relationship

You feel helpless. Trapped, even.

Your friends and family barely recognize you.

Your Secret Sweatpants of Shame, once occasionally worn in the privacy of your home, are less a "secret" now than they are a "uniform".

It's like you're not even speaking the same (any) language anymore.

You haven't endured - or produced - this level of whining since adolescence.

You feel desperate to escape, yet guilty for feeling that way.

The walls seem to be closing in on you.

You can't quite figure out how to deliver the bad news (medicine) to your man.

When you do finally have a few precious moments to yourself, you feel awful about wanting them - but not so awful that you don't greedily take 'em. 

You look at your guy and think, "But he's so cuuuuuuuuuute . . ."

Please forgive me the iPhone photo, but - OH, THE MISERY (poor Master P's, that is, not mine).

After that last hellish week (hello, Ides of March!) - I'm happy to announce the end of both Master P's mystery virus and my pity party. For any of you who can't read Sarcasm Font - beneath this selfish moaning I truly do adore my boy with the fire of a thousand flaming blah blah blahs and am thrilled he's finally back to his boisterous boy self.  I'm grateful that I get to do things like nurse him back to health, I really am.

It's just that I was also thrilled & grateful when our "mom's day out" sitter returned from spring break this week. And lo, I did sprint out the door for a few hours of blissful freedom, and it was good.

Am I missing anything from that list up there?

Smug Mummy Style: Colorblocking the Arm Party

This post is not sponsored or solicited in any way; it is merely further proof of my rampant materialism and online shopping browsing hobby. As if we needed further proof. Ahem.

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Enough with the worrying and career kvetching - let's get back to the business of being Prettier than Everyone Else, shall we?

Spring typically comes with a burst of color for our wardrobes - what's happening in nature is generally happening in our closets. For many of us of a preppish bent, if at least one spring item of apparel isn't screaming with color, things start to feel positively . . . well, winter-y. (And as someone who wishes only to partake in winter if it means "apres ski beverages by a roaring fire", that means it's to be avoided.)

Happily for us, two ongoing trends - colorblocking and the arm party - means we can stay true to our vibrantly colored not entirely naturally blonde, ahem roots while staying fashionable. The good news for any fellow Smug Mummies in the audience is that the jingle-jangle of the arm party keeps Baby entertained; the good news for all of us is that you can hop on this trend train at a variety of price points:

Clockwise from upper left: Lilly Pulitzer bamboo bangle / Target bamboo bangles (thanks for the tip, Amy!) / Target bow bracelet / Kate Spade "Carousel" watches / Swell Caroline bamboo bangles / Lilly Pulitzer "Spring Garden" bracelet / Fornash "Gecko" bangles / Fornash bamboo bangles

The brighter, the better - so pile 'em high and wear 'em proudly, either as shown or interspersed with your silver or gold arm party basics (or silver and gold - don't tell Grandmother, but we rebelliously mix both here.) (And randomly use the royal "We" at odd times.) (Parentheses)

Anyone planning to put some Spring in your arm party step? I'll be joining you just as soon as this hateful no-shop Lent plan of mine is over .  .

Burning Your Professional Bridges

"May the smoke from the bridges I burn today be seen far and wide," - excerpt from the finest resignation letter there ever was. (No, really - forget that Wall Street/ping pong guy and go read this immediately.)

When I'm not boring you with tales about how happy I am to be a stay-at-home-mom, I'm usually nattering on about how thrilled I am to have left the practice of law - that is, unless we're discussing shoes here. Why aren't we discussing shoes here?

Ahem.

Anywhoo, the point is - yes, I do have one - what if I have to / decide to go back to work outside of the home someday, and I'm on record here about how much I didn't like the law? Much as I like what I'm doing now, there will come a day when Master P + Imaginary Future Child will be off to school - what then? How smart is it to be rambling on a public blog - in lawyer speak, on the record - about how my old profession wasn't right for me, when I might need or want to work again one day?

I couldn't find a lawyerly photo of myself, so you get Master P blowing his chances with the lawnmower industry instead. There's a giving them the finger joke in there that I am far too mature to make.

(Edited to Add: Found one! Here is the picture of lawyerly despair - and exaggeration - during a long day at the office;)

Younger, blonder, but more miserable.

