I Pick Pretty

The Husband Wish List Revisited

2012-01-30T14:01:00.002-06:00

A huge, smoochy thank you for those of you who linked up & commented on my decision to be a stay-at-home-mom extravaganza! I'd double check those links if I were you; we have a few new link-ups from the weekend, all Pretty fabulous. Mwah.

If you're still interested in posting about this but haven't had the time yet, or you've already posted about my *hugely original and never been done before in the history of the Interwebs* subject here, please go ahead and link-up at your convenience - I'll leave it live through this Friday, Feb. 3rd.

And now, for something not at all different . . .

***

Of all the mistakes you can make as a blogger, checking the tangled Google search paths that lead readers to your site - and by "tangled", of course I mean "pervy" - may be the biggest one.

Nevertheless, ever on the quest to provide you with deeply relevant and terribly meaningful content - stop laughing - I went diving into those search engine terms this weekend and was amazed. No small number of you are getting here via this post, in which I revealed my not-at-all embarrassing and immature (ahem) high school-era list of traits I wanted in a husband.

Not to take the hormonal ramblings of this high school dreamer too (at all) seriously, but it got me thinking about whether we can ever really define what our respective ideal partners look like. I grappled with coming up with a new list here. Re-reading that post from 2 years ago, it seems that a while back I may have advised that plan of action.

And yet . . . yet . . . now that I'm a veteran of FIVE WHOLE YEARS of Smug Marriedness, therefore clearly an expert on the institution, I'd throw that list out the window. If only it were as easy as a list. You have no idea how much this Type A Minus wishes there was a tidy checklist involved. Thing is, knowing what you think you want in a partner is essential, but being open to the reality of messy, actual other people is a big part - the part - too.

If I could talk to list-writing High School Melissa, I'd tell her (me?) that instead of focusing on what I wanted in someone else, I should concentrate on - wait for the sunshine-and-rainbows "Oprah" trite moment here - going about the business of making myself even more fabulous - and looking into highlights for this (repeat after me, class) "completely natural blonde hair", not necessarily in that order.

You know what you want in a spouse-type already, pinky swear. It's that person who makes you better than yourself. Not just that, but who makes you want to be better. He or she won't look or act exactly how you or your Type A lists thought he/she would, but isn't that how life usually goes?

The list-worthy Anonymous Husband on our wedding day (Photo Credit: Winfield Little Photography)

I leave you with this, random wanderers of the Internets (welcome!) and regular readers alike - if you have to look up Loverboy's traits to see if he makes the Husband List, he probably doesn't. By all means, do a Google search to ensure he hasn't any relevant prison stays (or irrelevant prison stays, come to think) - then throw out those lists. You'll know the one. Pinky swear.

Decision to Be a Stay-at-Home-Mom: Mine & Link-Up to Yours

2012-01-27T07:34:00.002-06:00

***Dissertation-level lengths of my drivel below - sorry! - with link-up at the very end for you kind souls playing along . . .***

Making decisions for someone not yet conceived, for a situation you have no experience with - easy, right?

Um, no - not for anyone outside of Reality TV land, I imagine, and certainly not for the Anonymous Husband and me.

That being said, how we wanted to parent our imaginary future children was something that we talked from our early dating days (when we weren't otherwise busy staring schmoopily at one another, Classy Fab Sarah-style.)

Yes, you read that correctly - despite what Those People Who Know Everything say, my desire to have children was something I wasn't afraid to discuss with my gentleman callers. It had been a deal-breaker in past relationships ~~with lovable South American asshats~~ for me, and I resolved that I wasn't going to get seriously involved again with someone who didn't feel the same way.

I'll never forget the moment during our festive "Let's pick a city to move to together" negotiations - the AH and I dated long-distance at first - in which the AH mentioned Texas as a good settling spot, since we could afford to have a parent staying at home here. It was one of those warm n' fuzzy moments when I knew I'd stumbled upon someone who shared my picket-fenced view of the future.

