This is not one of the times.
Well, technically speaking, I got dressed seven times yesterday. (I KNOW. And only one of them involved pajamas!) But the pictures here commemorate my favorite times.
I spent eight hours yesterday shooting a video for Tiny Tags that focuses on...divorce, actually. It was an emotional day, and I definitely cried, and the video will speak for itself when it comes out - so instead of talking about feelings this morning, I'm going to talk about clothing.
Here is a nice thing about having moved from Northern California to Southern: When you live in San Jose and roll into preschool drop-off looking like you just stepped straight out of Grey Gardens, people tend to look at you a little funny. In San Jose, I was definitely “the mom who wore pajamas and sunglasses the size of her head even in the rain.”
Kendrick asked me the other day whether it's weird for me to live in a house that I don't own. He knew how important to me it was; the ability to work on a house and make it my own felt like...I don't know, like an intrinsic part of who I was. And the pride that I got from home ownership after many years of not thinking it was anywhere within the realm of possibility for me was enormous.
But you know what I said to him?
"Eh. I kind of love renting."
I would like my skin to look like this girl's, please.
I have very dry skin; I've whined about it ad infinitum over the years. And I've upped my efforts to combat all that dryness - oils and actual (if only intermittently applied) skincare regimens and such - but one thing I've never really given much thought to is my makeup. As an example, I've been using the same MAC powder foundation since I was in college - but recently it's occurred to me that patting all that matte product onto my skin may be having...kind of the opposite effect of what I'm looking for.
But coverage is important to me, because in addition to being dry, I am also an uncomfortably red human being - rosacea, blah blah blah ugh - and have not-infrequently been asked by people who see me without any makeup on whether I am actually, literally sick. (This is a swell confidence-booster, as I'm sure you can imagine.)
Last year, right around this time, I was walking downtown on my way to visit her mom at her office, and wandered by a little pop-up holiday shop. I hadn't really been planning on browsing, but then I saw what one of the booths was selling, and instantly screeched to a full stop like a Bugs Bunny cartoon (or, if we’re being generationally thematic, a Tiny Toon Adventures character).
If you did not grow up in the Northeast during the 1980s, there is a decent chance you have no idea what Freezy Freakies are. But if you did, you are PUMPED right now. I have so many feelings about these things. We’re talking intense, visceral sense memories, wherein I can actually physically revisit the joyful experience of watching the invisible unicorn appear out of thin air. (Freezy Freakies are made using thermochromic ink, which is translucent when warm, and turns bright colors when cold. But we can pretend it’s just straight-up magic; that’s more fun.) But your memories are also likely filled with intense longing and angst - even rage - because your parents probably thought they were expensive and wouldn't buy you a new pair when you left one in the park, except Cynthia had TWO pairs and it WASN'T FAIR.
Guess what?