Um. I do occasionally debate whether it's brave or exceptionally stupid of me. Wait, don't answer that - I know which one it is. Foolishness aside, I candidly type here about this in hopes I can help someone (anyone) avoid feeling stuck in the wrong job - and also as a challenge to myself to not fall back into the devil I know.

For every year I practiced law, I told myself, "Just one more year" and "Let's pay off X loan, then you can look into teaching or something else (anything else)". I'm glad to have met some personal and financial goals in doing so. I'm proud of having pushed through something that largely didn't come naturally to me, but . . . no. Not again.

I don't write this to create my own barnburner of a resignation letter (if a terribly tardy one at that) - that's not my style - nor am I ripping up my Bar cards or attacking the many incredible people with whom I once worked. I'm fortunate to have practiced for & with some terrific folks, and I don't write any of this to reflect badly on any - ok, most - of them. It was the practice, not the people, that was the problem.

Rather, I want to challenge myself right here to do better, to find something (if finances/circumstances permit, of course) that challenges me in all the good ways, or at least doesn't make me dread going to work. I want to do as Ms. Maura did and be brave enough to pursue something I've always wanted to do.  I don't have it figured out yet, and I'm grateful that I don't have to, but I'm declaring myself open to a new possibility.

No Mo' Mondays, darlings - let that probably stupid, definitely liberating smoke (sparkly pink clouds, as I'm envisioning it) fly. Can I get an "AMEN!" from any fellow bridge-burners?

More from the Mom Guilt Files

If you'll forgive me the rare serious moment here - we'll get back to emergency shoe developments shortly - I just can't shake this morning's excellent post from Erin, which discusses the confidence that comes with owning the decision to parent in the way that works best for her family (which is staying at home in her case), in a culture which can't quite decide how it feels about that choice.

I've had a heavy heart - yes, I do have an icy, shriveled-up one in here somewhere - reading how many of you have also struggled with feelings of guilt over whichever "work while having kids or not" solution you've come up with. All of us parents deal with guilt, but specifically, a number of you stay-at-home parents have described feelings of guilt over not pursuing a career, guilt over enjoying staying at home, guilt at "not contributing anything" to a marriage (I detest even typing that one, it's so full of NO), guilt at spending any money on yourself, guilty guilty guilty GUILT.

Phew. That's a lot of guilt, Pretties.

I don't know how, but of all the many (MANY) things I like to worry about, I feel fortunate that this particular form of guilt hasn't gotten to me - yet. Though I've been irked with the judgment of others about my stay-at-home decision, once the Anoymous Husband and I made that choice, I like to think that we've owned it.  I've selfishly struggled with the ego hit of no longer having a fancy pants lawyer title, but I haven't for a second felt guilty about shelving a career that ultimately wasn't right for me, in favor of one that is absolutely right for my family.

I feel no guilt in taking care of this full time. I just don't. Worry, yes - guilt, no.

As far as society, there are people who will mock us for whatever we decide, whatever their motivation is for doing so. I type this knowing that there are plenty who will read and roll their eyes at me here. I can't control what others think of my decisions, but I can control the decision itself; you may not like my choices, but that doesn't mean they are wrong. Easier said than done, of course, but there's comfort in that.

If there is to be any guilt, let it be that there are parents who would like a different situation, whether that be finding a job outside the home or staying in it (BECAUSE I AM FINE WITH WHATEVER YOU DECIDE, AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME SAY OTHERWISE, NEENER NEENER PUMPKIN EATER!!!), and can't afford it or otherwise find a way to make that change. I'm not sure I can do anything about that aside from hate it, but I do. Would that we could find a way to help families emotionally and financially reach the right decision for them.

As we set off for the weekend, I waive my magic wand - which is pink and sparkly, obvs. - and declare this a guilt-free zone. Let's own our choices to work outside of the home or not, society be hanged. I wish I could spare all of us the agony of worrying what others think about that right choice.

This job is awesome, even when it isn't. It is, and I say that guilt free. Pinky swear.

The Smug Mummy Jet-Sets to . . . Nowhere

When I'm not otherwise busy with my favorite hobby - worrying - I enjoy devoting myself to that other charitable endeavor, self-pity.

So it is today, when I was scheduled to be packing Master P & myself up for a Smug Mummy wedding weekend full of sand between our toes and sunnier climes . . .