Photo Credit: Nicole Mlakar-Photography

So we knew that we were working towards the possibility of a stay-at-home parent, and we did some groundwork that allowed us to officially make that decision six years later. Here's how we decided I'd be a stay-at-home-mom:

It was what we knew

Both the AH & I had a stay-at-home parent & felt that we had benefited from that. In his case, it was his mother who stayed at home; in my case, it was my incredible grandparents (it would take far more time, wine, and therapy to get into the details of it here, but basically my grandparents took over while my mother pursued her military career).

Importantly, because we'd both grown up with what we saw as a good model of stay-at-home parenting, we saw that move for us not as one parent "getting away with something" by not working, but as a marriage of two equals contributing differently but just as importantly to the family.

We took stock of our career aspirations & personalities

From the minute we met, the AH was the one happiest in his job, and the one earning significantly more. He thrives in a busy office setting & is at his best with a lot of people around. As is typical with the wildly glamorous lawyer lifestyle, he's also always worked very long hours, so from the get-go we were concerned that with two working parents, our (imaginary) children wouldn't see much of either one of us.

On the other, manicured hand, I suspected early on that the law wasn't going to be my lifelong career. I'd proven over seven years of practice that I could do it; like these women, I knew that if I stayed home I wouldn't wonder if I'd missed out on professional achievement. I'm also a recovering introvert who doesn't need the hustle & bustle of an crowd to be content, and I'm better when I'm running my own show (read: veteran student body president & bossypants).

I also tend to get . . . fairly driven, shall we say, when I'm really interested in something; that trait would have lent itself nicely to a career in law but for the "really interested" bit. I figured that when it came to my future children that even though there were many (MANY) other people more qualified to care for them, no one would care about it more than I did. I also knew this drive would mean I'd get frazzled by attempting to balance job, child, and wifery.

Also? There was just that feeling I've always had . . . my fellow religious types might characterize this as a "calling". Whichever phrase works for you, I had a hunch that I'd want to stay at home; the thought of it just filled me with that peace of the Right Answer. I wasn't comfortable making that final decision until our baby arrived & I got a real sense for what staying at home was like, but on some level, I knew.

Photo Credit: Ziem Photography (hi, Z!)

We laid the financial foundation (read: the "Duh" step)

As the Dowager Countess of Awesome would say, "Oh, good - let's talk about money!"

Let me address the sparkly pink elephant in the room: "Wait one second, Ms. Pretty," I can hear you thinking, "You used to be a lawyer, and your husband still is one. This means you're gazillionaires who live in a sparkly pink palace and don't need to worry about things like money. Your advice couldn't possibly apply to us."

It just ain't so, darlings. Granted, the AH & I are extremely fortunate to be able to comfortably pay our bills, save, and have some extra left over - and not a day goes by that I'm not grateful for that, truly. Being able to make huge financial leaps like quitting a job without significant planning, however, is very much not something we were or are able to do.

To that end, we planned from the get-go of our marriage for the stay-at-home possibility, including these steps:

- Establishing an emergency savings fund (6 months is what we felt comfortable with);
- Buying a house for which we could comfortably afford payments on one income;
- Eliminating all non-mortgage & consolidated student loan debt, to the extent possible;
- Getting all of that boring life paperwork stuff (life insurance, wills, health insurance) sorted;
- Tracking all of our expenses for one month - down to every penny spent - to get a more realistic picture of what life on one income would look like.

I really, sort of, entirely, totally, 100% LOATHE talking about financial thingies like this, since we all have our individual incomes and priorities and Life Stuff to deal with here. I'm not saying these steps are required for everybody, of course, but these are the ones that worked for us.

Things to Consider About the Stay-at-Home Decision

Everything Those People say about how you love your child more than you've ever dreamed possible, even when you don't like said child very much, is true. There's rainbows and unicorns aplenty. That being said, here are a few things I'd advise any potential stay-at-home-parent to consider . . .

Are you good at being your own boss?

The thought of filling a day's worth of activities and snacks and naps (and snacks, and more snacks) for your wee one can be intimidating at first. Not only do you start off having little idea of how to do it, if you're like me, but it's strange being the one calling all of the shots for a human being relying entirely on you OMG.

