OK, so confession: as much as I obviously love shopping for my daughter…my favorite thing to put her in is my son's clothing.

I anticipated putting her in hand-me-downs for money-saving purposes - because for real: a onesie is a onesie is a onesie - but then realized that even on those mornings when we were doing "something special" and I wanted to put her in her very cutest things…I was going for Indy's old tops, and pairing them with Goldie's own leggings or jeans.

Little striped knit sweaters, long-sleeved henleys in "boy" (read: dark) colors…and…best of all...

Sigh.

So I wore my not-very-old-and-really-very-much-liked clutch out on Saturday night to our Valentine's Day extravaganza, and then the next morning, when we were heading out to brunch, had this very specific series of thoughts:

"It's sort of weird to carry a clutch to brunch.

By popular demand, here is where you can get that pom-pom hat (I don't see it on their site, but give them a ring and they'll send it to you). Also, in this photo we are at a cafe called Riposo, and if you go to New York anytime around brunchtime please go there and order the Sicilian Eggs Benedict.

These leggings are so weird. And yet I like them. This confuses me.

Never before in my life have I given any particular amount of thought to my "lower torso," and yet, thanks to Sports Illustrated, I am not only thinking about it, I am seeing it. A lot of it. (And in case you weren't aware, "lower torso" is a euphemism.) (The Latest Body Part For Women To Fix, via The NY Times.)

Just being ridiculous. (Follow on Instagram here.)

These guys are my heroes. (Two Irish Guys Sneaked Into The SuperBowl Without Tickets And Snagged $25,000 Seats, via The Washington Post.)

Apparently this dress shape is called the "popover." I think it should be called "put me in this now because oh my god, so cute and comfortable."

For superbowls, we wear leopard. (Please note that the red-eye-autocorrect function helpfully adjusted the color of all eight of my eyeballs.) 

On Sunday night, Kendrick and I went into the city with the kids so that he could finally, finally realize his dream of watching the Superbowl from start to finish. (If he watches it at home as he has for the past several years, you see, there is a virtual guarantee that at some point he'll hear a "Honey...?" coming from the other room, which will be followed by a request that he do something not involving being cemented to the couch in a pile of chicken wings.)

We went to a party at our friends Ella and Larry's house, and the Superbowl was watched. Start to finish. (Not by me - I popped in to be horrified by that TV-falls-on-child insurance commercial and enjoy a little Flying Katy Perry, then popped right back out...although I did join for the last twenty minutes and I TOTALLY GET THE FOOTBALL THING now, because that was awwwesome.) And then Kendrick went home to take care of the dogs, and very fortunately did not take my car keys with him this time, yay.