. . . instead, we're staying home on the advice of our pediatrician & attempting to get the wee CEO healthy:

Have you ever seen a sorrier thing in your life - and I'm not just talking about the Mom Martyr act I'm putting on here?

Of course, it is my job to take care of Master P, and I'm only too happy to do it - and avoid subjecting him or our fellow passengers to our (coughy icky) travels, but . . . but . . . BEACH. Sunshine. My dear Smug Mummy friend all gussied up in her bridal finery. Also, BEACH.

Wah.

In lieu of my usual "out of office" direction request that you send any fanmail by way of the swim up bar, I'm asking that you send us continued restorative thoughts & restorative margaritas here to Pretty HQ. That is, if they can fit through the door around my self-pity. xoxo

Worry, with a Side of Worry

I worry. I worry like it's my job. I worry about worrying too much. If life were a restaurant, I'd order an entree of worry with a side of roasted worry (and truffle mac & cheese, because - duh).

I recently aimed my worry wagon at the Anonymous Husband, who - brace yourselves for this win of logic - I worried wasn't worrying enough. Yeah. With our poor Master P spiking a fever again last night,  I was all aflutter with fretting and "Are you sure we should listen to the on-call doctor and wait 'til the morning to get him checked out?" and "Should we still travel to the wedding this weekend?" and  "Am I being a bad host to our visiting family?" and grumble grumble grumble WORRY. "Why am I the only one upset about all of this?" I asked him.

He gave me one of those patient, long-suffering husband looks and responded, not with one of his (ok, *our*) usual smart-alecky one-liners, but in a calm, reflective tone - "I worry every day. I worry about raising our son the right way. I worry about you being happy. I worry about earning enough to support us & do the things we want to do. I worry about saving enough money for our future. So, yeah, I worry - I just don't always tell you because I don't want you to worry more."

In healthier times - photo credit to the ever-fab Ziem Photography

Oh. OK, then. Now I'll worry about being the jerk who nags her super excellent husband/provider/best friend type about not complaining enough.

In my wiser moments, I recall that verse - "Which of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?" "Oh, sure - easier said than done," my inner adolescent quickly counters. "I bet those perky apostles never had a feverish toddler / (insert whatever life situation I'm currently apoplectic about here). Hmmph."

Here's to a little infant Tylenol and a lot of faith & husband appreciation. Maybe I'll try and go with the truffle mac n' cheese with only a side of worry the next time - maybe . . .

How Not to Attend a Conference

Melissa here, reporting to you from the un-Pretty front lines of flu stricken / teething / Daylight Savings Time  - addled toddler. I'm crossing myself with infant Tylenol in one hand and a bottle of pinot in the other, hopeful that this grim, whiny fate is not what the Mayans predicted for 2012. I barely roused myself from the Betty Draper Fainting Couch of Doom to type this to you, and unless you're sending reinforcement smelling salts (Xanax), I can't say when I'll return.

(I wonder how the Mayans felt about slight exaggerations & mom martyrs? Ahem.)

Anywhoo, last weekend I was all excited to attend my very first blog conference, convinced as I was that I'd meet fabulous people and learn Everything There Is to Know About Good Blogging. Some of that happened, but that aforementioned sick kid and my own ineptitude conspired to make it quite a bit different than I'd expected.

I ended up only being able to attend one day of the conference, alas, but I made enough blunders in that day to share here so you can avoid my fate. Turns out a blog conference is a lot like any old other conference I've been to, past stuffy lawyer get-togethers included, and I should have approached this in the way I would have back in ye olden days of law & much boredom.

Tips for How Not to Attend a Conference

Don't Practice Networking

This may sound silly to the extroverts in the audience, but this recovering introvert learned that my small talk skillz need frequent exercise lest they abandon me when most needed, like, uh, last Saturday. I'll never be a schmoozing star, but in the past PK ("pre-kid") I did enough professional and social events to feel more comfortable in a room full of people I don't know.

There's a lot of down time at a conference, not to mention opportunities to interact one-on-one with some of the expert speakers - or would be, that is, if one weren't busy pretending to send a text message because one is too shy to approach anyone in a room full of strangers. You know the "one". Um.