If you're a bossypants like me, calling all the shots comes a bit more naturally, so I like this part of the job. Even so, the weight of being the sole person in charge of the day time decision can still be jarring, even for me. I occasionally suffer from what a friend diagnosed as, "paralysis via the million little decisions you have to make every day."

Also - irony of ironies - though you have company 24-7 as a stay-at-home parent, I still get lonely sometimes for adult conversation - how good would you be at forcing yourself out of the house and into child-friendly social situations (mom groups, library storytime, classes, etc.)? Or do you need that guaranteed structure of an office to feel like you've got company?

Are you good at not being your own boss?

Some days are boring, or your kid is acting like the lost, teething "Jersey Shore" cast member. Whatever ails you, unlike when you worked that desk job, as a stay-at-home parent you can't necessarily just pick up and haul off for lunch or even a quick coffee break. Or you can, but that "quick coffee break" takes an hour after you've loaded the car/ changed the diaper / packed the snacks /forgotten the snacks / forgotten your child inside the house, etc - by which time you've messed up his all precious nap schedule.

Long story long, your time isn't entirely your own anymore - can you deal with the repetitiveness (which some find boring) of the eat-play-nap structure of a newborn or toddler day?

(This isn't at all to say that you working types are off swilling martinis at 3-hour-lunches, but you get what I'm sayin' here. xoxo.)

What would you miss most about your job (aside from your paycheck), and can you live without it? (My answer: lack of validation)

There are no gold stars awarded for doing your job well as a stay-at-home parent, and this Type A Minus occasionally struggles with the lack of worldly kudos for what I'm doing. This is the first time in my life I don't have external pats on the back for a job well (? marginally fine? not at all well?) done.

My former job gave good dinner party - it sounded prestigious, provided me with a decent living, and I had feedback from the boss if I was or wasn't living up to expectations. Feedback from the boss now involves a half-eaten veggie burger being gleefully flung in my direction.

Yes, yes - I know, this is #firstworldproblems at its worst, my missing ego stroking. Alas, I'm merely human - if a human with inordinately good shoes. I can live without the validation just fine - just let me keep the shoes, Pretty please.

Loss of spontaneity

All parents deal with this, working or otherwise, but my struggles with this have related to sorting out how the AH & I still get to pursue our pre-child fun. Part of me throws a pity-party when he's able to call an audible and head to the occasional happy hour after work, whereas I have to strategize like an army captain leading troops to war just to make a girl's night out. I don't question his desire to do so on occasion, and he doesn't abuse the ability - I just sometimes envy that freedom to do so on a moment's notice.

***

Any questions, class? This look about right to you, other stay-at-home parents?

Please remember to LINK-UP below to your own Pretty posts . . .

Dressing Your Baby or Toddler Boy on a Budget, Smug Mummy-Style

2012-01-26T10:13:00.002-06:00

I've had some fab questions about tomorrow's "decision to stay-at-home-parent" link-up along the lines of who can participate - anyone is welcome, whether you're currently a SAHP or just seriously considering it. The idea is to give some food for thought to those considering the move about however you've reached your decision.

I'll also try to get my own post up early in the a.m., so you morning people - you know who you are, ye of much perkiness - can link-up sooner than my usual nap-hour posting time, emphasis on "try".

And yes, I promise, this will be my final reminder - sort of like the final Bachelor rose, but without crushing anyone's dreams on national television. *cue ominous music & Chris Harrison appearance*.

***

You know what they say about baby boys - if they aren't dressed well from the get-go, they have no chance in life.

Ok, precisely no one is saying that, but surely a well-dressed tot can't hurt? Call me shallow - it's ok, you're not the first - but in those Dark Newborn Ages, a darling onesie or smocked bubble never hurt Master P's chances of making it out alive.

In any event, I've received some sweet inquiries about Master P's sweet, sweet wardrobe, so I figured I'd spill my secrets here. I'm hardly the first to cover this territory - check out the stellar boy wardrobe roundups done by my favorites Amy, AP & Erin - but I thought I'd give my Texifornian take, which includes a little Texas, smocked traditional, ~~a little~~ a lot prep, and a little trendy, if only because it gives me an excuse to trot out photos like this again:

From local boutique favorite Baby Bugaloo - see details below

As mothers of boys know, the selection of Smug-worthy apparel for infant & toddler boys is, shall we say, limited. I confess that, when Master P's gender-reveal ultrasound showed the man bits, I had a shopaholic's moment of panic - BUT WHAT WILL HE WEAR? (Yes, yes - #firstworldproblems blah blah blah).

