When I was 22 years old, newly graduated from college and living in a junior one-bedroom in West Hollywood, my apartment was broken into while I was at the gym one evening. My camera was taken – the thief had tried to take my laptop, too, but had been unable to remove it from the docking station – but far, far worse: my jewelry box was gone from its spot on my bedside table.
You may have noticed that I wear an awful lot of gold jewelry; I’ve always liked the way it looks against my (kind of Casper-y) skin, and generally gravitate towards it more than any other metal. But only a handful of the pieces you’ve seen me wear are karat gold, as opposed to its less expensive (and less precious) cousin, gold-fill jewelry – which I wear a ton of, of course…but it’s not quite the same as the real thing.
It's 7AM on Mother's Day, and I'm writing this from a Southwest flight somewhere over...Colorado, I think. I was originally scheduled to fly home from St. Louis this afternoon, but yesterday morning I was on set and called my kids to FaceTime with them, and that one call ended up changing my plans. I hadn't seen their faces in a couple of days because I couldn't get my FaceTime to work (discovery: restarting one's phone more than once a year is apparently a good idea) - and when they finally popped up on my phone screen my heart started pounding and I started feeling like I might cry (which is not a thing I want to do on a set, ever). When we hung up, I went straight to my computer and started hunting for a flight - any flight - that might get me home even an hour or two earlier.
Mommy-and-me swimsuits that broke me (I am so sorry), my thoughts on that ludicrous Me-ternity kerfuffle, and the ugliest piece of clothing I've seen in a long time. (And more, obviously.)
Do you get all fluttery about diamonds? (That's a trick question; everybody gets all fluttery about diamonds.) I thought you might be into owning some of your own (plus emeralds and a serious opal), so...here you go.
One of the hardest things about parenting - for me, anyway - has been listening to this constant refrain, everywhere I go:
"Enjoy every minute. It goes so fast."
Are you a parent? You know exactly what I'm talking about.
West Village | NYC
Two-Piece Jumpsuit | Bag c/o | Sneakers
I had no idea what to bring with me for this trip. The weather was maybe going to be lovely and hot, or maybe cold and rainy (it has, in fact, been both). I was planning to spend most of my time sitting cross-legged on Erin's couch squinting at computer screens and talking about exciting things like page margins, but also had a couple of client meetings for which I'd need to wear something more closely resembling actual clothing than my ugliest pair of leggings (which are obviously my favorites). And then there's this: in two days, after I finish up everything I have to do here, I'm flying back across the country with Goldie, spending about eight hours at home with Kendrick and Indy, and then going straight back to the airport to get on a flight to St. Louis. I'll explain why later, but the logistics and emotions involved in that rapid of a turnaround - mostly the fact that I've never spent two whole weeks away from my son, and my heart hurts when I even think about it - are obviously stressing me out.
Somewhere In The Middle Of Nowhere
Road trip with my son
I travel with my kids a lot. I do this because it’s fun for me and fun for them, and also because I grew up tagging along with my parents wherever they went, and I think it was a pretty valuable part of my upbringing – it helped me learn to get along wherever, whenever, with whoever. But traveling with children isn’t without its complications (from epic in-flight disasters to sleep strikes). It’s one thing if you’re going on vacation and can give them your undivided attention – but if you’re traveling for business, as I usually am at least in part, you have to do some juggling and plan out in advance how you’re going to make it work.
Hudson Valley | NY
Shit Could Be Worse cocktail tray | Annoyingly pretty rabbit food
You've heard the term "ungrateful houseguest"? Apparently when you're staying at someone's house and they present you with a lovely breakfast that they created just for you, you are not supposed to recoil in mild horror.