Don't Have a Game Plan

I signed up for this conference because it sounded fun and was near-literally in my backyard - that's well and good, but I missed the chance to get some good mentoring and connect with fellow attendees by not having a clearer goal for what I hoped to accomplish there.

I don't mean anything douchetacular here like "building my BRAND" (unless narcissism + too much time at Nordstrom = "brand"), but was I looking to connect with sponsors? Figure out how I feel about sponsored stuff to begin with? Look into freelance writing opportunities? Meet fellow bloggers? Hone my craft? Yes. No. Maybe? I dunno.

This mattered when I got the chance to interact with some magazine / site editor types - I quickly lost their interest when I couldn't sum what my writing is about and what my goals were in attending this shindig. On a social level, I couldn't connect as well with other bloggers because, absent whipping out my iPad and shouting, "Here, read this!", I don't have a good answer to what my writing drivel is about.

(For anyone attending one of these, here's a helpful post about how to get your game plan together - which I read after attending this, of course. Of course).

Don't Take Photos

. . . after promising my legions of fans - all three of you - that I would faithfully document the event, that is. Between the sick toddler and the terror of being in a room of style bloggers - I've not experienced that level of head-to-toe once over we women do since junior high - I got seriously camera shy, with a few exceptions:

Recognize anyone here? I was thrilled to meet this group of lovelies- and these costumes. (Photo credit and copyright to Airstream Photobooth)

While it's better to live an event than spend your entire time documenting it, I'm the girl who attended a freaking social media conference and then forgot to social media it. Oy.

Three Things I Accidentally Got Right

Start Small

I'm happy I went to something this close to home for my first blog outing & first schmoozing in a long while. I was able to pick and choose events to attend because I could just go home in between sessions, which helped me not feel too overwhelmed (or would have, had Master P not fallen ill).

That being said, the next time I will venture further afield and to a blog conference more in my writing area - I have neither the talent nor the Chanel bag budget to keep up with true fashion bloggers, for starters. In keeping with my recovering introvert status, I actually get more out of a conference when I'm forced into attending all of the events - with repeat exposure I can wear people down into pretending to like me.

Connect with One or Two People Meaningfully (thanks, Ms. Privilege, for this tip)

See that photo above? I was fan-girl levels of thrilled to meet some of my favorite bloggers at this thing and shamelessly tag along with them. That was worth the price of admittance alone.

Business Cards

It's a minor point but, yes, business cards - even though the only "business" I've really done here to date is the business of talking, shopping, and whining too much. I'm glad I overcame my suspicions about this one, because these things were being exchanged like candy at this event. I'm happy I indulged my inner paper snob and sprung for a good design and paper weight too, since it wasn't only my shoes getting the Side Eye at this event.

***

Any questions on how you too can totally hose up a conference Pretty style? Offers to send me restorative martinis?

My First Time (at a Blog Conference, That Is)

"I will not sulk about having no boyfriend, but develop inner poise and authority and sense of self as woman of substance, complete without boyfriend, as best way to obtain boyfriend," - Bridget Jones' Diary

Sub in "blog conference experience" for "boyfriend", and that's the sort of pep talk I'm giving myself about Texas Style Council, the social media shindig I'm attending this weekend. I can do this! I have sparkly shoes! And, since I'm such a Big Damn Deal and all, nevermind how potentially douchetacular this seems, business cards! Besides, this is supposed to be fun, even for recovering introverts like me! Exclamation point!!!

For any new Pretties I meet this weekend - welcome! I'm Melissa, lover of classic style, a wife, stay-at-home mother, retired lawyer, and non-retired smartass. I'm on a quest to avoid the dreaded "Mom Uniform" while parenting my darling 1.5 year old boy and watching far too much "Downton Abbey". I'm about more than what I wear, though - where I travel, what I'm reading, and who I'm judging are all fair game here; you can read more about my drivel here though I have no idea why you would.

For my regulars - when I'm not otherwise fretting about what to wear, I'll try to update over the next few days via my Twitter and Instagram (which you can now access online here, voila!) - since you'll obviously be spending your every waking moment wondering, "What is she doing? What is she wearing? I HAVE TO KNOW RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE!!!"

Or not. Ahem.

Any advice on how to best do one of these conferences - or, failing that, which shoes look best with *deep breaths* inner poise?