The thing is, the smaller amounts of boy stuff makes finding the gems easier - and what's more is that there's almost never cause to pay full price for them. I like buying quality items - as you'll see below, when the budget permits I'd rather pay a bit more for something that won't fall apart in a few washes - but I do not enjoy paying full price.

Here's my secret: I can count on one hand the items for which I've paid retail. Having a boy has turned me into a bargain hunter - better late than never, eh? Money saved on the clothes the wee CEO will outgrow in 3 months is better put towards his college fund ~~Mama's Celine tote fund.~~

My three rules of infant & toddler boy shopping are as follows:
- Never pay retail, particularly for special occasion / little worn items;
- (Esp. for infants) Try to buy one size & one season ahead of where your boy is currently;
- Always check consignment & discount retailers before retail.

Keeping those in mind, here's what has worked best for us, organized by brand & location:

Everyday/Play Wear Brands:
Carters (particularly for onesies & sleepers in infant stage; check Costco & brand outlet for deals)
BabyGap (both in-store & online; check Ebates for cash-back deal & sign up for Gap emails to get discounts)
Janie & Jack (look for their "Friends & Family" 30% off sale)
Ralph Lauren (good sales w/ Ebay & department stores; we lucked out here w/ hand-me-downs & consignment finds too)
Silly Goose (Viva Le Fete's casual smocked line; check Facebook smocked auction sites below)
Stride Rite (for shoes; subscribe to their emails for sale info)
Target (Note: quality is hit or miss, so I'm not linking to them online - check in-store vs. ordering online; we have found some good, inexpensive basics there, but it's always a search.)

Sleepwear
Carters (Note: Master P will be in footed PJs until puberty or whenever he objects, whichever comes later)
The Children's Place (check in-store for sales)

Special Occasion Brands:
Janie & Jack (for our non-smocked, prep looks)
Smockadot Kids (Facebook smocked auction site)
Smocked Auctions (Facebook smocked auction site)
Zulily (check Mr. Rebates or Ebates for cash-back discount first)
Viva Le Fete (check Facebook smocked auction sites & Zulily)

Austin Favorites:
- Baby Bugaloo
- Sparkle Kids Re-Sale
- Moms of Multiples Consignment Sale

Now that Master P is moving into 2t/ toddler size territory, we'll be testing out some new brands; I will report back as we find good bargains.

Moms, any suggestions for lines I've missed? Any questions or more specifics that would be helpful?

How Preschool Hunting (Smug Mummy-Style) is Like Dating

2012-01-25T11:24:00.002-06:00

Here's yet another reminder about my stay-at-home-parent writing prompt & link-up for this Friday, January 27th. Link-ups - more fun than your annual OBGYN exam!

(But what isn't, you ask?) (Um . . .) (Whatever.) (Parentheses.)

***

Could this be The One?

Will I just magically know the One when I meet it? Will there be butterflies?

I'm not having a good hair day. OMG I'm not having a good hair day. Dear St. Catherine, Patron Saint of Shiny Locks and Princes of England, please help. OMG.

Will we want the same things out of life, that same mystical mix of work & play?

Will there be awkward pauses in the conversation, or will our Q&A flow easily?

Given that this is Austin, will they be too much of a hippie for me?

Given that this is Austin, will I not be enough of a hippie for them? (Sidebar: Any ideas on where I could find some tie-dyed organic vegan loafers at the last minute?)

Most importantly, will they get how awesome we are?

And by "we' I obvs. mean "Master P" - and that rad, 80's-style thrifted shirt he's sporting. Real men wear pink.

Thanks to your brilliant advice about my preschool worries, I'm touring yet another preschool tonight, trusting my Jedi Mom Instincts whispering that I need to continue searching for The One. I'm keeping the faith - after all, if my instincts led me to my very first & favorite husband - love you, AH - surely I can manage this too?

