A night out

One of my favorite pieces on display. I did not catch the artist's name. But it was commissioned by SHFT and on close inspection you see that the letters are made up of used batteries and lit from behind with LED lights on top of a collage of entertainment magazine clippings. The batteries all came from microphones at E Entertainment Network. Love that.

It took a lot to get us on the plane, down to Los Angeles for a real night out on the town without Emerson. In the end it was totally worth it. Emerson could not have been happier with her Grandparents and her parents could not have been happier with a 24-hour escape from reality.

We packed overnight bags and traveled to downtown L.A. for an event at the shft.com pop-up gallery and it did not disappoint. Housed in a beautiful old bank building, there was talk of art, sustainable living practices, urban organic farming, bee keeping and natural wines. It was all very grown up and I was sad to have only my iphone to document.

I wore pants with a non-elastic waist band and put on eye make up. I also left my mom bag at the hotel and started the evening with a martini. Already the event had far-exceeded my expectations. And it's weird because at no point during the evening did I have the urge to check any one's pants for poop or suggest to any of the guests that they try just one more bite of anything.

Turns out there's an entire sub-culture of people who are out in public past 7 p.m. on a Monday night and they all seem to be in control of their own faculties.
Who else is wishing I had brought the good camera?

By the time we made it to this amazing restaurant I was completely exhausted. I was mentally and emotionally drained and it was 8:30. Clearly, I need practice.


But the highlight of the evening by a mile was when I thought my husband was ambushing a couple of kids (and by kids I means teenagers which makes me a relic, yes?) playing ping pong in our hotel lobby (because in LA you play ping pong or air hockey or foosball in fancy hotels) and I rushed to the elevator so embarrassed thinking he had indulged one too many cocktails, only to find out he was congratulating the latest cast offs of American Idol.

Apparently, the entire cast stays at The Standard Hotel. I thought he was admiring their ping pong skills and I was embarrassed for him. Which reminds me of the time I elbowed one of Stevie Wonder's handlers out of my way at the airport because I was late for a flight. But the issue of peripheral vision is a post for another day.

Meditation

Doecdoe bag via Creature Comforts.

I really like this bag. The paint-by-numbers artwork, the message. It just works.

Two years ago I was in the throws of post-I have a baby and all I want to do is cry and/or sleep syndrome. It was a low, dark and all together psychedelic time. Let's just say I didn't venture to my backyard for three months because visions of large black birds carrying my baby away kept me up at night. I was scared of birds, friends. Sure that sounds like a medical red flag now, but two summer's ago that was just my reality. I frequently reminded myself of this baby's vulnerability and helplessness, which was really just code for my own straight up fear of total failure as a human being. Yeah, that's clear thinking.

Upon her first visit, my well-meaning mother-in-law caught me in a quiet moment and said "you know, it's going to be alright - it will get better." I bluffed by way through an eye role worthy of a 13 year-old and told her I was just fine, thank you very much.

And as irritated as I was with her words, I needed to hear them. I needed to say them. Over and over again. It is my mantra to this day.

P.S. Just returned from a whirlwind 24 hours in Los Angeles. Hope to share the details tomorrow if I can possibly wrap my head around it.

Love this

Image via P is for Party.

I'm helping to plan a baby shower this summer for an old friend. The issue of shower games came up and I got awfully uppity with my opinion. Let it be known that I am not a fan of the forced adult play. This, however, is about the loveliest idea I've ever come across. I'm lobbying hard, here. Here's my list for Emerson.

Dear baby,

I hope you learn throughout your life

I hope you are not afraid to be yourself

I hope you love the life you make

I hope you get satire

I hope you laugh easily and often

I hope you never forget hope

I hope you ignore fashion magazines

I hope you become secure in your beliefs

I hope you respect yourself

I hope you grow sunflowers

What's your number one "hope" for yourself or your child?

Random goodness

Image by Rachelle Vance via This is Glamorous.

What if you tried this today? Just start it right now and see what happens. Let me know how it goes, o.k.?

And then, there's this. A hand full of magic for your weekend.

Photo from Look Left and Look Right via Milk.

Help wanted

Any thoughts on how to turn a frown upside down?

This started out as a post about how much Sunday nights suck. It was the post where I complain about the soul crushing abyss that is the end of the weekend. Those hours where I stomp around my house making angry mental notes about everything that DID NOT GET DONE. Conveniently turning away from the piles of stuff accomplished. The nights that I toss and turn over nothing in particular. I'm not awake suffering from malnutrition or worried about losing my house to predatory lending practices, no. I'm just vexed. Here, I'll pass you a tissue so you can compose yourself. It's all really sad.