Linking Up: Show Off Your Pretty

You know those Pretty things that you were SO excited to get at the time, but in hindsight are far more valuable for the memories associated with it?

Today I'm participating only six days late in the "Show Off Your Bling" link-up of my Invisible Internet Friend Amy, not because I want to show off my worldly possessions but because Ms. Amy is wonderful, and you should be reading her. The idea is to tell the story behind a significant piece of jewelry to you, so here goes . . .

On the Wasp SATs (thank you, Waspy Redhead, for that delicious phrase), Tiffany is to a Southern California girl of a certain vintage as David Yurman is to a Texan. It is the foundation jewelry around which we base our outfits, and we would no sooner leave the house without it than we would go without decent highlights.

This all seemed terribly important to me back in 2003, when I was set to graduate law school, turn 25, and somehow (gulp) Figure Out My Life. It was a heady time, full of promise and the immense relief of being done with school - slash - horror of Bar study. In honor of my graduating, my late grandmother generously gave me a small check - which seemed a princely sum at that student time - and told me to head to Tiffany and pick something out.

Tiffany! Like any woman raised on Audrey Hepburn and Elle Woods, I was star-struck by that special shade of blue and the sterling silver treasures that those perfect little boxes contained. I didn't own any Tiffany - or any "fancy" jewelry at all, for that matter - hailing as I do from a long line of sturdy, practical sorts who don't put much stock in that sort of thing, if you can believe it.

I spent hours poring over my catalog, dreaming about which treasure to select. What you see above is the end result - it's just a simple silver necklace, but oh, what a big deal it was back then.

I don't wear this much anymore, but when I do I'm proud - proud of having completed a degree that was difficult and entirely outside my comfort zone, when I'd wanted to quit a thousand times over. I'm grateful to my late grandmother, my fellow pink sheep of the family who also enjoyed the Pretty things in life.

Isn't that what Pretty is about, after all - the good memories of people and experiences which make us better than we are?

Anyone else have a gem of a story (AHAHAHA) (Sorry) (No, really - that was awful, I get it) (Parentheses) to share? Head on over to Forever 29 . . .

The Spring Floral Trend, Smug Mummy Style

There are trends where you can mindlessly hop on the be-striped bandwagon, and then there are those where, unless worn with extreme caution, you risk looking like Grandma Myrtle's sofa. The florals trend, alas, can plant one (HA, see what I did there?!?) squarely in the latter category.

In our ongoing quest to be Prettier Than Everyone Else - I think we can agree not looking like a dated couch is included here - I bring you my take on this tricky trend. Would that I were as brave as the chic Miss PIPMegan in sporting the full-out festival of spring flowers . . . alas, I'm but a toddler mom trying to somehow look current while sprinting around the playground covered in Annie's bunny crackers (read: "hippie Goldfish alternative" for any non-parents reading). A sprinting sofa is best avoided.

Hence, if I were shopping now, I'd do as the occasionally sensible fashion mags advise and incorporate this trend via strategic accessories vs. a head-to-toe look. Happily, the prep-inclined among us have been working the florals for years; note that the current look is more of a watercolor-y, subdued take on it than the outsized, Lilly-ish florals to which we're accustomed, though some standby preppish retailers are getting in on the flower game as well:

(I wouldn't wear this all at once, obvs., but I'd spruce up my existing wardrobe with one or two of these beauties)

Spring '12 Florals by legallyblondemel featuring a bib necklace

(clockwise from left): floral cuff / blazer / ring / statement necklace (on sale!) / bracelet / clutch / scarf

Whaddaya think - is this a trend you'll wear, or is it best left to Aunt Mildred's lounge chair?

Children's Literature or American Horror Story?

Most parents fear their child growing up to be unkind or a serial killer or something (talk about unkind). Though of course I fret about that sort of thing, what this book geek has also secretly worried about is having a child who doesn't love reading.

Thankfully, my wee CEO has so far shown his mother's enthusiasm for books, and so I've enjoyed revisiting a number of my favorite childhood reads with him - that is, in addition to the umpty million books about transportation he also enjoys (I highly recommend "Backhoe Loader IV: Even More Photos of Tractors You Never Knew Existed). It has warmed this book lover's cold, icy heart, except . . .

. . . have you ever noticed just how creepy a lot of children's literature is? A lot of what I'd remembered fondly as gentle, whimsical tales turn out to be something straight out of the local TV news when read through an adult's eyes . . .