Please & thank you for sending me good thoughts and any brilliant questions I should be asking the staff - and, most importantly, a complete, 180 degree hair turnaround . . .

Smug-Worthy Spring '12 Bags

2012-01-24T14:48:00.001-06:00

None of the products shown below are paid or solicited placements, though - as Saks is my witness - I'd accept payment in purses. Call me, Hermes! In the unforgettable words of Richard Marx, I'm right here waiting . . .

***

I just can't keep up the pretense anymore.

After yesterday's actually serious post, as well as my stay-at-home-parent link-up idea (JOIN US - it's cheap & easy! *insert joke here*!) , I just can't keep pretending to be a woman of substance.

Today, we go back to our roots here at the Pretty - aspiring to be Prettier than everyone else. After all, what's more important one's roots . . . which reminds me that I'm overdue for a touch-up of my completely natural blonde streaks.

Ahem.

Anywhoo, on this dreary winter's day here in Austin - no, really, we have rain and hail and weather-y stuff happening - my mind keeps wandering to this felicitous Kate Spade ad image:

Image via Prepaganda (and also Nina, I believe?); I'll be copying this look with lookalike-but-cheaper Old Navy jeans here.

That bright jolt of color, contrasted with that preppish, neutral navy top half, has got me in a spring sort of way despite the clouds. Naturally, this led me to thinking about refreshing my bag collection for spring. Naturally. I mean, I need some playful, colored bags to play off my neutral Smug-Worthy shoes, right?

Not that I will be doing any refreshing, mind you - I'm sticking with my Pippa and saving my pennies for some upcoming travel - but some of you may have a husband who needs to *accidentally* stumble across this post before Valentine's / Please Don't Buy Me One of Those Complicated Negligee Thingies Day. You know, just by chance. Because you left this post up on your monitor clear as day. Oops.

Whether you're avoiding a bad Valentine's gift or the weather, here's the best of what I've found so far, from the frugal to fantasy, I'll-never-own-this-but-it's-so-PRETTY leagues:

Left: Kate Spade "Rosa" (Edited to Add: "Rosa" on sale here as of today 1/27/12) / Right: Co-Lab by Christopher Kon "Frankie"

"Starter Smug" Note: I struggled to find bags I loved in this price/age range, which is entirely typical of my "champagne tastes, beer budget" proclivities. That "Frankie" bag clocks in at under $100, which qualifies in my checkbook, though the "Rosa" is more Starter bag in look than in $$.

Left: Modalu "Pippa"; Right: MICHAEL Michael Kors "Hamilton East West"

"Operation MILF" Note: Fellow "Pippa"-philes, Modalu has a bevy of beee-you-tiful new colors out, including this "Sunrise Orange" one. It's so warm & on-trend with the Pantone's "color of the year", Tangerine Tango, isn't it?

Left: Celine "Luggage" Tote (waiting list only for this version); Right: Reed Krakoff "Soft Boxer"

"All-Star Smug" Note: Please don't mistake me - I am not suggesting that any of you spend bazillions of dollars on a handbag; I certainly can't. Like with art in a museum, certain bags exist to be admired from afar ~~though I seriously contemplated a life of handbag crime when I saw this Celine being used as a diaper bag (!) the other day at the children's museum~~. I'm delighted just knowing that such beauty is out there somewhere in the world.

That being said, if any of you are looking to give away a Cezanne or Celine, I'm your girl.

See anything you like? Want to buy me a bag or, er, priceless work of art?

Not a Post About Being a 1950s Housewife (Not Not Not)

2012-01-23T13:42:00.000-06:00

PSST: Don't forget this Friday's writing prompt & link-up of stupendous wonder and global significance!

***

. . . but I'm afraid you're going to think this of me anyways once I ask my question . . .

So, as I've mentioned a few bazillion times, I adore my current job as a stay-at-home-mom, so much so that I do ~~obnoxious~~ cutesy things like refer to it as a "job" & my child as the "wee CEO".

