It turns out that suffering from insomnia for ten years and then suddenly finding yourself cured (three cheers for Zoloft!) will transform you into a next-level narcoleptic. I'm serious: I can sleep anywhere. And frequently do.
And apparently I can also sleep through an earthquake, alien apocalypse, or cat attack.
(Kendrick's payback will be swift, and it will be mighty. Don't you worry.)
Currently wearing daily: my mom's vintage 1980s gold earrings (these are similar but expensive, and these are similar and super-cheap) and Cristina V's Balinese-inspired wood and gold beaded necklace, which can be doubled over, as shown, or worn super long.
I am already stressed out about how much TV my children are going to watch this summer, because Mom has to work and camp is only for three weeks and such is life. Which is to say: although these rules are actually quite excellent, there is no way I will be able to enforce them, and I already feel guilty about it. (5 Technology Rules I Enforce Every Summer to Make Sure My Kids Stay Outside, via PopSugar.)
Finally read Lena Dunham's article on why she decided to have a hysterectomy at 31, and it is moving and important. We need to have more honest, open conversations like this about fertility and reproduction and the many, many roads women take when it comes to choosing whether or not (or how) to explore the idea of motherhood. (In Her Own Words: Lena Dunham, via Vogue.)
Awhile back, I had a terrible haircut. Like, a terrible one. An unacceptable one. The kind of haircut that makes you feel sad, because there is literally nothing you can do with it that isn't terrible and unacceptable.
Around that time, Francesca, Brie and I went to Desert Hot Springs for a girls' weekend. While we were there I whined a whole lot about my terrible haircut, and so Francesca took pity on me and taught me a trick.
...And here it is:
I have a lipoma. This sounds worse than it is - it's technically a tumor, yes, but it's not cancer; it's just a "fatty globule" (hot) the size of a walnut. It's tucked underneath my left armpit, sort of towards my back. I can get it removed, but there's really no reason to other than vanity.
David Sedaris has a lipoma. So does my father-in-law. A couple of weeks ago I had an extended conversation about lipomas with a friend who runs a tattoo parlor in Los Angeles. He has one, too.
All of a sudden, lipomas are popping up everywhere in my life. According to my doctor, they're pretty common in middle age.
Which one do you want? That one. And that one. And that one.
Noritake China Blue Hammock Serving Dish
I do not eat tacos. I will, on occasion, eat a burrito (and only "on occasion" because if I were to eat burritos as often as I would like to, I would become a burrito myself), but hard-shell tacos aren't something that's ever appealed to me. Don't they, like, break apart into tiny, shard-like pieces which then a) hurt you and b) result in the deliciousness inside getting out, which, as I gather, is not the point?
Every once in awhile, you discover a new product, and cannot understand how you lived without it before. (You also wish you had invented it yourself, because then you would get to be a gazillionaire, and that sounds fun.)
Until now, my toothbrush/toothpaste situation has - like yours, I assume - been a total disaster. Between the four of us we have something like 30 different toothbrushes, all in various stages of disrepair. All of them are neon, with fussy little rubber finger-pads or elaborate chargers or pictures of Paw Patrol dogs on them. Our toothpaste tubes - we have four at the moment, and all of them are mostly empty - are all sort of jammed into and around the toothbrush holder in a big, sticky, the-cap-won’t-go-on-anymore-because-it’s-too-gunky mess. It’s gross.
In short: If you’re anything like me, no matter how pretty your bathroom is, your toothbrush situation messes it up.
(by Kendrick.)
I had nothing to do with the new eBay shop featuring small Akron, Ohio-based business. I promise! I know I work for eBay, but I had literally nothing to do with this. I just thought it was awesome, and thought Ramshackle Glam people might think so, too.
So. I look on eBay one day, because I work there, and because I have a bad habit of buying things on eBay (thereby gradually refunding my employer for my salary), and I see something about my hometown (technically I'm from North Canton, but nobody knows where that is, so I just say "near Akron"). And seeing something online about my hometown is weird, because people don't usually talk about Akron all that much.
This is what my patio looks like this morning. It is not, however, what it looked like yesterday. Between the whole winter/rain situation (the one that also destroyed my outdoor table and benches) and the fact that it’s served as the equipment storage area and workspace for the renovations we’ve been doing for the past six months…
It was officially trashed.
It was so gross I’m embarrassed to show you, but I’m going to. Greater good, and all that.
I've made a lot of mistakes as a parent. I've written about most of them here - they range from tragicomic incidents like accidentally bringing my four-year-old to a verrrrrry adult haunted house and getting my entire family into a The Hills Are Alive situation, to having my head elsewhere when they need it to be right there with them.
Listening. I am so bad at listening.
I've also written over and over about the importance of forgiving yourself. About the fact that we are, all of us, flawed - and yet all of us are, of course, doing the best that we can. We love our children impossibly, and yet we make mistakes - sometimes the same ones, over and over and over. I know that dwelling on these mistakes helps no one. I know that you learn from them; you move on; you try to do better the next time.
When it came to comfort foods, I was an odd kid. I'd come home from school and dump a can of French-style green beans into a bowl, microwave it, and eat the whole thing (yes, just a bowl of French-style canned green beans. Delish). I'd stop at the deli across the street and buy a whole pickle - you know, the ones that you get from the big jars behind the counter - and then settle down in front of Duck Tales with a bowl of salt, into which I would dip the pickle.
And then there was my favorite dinner: a recipe that I'm going to credit to my mother that involved...wait for it...
Microwaved salmon.