"The Cat in the Hat", Master P's current favorite, turns out to be a harrowing tale of two totally unsupervised children who cheerfully allow a perfect stranger bearing gifts to enter their home. Call me a helicopter parent, but if taken literally, those are perhaps not the life lessons one most wishes to teach a one-year-old?

Master P - lover of dark tales and long walks on the playground

And don't get me started on the classic "Goodnight, Moon" - because who doesn't like strange little old ladies and multiple clocks watching you as you sleep?

This extends to classic lullabies too, of course. We sing an adapted version of the long-loved, long-frightening "Rock-a-Bye Baby" here at Pretty HQ - a version that some might call self-serving, but I like to think of as feminist, in which "Mama will catch you, cradle and all." (Listen, Dada can make up his own lullaby lyrics when he's running the bedtime show, mm'kay?)

Lest you think I'm taking this all too literally - actually, if you think I'm taking anything too seriously, you've clearly not been reading this here blog for very long - I know that there's an army of English scholars devoted to understanding the dark undertones of children's literature*. Much of what appears unpalatably grim when read through a grown-up's eyes actually serves a valuable purpose in helping children learn understand their world - hence the enduring love for "Grimm's Fairy Tales" and such.
*This English minor actually took a course on this subject, therefore qualifying me as an expert in the field. Obviously.

That being said, I'll continue to sing my occasionally revised lullaby versions and sneak in some less sinister literature - for exampke, my own childhood favorite, "Eloise" holds up nicely upon further adult review - when I can.

Anyone else come across something unintentionally creepy while reading to or otherwise entertaining your kid?

Douchebags with Kites, or What I Learned This Weekend

"Your best isn't good enough!" Talk about a phrase destined to strike fear in a new parent's (cold, icy) heart - is there anything we fear more? - even if the person issuing those choice words is a douchebag with a kite.

Mildly relevant sidebar: "Douchebags with Kites" is the name of my new band - we're auditioning lead guitar today at happy hour if anyone is interested?

With those harsh words still ringing in my ears, we sped off in the Trophy Wife Wagon to spend the weekend with dear friends in Houston. These are the sorts of friends who you have in your life not only because, you know, you like them and stuff, but because they are the people you want to be when you grow up. Have the type of marriage you want to have, parent their kid with the affection, wisdom and grace you only hope you one day can muster too. They have their fights and their foibles like anyone else, of course, but just being in their presence somehow makes me want to do better.

(And yes, friend L is a reader of this here blog, so this surreptitious sucking-up is also done in hopes that she'll send me more of her delightful baked goods - hi, L!)

It was just what the doctor ordered since my actual doctor refuses to prescribe me festive anti-anxiety meds when I ring her up at 5 pm on a Friday claiming a drive-by parenting emergency - a little Texas spring sunshine, trips to the playground, good food, good wine, and cupcakes were just what we - fine, ok, *I* - needed to return home refreshed:

Funny how the douchebags fade into the background with a few miles and a swing or two in between you. My best is doing just fine once again, thankyouverymuch - and thank *you* very much for the kind words of support over the weekend. Mwah.

A Drive-By Parenting

What's black and white and sucks all over? When a stranger drive-by parents you - as in, offers an unsolicited, uninformed opinion about how you're parenting all wrong. Because they, of course, know all about you and your child and have the secret answers from the mythical Book of Parenting.

Today, while meeting a supremely darling reader (hi, Reader!) for lunch, I had just such an incident. Now I'm seeing not my usual polka dots of prepdom but those un-Pretty ones of rage.

We met at a very casual lunch spot with playground attached and, true to tempestuous toddler form, Master P was having a difficult time from the get-go. The calm, sit-down lunch with beatific child beaming from his high chair and flirting with lunch companions just wasn't happening today.

I had to make one of those quick toddler parenting decisions where you either give up and go home or make the best of it and try to stay out of the other diners' way. Given the family-friendly setting, I decided to stay, and we sat outdoors near the playground so he could safely meander while we chatted - rather, while we tried to chat in between bouts of my sprinting to keep the wee CEO off the nearest table / on the playground.

Mildly Relevant Sidebar: I now have a new definition of "working lunch", which did not previously include coaxing my son down a slide while inhaling a now-cold slice of pizza he isn't interested in eating.