But then I remembered that this is my happy slice of the day. The place where I huff and puff about rainbows and hearts. So I share with you by achievement for the morning. I managed to photograph this aloe vera plant (which I courageously transplanted with my own two hands, yesterday, which was Sunday) into this chalk pot made for Emerson. I could not, however, summon the courage to focus the lens. So let's just agree to call this an artistic choice, o.k.?

P.S. Ellinad Spir is hosting a tremendous giveaway of the cutest kind. My Emerson's crazy mop of hair has benefitted greatly from these little clips. I highly recommend them. Sort of want a pair for myself. Maybe she could make me a custom job in rainbow colors that spells out SAD SAC.

Blanket love

Pendleton blanket from Canoe via Design is Mine.

I know we're headed in to summer but living in Northern California requires a light jacket in the evenings and a cozy throw for the couch during all seasons. Yes, the livin' here is, um, easy. So I would very much like to have this blanket, but it's a bit on the spendy side and my birthday is a long ways off.

Since this little lady is coming to visit soon and she's promised to pass on her crochet skills. I'm thinking of this color scheme for my first project. What do you think? Either that, or something similar in a chevron pattern. I'm torn. And you know I'm not great with the choices, right?

My escape

My dear sweet hubby spent days and hours cleaning out his personal archives and our personal junk. I'm not going to lie, the side of our house looked a lot like the set of Sanford and Son, cue the theme song, for a couple weeks. Bless the recycling men and their patience. And our neighbors for their blind eyes.

My man made room for two whole tables, several chairs, my sewing machine, my serger, and several other pieces of fun for me in the garage. He kept the door locked for two days and when he revealed his handiwork, there was a single orange gerber daisy in a vase on the window sill. Romantic, especially considering the fact that up until that moment I had not realized a window came with our garage. Sad.

It is slowly turning into my own little creative den. I love it. Twinkle lights and handmade curtains are coming and an inspiration board is in the process of being transformed (see below).
Once this frame gets clean I'm going to paint it white (or kelley green or yellow, oh decisions - how they haunt me) and cover a cork board with pretty fabric.
I made this. Because chairs need decorating, no?
P.S. I wish I could have you all over for a dance party with champagne to celebrate. Especially these ladies who kept me plugging along for a space of my own.

Mother's help

I spent several hours with my mom, yesterday. It was really nice. She got to love on Emerson and I got to watch. I told her that her Early Girls were healthy and growing so strong. I secretly hoped she would be proud. She told me tomato plants needed to be pruned frequently, as a tall tomato plant would produce very little fruit. Ooops. She taught me how to properly pinch back new growth. The cutting back, which seems so cruel to me, forces the plant to grow out and fat, rather than tall and barren.

So this morning I pruned. And quietly thanked my mom for passing on this little bit of information. After a lifetime of remarkably hands off parenting, my mom occasionally passes on a bit of wisdom, unbeknownst to her.

Sometimes it's the most painful edits to our lives that inspire the most fruitful growth. Thanks, Mom.


P.S. I cannot stop shoving my face into this fist full of lemon thyme. It smells too good. And also, does anyone have a recipe for something involving Kumquats? I'm thinking some sort of cocktail involving vodka. I would love some divine guidance, here.

Most genius idea

Rainbow cake print from Myzoetrope's etsy shop.

Jordan Ferney arranged the cleverist (that's a word, right?) birthday gift ever. You simply must check it out.

I would love to steal this idea someday.

Some people's creative brains blow me a way.

This is why I love the blogging internet.

Last night was alright

Spent the evening with Conan O'Brien and two of my best girls.

Was nothing short of magnificent.

Fought hard the urge to toss my undergarments on stage.

After all, I am someone's mother.

Made a brief appearance on the jumbo screen.

But lest you forget who's team I'm playing for...it's Team Coco all the way.

The cure all

Photo from Elle Decor via The City Sage.

This is my imaginary hideaway in the woods. Can you see this bed piled high with good books and trashy magazines and someone to refill your coffee/tea/wine glass all weekend? Sounds like a lovely Mother's Day to me.

Loving...

Emerson's style.

She dressed herself yesterday. Complete with socks and sandals and capris and a big hat. Will someone please intervene if she gets her chubby little hands on a fanny pack? I fear I will not have the strength, nor the will to argue the point.

And yes, she's standing in a field of goat poo.

That is all.