Over the weekend, I discovered a previously unknown talent of mine.
I am really, really, bizarrely good at taping up boxes.
I know this may not sound like an especially noteworthy talent, but both Kendrick and my mother, upon seeing me attack a box with a roll of tape, said something to the effect of, "Whoa. You're pretty efficient there" (or, to be more precise, Kendrick said "Holy s--t, what are you doing to that box?").
Goodness is Zac Posen ever the nicest guy (as nice as he looks - and smart and thoughtful and passionate and lots of other lovely things).
And he should be smiling, because his new collaboration with Ecco Domani – which just hit stores a couple of days ago - is an inspired one. Partially because it's just such a neat idea, marrying wine, entertaining and fashion, but also because it grew out of a genuine respect and long-term bond between two powerhouse brands, which is how all the greatest partnerships come about.
Years and years ago, Zac Posen's very first runway New York Fashion Week show was sponsored by Ecco Domani - helping him kick off what's been a pretty obviously amazing ride - and now he's returned to design a custom bottle for the brand inspired by his love of flowers and a classic Kiko print he's used in past collections. Inside is Ecco Domani's Pinot Grigio - the number one Pinot Grigio in the United States* - but on the outside is a print that showcases the vibrant, fresh notes of the wine and transforms the bottle from a sidenote to the meal into a centerpiece.
OK, so the other night I headed into the city for dinner with a couple of girlfriends at Da Mikele (oh, my gnocchi) followed by a screening of Hot Pursuit thrown by SheKnows, and I dressed in what amounts to a Jordan Uniform: slouchy grey thing and jeans. Plus earrings. You know, 'cause I was "out."
And then I realized: you know what? It's probably my last official Girl's Night Out in the city for...well, I don't know. Maybe forever. Certainly for awhile. And Sofia Vergara is in the movie, for goodness sakes. Sofia Vergara is a fancy, fancy lady.
So:
Alright, the itinerary has been finalized.
We started out all "let's go to New Orleans! Let's go to Montana! Let's see EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD!" And then plugged all our dream destinations into a road trip planner and realized that those little "detours" that are only an inch or so long on the map amount to eight hundred extra hours in a car with two small children. And our kids are good in cars, but no kids are eight hundred hours of good in cars.
Fair enough: straight across America it is. We hit most of our must-sees that way anyway.
In my interview over on Ideel, we talked superpowers, how to be a parent and still get dressed, and my mother's day wish list. Fun stuff. (Check it out here.)
Well this would pretty much save my life every single day, all summer long. (Boston's Public Sunscreen Dispenser Is Absolute Genius For Forgetful Moms, via Mommyish.)
Even if you have a beard, you (probably) don't have poop on your face. (I just love that the word "poop" is in the title of a Washington Post article.) (No, Your Beard Isn't Full Of Poop, via The Washington Post.)
West Hollywood, 2004
I know it's common to be scared of death, but I'm paralyzed by it. I can't think about it, can't entertain the idea of it, and certainly can't talk about it, because talking means feeling and feeling is too much. I wish I was all zen and wise and brave about something that I have dealt with in the past, and am going to have to deal with more and more as time goes on, but I'm not.
Take my dogs, for example: I'm going to outlive them. Those are deaths that I'm going to have to deal with - and likely in the not-too-distant future - no matter how much I dread them and try to pretend otherwise. But I always figured that when the day arrives that something happens to one of my dogs, I will fall to pieces, and will need to hand the reins of dealing with the logistics off to someone better-equipped than I (which would be anyone).
And with the Spring Formal (I cannot believe I am thirty-three years old and once again going to spring formals, but hey, I'll take it), the Business School Experience has come to a close. (Well, technically Kendrick doesn't graduate until next Monday, but I think it's safe to say that this was officially the last school dance of our lives.) We weren't even planning to go, but then my mom offered to babysit and to lend me a dress so I didn't have to go digging through box after box after box in search of a gown that I'm not entirely certain that I even own, and so what the hell:
Spring Formal it was.
You guys, it was SO MUCH FUN. Since it was all very last-minute we decided to just grab dinner on the way up, and we ended up stopping at this completely random Italian restaurant in Port Chester that was straight out of 1956...and not in an ironic way; in a wood paneling and shrimp scampi way. We were the youngest people in there by approximately fifty years. (Obviously I loved it, and ordered the lasagna.)
Mother's Day is one of those holidays that always used to take me by surprise.
All of a sudden it's The Day Before, and oops, now I'm doing a mad dash to find the one place in all of New York City that's not completely booked for brunch and running around to every store in town to find something that isn't a candle (or at least is a very cool candle). Now that I'm a mother, of course, I know EXACTLY when Mother's Day is and am very, very, keenly aware of each moment that it draws closer, because it is MY DAY.
MINE.
And it involves sleep, and the in-bed delivery of bacon.
Anyone out there on the hunt for a broker?
...In the South Bay, specifically?
I know quite a lot of you are at this very moment answering a resounding (and vaguely depressed) "yes" to this question, because whoa have I ever gotten a lot of "THIS IS THE WORST NO BUT SERIOUSLY JORDAN IT'S THE WORST" emails lamenting the disaster that is real-estate purchasing in Silicon Valley. So: I thought I would pass on my recommendation. As miserable as it was trying to buy a house in what might very well be the hottest market that has ever existed anywhere, at any time, for all eternity...Kirsten Reilly and Fran Papapietro of Sereno Group made it better.
I'm a very, very big believer in the wonder that is finding a broker who's the right fit for you - to this day, I'm close friends with the woman who helped us find our Tarrytown house - and think it's all about finding that balance between someone you want speaking on your behalf (because they will be, and in very emotionally and financially weighty situations), and finding someone who you straight-up want to spend time with. Because you will be spending a LOT of time with them, and things will get very personal between you. (My brokers know everything from my income to what my kids are into at the moment to why Kendrick and I had that fight that one time, because I had it while sitting in a car next to one of them. Like I said: things get personal.)
So...we found a house.
WE FOUND A HOUSE.
Yaaaa! (Oh, let me tell you: there have been tears these past few days. Good ones, because we found a house that we love, and slightly less-good ones, because we have never actually set foot in said house, making this purchase a mildly stressful one. But mostly good ones, because I thought this was going to be impossible, and it very nearly was, and now: house!)