At the end of our meal, my little explorer caused me to sprint again when he wandered over to the field adjacent to the playground, where a grandfather-looking type and what I assume were his school-aged grandchildren were flying one of those expensive kites that look more like a weapon than whimsical child toy.

Master P cheerfully toddled into the kite cord and got tangled before I could catch him, which is when the (stuff) started flying:

"Your kid is going to hurt my kite and make these kids very angry," barked our hero, "He should know better - you need to do a better job of watching him." (note: nothing about how Master P could have been hurt by the sharp cord, just concern about the kite).

Perpetuator of kite crimes to some, pretty awesome to mama here.

You know those red spots of rage that cartoon characters get in front of their eyes? I actually get those - right before I slink away from a bad situation, usually, muttering under my breath. Not so this time:

"I'm sorry, sir" I offered, incredulous at his aggressive tone. I couldn't help but add, "He's one and one-half years old." I scooped up Master P to exit the bad scene, but not before our playground parenting expert replied:

"That's not good enough. You need to do a better job of watching him."

"And you need to do a better job of not insulting parents who are just trying to do their best," I cooly replied (yes, really I did) (Reader, please back me up here!) (parentheses) before issuing my patented Icy Glare and stomping off in my cute new Mom Shoes, which, I can only assume, helped here - add that to my list of purchase justifications. I ignored the invective he spewed about "(my) best isn't good enough" - in front of his grandkids, mind you - as we marched off.

Sigh. In my dotage, I now try to look at these situations and see what I could have done differently . . . should I have cancelled lunch and gone home when I saw Master P wasn't going to sit politely at lunch? Maybe - ordinarily I would have, since I believe restaurant patrons have the right to enjoy a peaceful meal without my child interrupting them. However, given the noisy, outdoor, casual setting spilling over with kids - there was a playground, for the love - I decided to chance it and try to do my best to make sure any bad behavior of his (and there was some, admittedly) didn't ruin another diner's experience.

Should Master P have free rein to run wherever he pleases and assault innocent kites? Of course not, and I did my best to remove him from the situation and apologize when it happened.

Should I have clocked that kite-crazy grandpa over the head with his fancypants toy while issuing some devastating one-liners - which I would have come up with on the spot, naturally - about how middle-aged men hanging out near playgrounds aren't at all creepy? Almost certainly - but then, what message am I sending to Master P or that guy's poor grandkids?

How would you have handled this? Anyone else have a drive-by parenting story to share?

Managing Your Social Media Circus: The Follow-Up

Apologies if any of you are seeing multiple versions of this; I posted a prior version, decided I wanted to dither about it a bit more, and am now putting it up with some tweaks. "I Pick Spazzy", apparently.

Hold on to your handbags, darlings - today's post is a difficult one for me to write, since I'm admitting some stuff here that doesn't put me in the Prettiest of lights. We're all about the Pretty here - and totally inappropriate uses of the royal "We" too - and I count honesty except about my age, natural hair color, and any future plastic surgery as falling under that label, so here it goes . . . though I promise we'll get back to deeply superficial topics like the state of shoes soon.

That post I wrote last week about finding balance in your social media life is a topic I've been chewing on ever since, trying to get why this hobby of ours (or job for a lucky few) can grow so all-consuming at times, to the detriment of family and friends, and steps we can take to keep it in healthy balance. I confess I've so enjoyed writing and interacting with you all so much lately that I'm not always totally present when I'm doing my day job of caring of Master P. Not that I'm parked on Facebook or what-have-you all day, but I've had moments of being preoccupied while thinking over a post or checking my phone when the wee CEO was wanting my attention.

Granted, we all need breaks, whatever our jobs, as well as time to pursue our own interests and hobbies. Being the spiffy French parent I apparently am, I also believe in giving Master P a small amount of (supervised) time to himself during the day while I tend to things, be it housework or "me" work like this site. It's just that the extent to which I was "breaking" bothered me.

Turns out I wasn't alone in my musings about this; in addition to the excellent comments you left me last week, please check out excellent posts by Imaginary Internet Friends Amy, AP, and Meg on similar topics, all of which I've found incredibly helpful in coming up with my approach here.

