Boo

Well, I'm finally back in the land of the living...ironically just in time for the...er, day of the dead! Halloween is just a few short days away and I'm excited as ever. For years and years the husband and I would conjure up our best costumes and hit the town with friends in tow to show off our forethought...creativity...and diligent preparation. Now we have the toddler to apply all that energy to and as things would have it she's not yet the age to really adore a costume the way the husband and I still do. So alas, she will be a bee...bumble...in variety and cute as ever. The husband and I will try to muster the strength to come up with something to at least garner an honorable mention nod (note: there is no actual contest...only in our heads). Which leads me to my question...why don't adults with kids dress up for Halloween? When did it become uncool...unnecessary? Or are we just so consumed with our little ones we neglect ourselves? I'm here to tell you...Halloween is for parents too! We can still be scared...still eat enough candy to make ourselves sick...and still have a little fun on the most scariest of days. There are no rules...nothing that says you can't put your best witch boot forward and join in on the fun. We are too old to actually knock on the doors ourselves but that's what the kids are for right? Bonus...we get dressed up in full tilt costume and don't have to do the dirty work to get the candy...instead, we can hang back...hang with our friends...and revel in the fact that we are still kids at heart. Go ahead, do it for a laugh...do it for the kids...do it for yourself...or, just do it to make your friends jealous! A little glitter never hurt anyone! Who's afraid of the dark now?

image credit: top - azcentral.com, bottom - Damien Hirst diamond encrusted skull

sick as a dog

It's happened...I've fallen for Fall and apparently Fall has fallen for me as I am now sick as a dog thanks in part to a day spent at the fair and an afternoon spent at the pumpkin patch. And so, I went to the doctor and the doctor said...that's what you get for not going to bed! I will now rest...recuperate...and try to breathe. While in the sick bay dreaming of vintage matchstick cords in driftwood-esque colors reminiscent of my summering at the beach and boyfriend blazers worthy of holding hands and stolen kisses...I leave you with this...a nod to...er, my being sick...the Doctor Bag. A most stylish bag that's fit for Fall. Check out my favorties below and until my return remember...not all doctors are scary.

1st bag: Gucci 2nd bag: Versace 3rd bag: Prada

Image credit: Saks Fifth Avenue

play on...

I once told someone that I thought Coldplay's music was the soundtrack of my life...right now anyway. And in college it was Widespread Panic...high school...the Black Crowes. I've thought about that comment many times since I said it. I don't take it back...or think that's changed but, it did get me thinking...there are times in our lives when a song and even an entire album defines us...moves us...as if it were written for us. There are good ones and bad ones...ones that make us cry and others that make us want to roll the windows down and simply escape for a few minutes. While most days are spent as if I were a groundhog who has just predicted 6 more weeks of no naps, tantrums, and skinned knees...a song can get me through. Through the low parts...through the musical chair moments when I feel like everything I do is in circle...with no result. Coldplay's songs are sulky and sullen...but there's an upswing...a sudden shift...a brisk high note and a chord struck that sets a tone to which you can stand strong with. What's your soundtrack? What makes your day a little brighter or helps you...get over yourself? Are they the songs that make you think...that make you look within to find that little piece of you that you knew was there but you needed your soundtrack played to remember? Is it the encore or the thrill of the first note? I guess what makes it unique is the story. The story that you create for the music...the story that plays out while you're living your life...because sometimes you need the music to make a moment real...to feel the beat...of your own drum. It's the song that can take you back...if just for a brief three minutes...and when the music rushes in...those little sparks of memory pick you up and twirl you on pointe with the ease of an old lover. And so I say this...dust off your lp's...turn off the t.v...and turn up your soundtrack. And when the music stops...have a seat and remember why you love it! Here's a little from my soundtrack... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8f1nbxS2ctg

I got soul...

And so...there are days that I think about the BIG picture...the picture that includes everything...all your secrets...all your crazy...all your nuances and charm. And when you're there...totally exposed...it's at that moment that if you find someone who loves you for that...in spite of...that...by definition...have you found your soulmate? But...what exactly is a soulmate? Why does everyone use a term so liberally that is so profoundly...er, special? And, how do you know when you've found your soulmate? Is a soulmate someone who connects with you and loves you on a level that no one else has or in a way you believe no one else will? Is a soulmate someone who loves you despite your hamster maze house (see Garden State..."it'll change your life"). And...is there just one soulmate for each of us? There are people in our lives that make us who we are...that define us. There are people that we know for a lifetime...people that love us in ways we cannot know or understand...and us them. There are people that we may love that may never know or...maybe the circumstances are such that the time is gone...past...too late...too soon. But when we look at ourselves...how do we measure...define our love...our soulmates? Recently I heard someone say that a city was their soulmate...but, how could you love something that will inevitably break your heart? A city can't exactly connect with you intimately...or can it? Can a person and...an object...wear the "soulmate" label? By definition...a soulmate is a person who is strongly suited to another in temperament. So irronically..."love"...by definition...isn't even involved. I guess my question is this...are there really "soulmates"? Is this notion just for romance...or is there some higher level of connection...validation...that allows us to believe in the unconditional love and understanding that is sure to come from a soulmate...or is a soulmate just someone...some...thing...that unlocks the notion of believing in ourselves? Click here for a little soul-stirring...lovely...music: Soul Meets Body - Death Cab For Cutie http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s9JB2ETgatI