[In lieu of photo, insert irony here of my blogging about too much time with social media - maybe I'll log off here and Tweet / Pin / Facebook / carrier pigeon this too for good measure?]

In case it's helpful to any of you sorting through similar issues, here's a few helpful questions I've asked myself & steps I've taken to feel like I'm more in balance with my social media life and my, uh, real-life life.

If this is a hobby, why are we feeling like we "HAVE" to do it all social media wise (or with any hobby, really?)

Is it keeping up with the Miss Joneses? Addiction? Loneliness? Type A Minus overachiever-tude where I secretly feel the need to be fabulous at everything? Or just, you know, enjoying the heck out of something after years of doing the wrong job, so much so that there simply aren't enough hours in the day to stuff it all in?

For me - and me alone, I speak for no one else here - there's probably a bit of all of the above going on. With the exception of that "finally having fun with my life" bit - finally! - talk about un-Pretty. Ugh.

The trick with the Jonesing and the competitiveness, those ugly things, is of course that we don't know the details of how someone else manages to be an excellent writer or Twitterer or whatever day in & out, when we ourselves can barely find the time to take a shower. We can only know what works for us individually, and how we can best keep this all in perspective for us individually. As for addiction, I'm no expert but figure I also have some plain ol' bad habits here that need breaking.

Here's what I figured out - some day I hope to have more time to devote to getting every post or Tweet where I want it - heck, I'd settle for just marginally decent and less typo-strewn - and maybe even looking into freelance writing. Ya know, for a paycheck and stuff. For now, though, I can only fit so much into a day, and my Mama day job comes first, happily so.

Steps to Keep it in Balance

Here are some changes I've made over the past week, which have helped me keep doing this social media stuff I love while prioritizing my "day job" mom work. I'm not - NOT, you can't make me, nanny nanny boo boo! - claiming I have this entirely figured out yet, at all, but so far this is working well for me:

     Setting a Writing Schedule for the Day

Inspired by Amy, I've started getting up early to put in some computer time before Master P wakes up. I sometimes check email & Twitter during the first 20 minutes or so when the wee CEO first arises and prefers to play independently - then I'm off the computer again until nap time (unless it's one of my two babysitter mornings), when I like to do the bulk of my writing in addition to all the other Real Life Stuff that gets squeezed into that 1.5 hours or so. Once he's up, I try to stay off again until after he goes to bed.

My goal is to shut down my computer & iPhone by 10:30 pm each night - thanks for that idea, Hopsy. I have an iffy record here - Pinterest, you are a jealous mistress (mister?) - but I'm working on this.

Lesson learned: this will come as a huge, HUGE shock to you - I know it did to me - but there is nothing I have to say that it can't wait until the morning and/or when Master P is asleep. There just isn't. What a humbling, mortifying moment it was when I realized that I'd been operating under a different premise.

     Changing Phone Settings & Setting a "Check In" Schedule

You know that mom at the playground whose nose is so deeply buried in her phone that she misses her kid dangling haphazardly off the monkey bars? There's always one, and I fear I was slowly moving in her distracted direction.

I wanted to find a way to keep my iPhone use in check, speaking of jealous misters. Especially when Master P was wee & nursing, it had been a lifeline to the outside world. It was & is mostly a wonderful thing, but it's also something that for me became too easy to constantly monitor instead of being present in the moment.

Shutting off my "commercial" email address, the one constantly pinging with sale reminders and such, was a great first step, not only with this but with my Lenten no-shop resolution as well.

I've also turned my phone to vibrate and am trying to check in only once per hour versus constantly hovering over it; I also don't carry it around with me anymore when I'm home unless I'm expecting an important call.

     Prioritizing Where I Spend the Limited Time I Do Have

I figured out that ye olde blog here and Twitter are my original loves, and where I feel I want to check in regularly; it's also a priority to me to respond to comments when I can and read what you all are writing, though I wish I could do much more on both fronts. Whatever other social media stuff is going on, much as I may enjoy the Pinterest, etc. and learning about whatever new kids come on our tech block - at this point they come second.

***

Phew . . . not Pretty. I'm reading over this again and wondering if we (ok, I) need to set up meetings with 12 steps, over-sharing, and stale coffee?

Anyone else struggling with this? More importantly, who's in for these meetings - any volunteers for VP of Entertainment (ie, bringing wine)?