...and many more

There are some days you have to yourself and then there is one day...that comes every year...and it truly is yours...and at the close of said day...you are deemed another year older. I'm lucky enough to have a week of birthdays to celebrate...or er, unlucky enough. The daughter, the husband, and my birthday's are all the same week. No, there was no strategic planning...it just turned out that way. And so...mine comes first, then the husband's, and then the daughter's. As guessed, mine is least celebrated...the husband's is celebrated usually with a nice dinner...(read...I didn't cook it and "nice" as in...they still have children's menu's) a few gifts from us that he usually likes...and in true fashion isn't nearly excited about as I am. And then...the week culminates with the daughter's birthday. It's a "pull out the stops" celebration of which she will have no recollection of at this point save for a few (read...thousand) photos and bygone gifts of the musical, push and plush variety. Cake will be eaten, paper torn, meltdowns averted,and at the end of the day I will be sad that she is another year older despite my overzealous celebratory behavior. Alas, I've given this brief history as a testimony to the warnings I received when I was pregnant and marveling about how cool and unique and "stars aligned coincidental" that we would all share the same birthday week. Warnings that I dismissed like a red flag at the beach on an otherwise perfectly sunny day. Warnings that would one day...not so long after the daughter's birth...culminate in me sitting...typing...on the eve of MY birthday...wondering if anyone would remember that it was MY day...wondering if sometimes Sixteen Candles really does come true...and sometimes...Thirty-Seven Candles. But...MY day came...and I was reminded why I have the husband I do, the friends I do...and the family I do. So I say this...life is sweeter with great friends and a loving family...(maple bacon cupcakes and flowers) and ironically the candles...the pomp...and the subsequent change in age makes no real difference after all!

Spent

Here we are at the faint beginning of fall and while one should feel refreshed...energized...and ready to pick pumpkins, drink hot coffee again, and thinking of fall fashion...I find myself completely exhausted. I have no energy, no appetite, and well...no desire to move off the sofa which is quite challenging with a 2 year old. While wallowing in my funk I started thinking about my favorite BFF( seriously, she would love me...er, if she knew me) Tori (Spelling). Often I've heard her talk about her own exhaustion and while I always just chalked it up to her being...well, famous and busy and a mother of two, I'm starting to think there's more to it. While I'm at no risk of being featured on a tabloid cover with critics worried about my weight or well-being for that matter, I am feeling like I too might need a stint in a hospital for treatment of "exhaustion" just so I can get some sleep! You see, this thing happens at the beginning of fall... called football. Just so happens that our team is on top which requires a full 5 hours of preparation prior to game time to actually drive to the stadium, fit in the requisite tailgating, and get in our seats before kickoff because of the enormous crowds and general debauchery (that I may or may not participate in). Which means...for the past few weekends I've had...NO weekend at all. No rest, no relaxation, and now I'm paying for it. But with no end in sight and mounting parties, holidays and general..."life as we know it"... I have no idea what I will do. Upside...I think I've lost a few pounds...downside...all my cute fall clothes I have recently acquired aren't going to fit if I keep on this runaway train. So, my question is this...what do I say when checking into the clinic?...I'm tired? I'm not hungry? I'm a celebrity? and more important, will my insurance pay for needing a...er, nap? My guess is "No"! And so, I'll drag myself to the Greek Food Festival tonight, the fair tomorrow, another football game Saturday, and a BBQ Sunday...and I suppose I'll tuck my head under my wing and try to sleep in between. image credit:birdsasart.com

Burch is the new Birkin

Tory Burch may just be the new Hermes. Seriously...who has time to wait on a list for an iconic bag when Tory's bags...shoes, etc. are becoming just as iconic and well...don't require billionaire status as a prerequisite for owning. Not to mention, they give a shot of youthfulness to the older masses, a shot of fashionista to the middle-aged masses, and a shot of "I know where I come from and where I'm going" to the younger masses. I discovered Tory years ago when I was drawn in by a masterful logo and colors that made me swoon. The Reva flat stole my heart and I soon had a pair in yellow. Then came the Reva jelly to wear when "cats and dogs" ensued and wellies wouldn't work. My jelly's are bright...think neon...pink and garner so many compliments/comments they need their own facebook page! Then came the pregnancy...no, this is not a style of Burch shoe...rather my burgeoning belly and a need for a flat, comfortable shoe for the Fall, one that would be more forgiving in the width department as my girth had become...well, girth. So, there I was in Saks slipping into a Tory Burch moccasin in black. Love at first sight. I wore them home...from the store...seriously, haven't done that since I was a kid at Buster Brown! And when it came time for another shoe...postpartum, I came running back to the moccasin but this time in "luggage"...a warm tan suede that begs for chic gatherings around a fire pit at your best friend's...sipping hot toddy's. I have worn all of them with love and know there will soon be another pair in my possession. (Thanks in advance to the husband!) Anyway, my point is this...Tory knows style, she knows design, she knows class. She is a master in developing a brand that mirrors Hermes and a style that before her some could only dream about. Yes, I love Hermes, I love their history, their elitism but I don't love the wait, the price...the snub. And then there's the "orange"...Hermes and their iconic orange boxes...orange leather goods...and orange perfume...you got me there...orange is synonymous with Hermes but alas...it is a color...not a brand. I love you Hermes...I will forever long for you...but when asking the husband "when are you going to buy me a Birkin Bag" he replied..."not before we buy a new car"...I've come to the realization that...when given a choice between a car or a handbag, the husband will choose the car...every time. And when I bring home my new Burch...whatever that may be...a bag, shoes, boots...he'll be as excited about them as me...he won't be thinking of a second mortgage or a new car. In these economic times and in a time when the zig-zag line ropes at the Disney of our youth are no longer appealing, I've decided that Tory is the new Hermes...Burch is the new Birkin. And yet, the husband says, "nothing can be the new Hermes...just like nothing can be the new Ferrari"...to which I reply..."since I doubt I will ever have either...is begging the new orange?" above image: Tory Burch NYC store front (note the orange lacquer doors a'la Hermes) below image: Chicago Magazine - Tory Burch store interior