The thing is, though I love this gig with the fire of a thousand Birkin bags, at the end of the day I am tired in a way I just never was with that deeply prestigious, ~~deeply dull~~ lawyer thang. No, tired isn't the right word - "spent" is what I am now, in thought, word and bank account (ahem).

With many out-of-the-house jobs, once you leave the office there's often a built in break - whether it be a commute, a gym visit, or time alone at house before your significant other arrives. By "break" I of course mean, "Time to lip-sync to truly terrible music while calculating how soon you can get into your Secret Sweatpants of Shame."

Here is what my post-"job" day looks like now: greet Anonymous Husband, who usually arrives home just after I've put Master P to bed; start dinner; switch laundry loads; eat dinner; attempt to have normal adult conversation; attempt to recall what a normal adult conversation is; catch up on bills / email / boring adult requirements. I usually don't sit down, mentally or physically, until 9 pm or so.

Here is what I secretly want to do post-job: collapse into the warm embrace of my DVR and/or laptop and/or the Secret Sweatpants of Shame, preferably all three at once, shifting my mental gears into zoned-out Neutral for at least 30 minutes. Yes, I know - #firstworldproblems to be sure.

This is not - NOT, not, you can't make me! - to say that I'm not entirely delighted to see the AH at the end of the day, nor am I wondering whether I've erred in not offering him a 1950s style cocktail and invitation to trample all over my women's rights as soon as he's arrived home. Not not not!

It's just that I struggle between the desire to be a supportive spouse at the end of the day and the desire to have some time to myself (read: be supportive of the Bravo TV lineup). Both vitally imporant things, obvs.

I know what the obvious answer is here. Roofies.

No, no - it's putting on those proverbial Big Girl Panties and just dealing with it, blah blah blah. I know it is. But . . .

Moms, how do you make that end-of-the-day transition from the mothering thing to the coherent & semi-awake spouse thing? Working parents, I'm guessing this changing of hats is a tricky thing for you beyond what I can possibly imagine - how do you deal?

Off to prepare that rohypnol cocktail while I await your advice . . .

Housekeeping: A Thank You & A Link-Up Idea

2012-01-23T13:07:00.001-06:00

First & foremost, thank you so much for your kind birthday wishes / dirty jokes. I'm a bit overwhelmed at all of your comments and am still wading through them in attempt to respond to you all. It is almost enough to make a girl feel ~~twenty-nine thirty~~ ~~thirty~~-~~one thirty-two~~ thirty-three again. And never-you-mind that I'm probably - ok, certainly - too old to refer to myself as a "girl"anymore.

The downside for you of all this commenting is that I now realize you lovely lurkers are in fact capable of leaving me comments, and therefore I will ~~ask~~ expect you to do so every now and again. Comments - it's what's for lunch! Your American duty! Exclamation point!!!!!

(No, really - thank you.) (I'm being serious.) (For once.) (Parentheses)

***

We - yes, I'm trotting out the Royal We today, because it's Monday - are also testing out something new here this week at Pretty HQ . . . from your recent comments I'm picking up on a number of aspiring stay-at-home moms in the crowd, and I realize that while I've sung the praises of my choice to be a SAHM, I've not done a good job of explaining how my family came to that decision in the first place. Not that the blogosphere is short on SAHMs and our opinions, but I would have loved to have read more from my favorite bloggers about the precision process itself (since I'm obvs. one of your favorites) (obvs.) . . .

. . . this Friday, January 27th, I'm going to post about how I made the decision to stay-at-home, including what I wish I would have known beforehand, and invite any other stay-at-home Operation MILF types (or DILF - we are equal opportunity here at the Pretty!) here to do the same. I'll put up a Linky tool here - or, more accurately, attempt to figure out how those work by Friday - so you can link back to your posts.

(Here's where I wish there was font for "This is not to say that staying at home is the one & only correct parenting decision, not even remotely. It just happens to be the decision that was right for my family, and not necessarily yours, therefore I'm writing about the choice I know. No, really, I bear no judgment here, and you can't make me, nanny nanny boo boo." Any volunteers to work on this for me? Can we get that Sarcasm Font going too?)

If this link-up works out, I'd love to do working mom and cheerfully-child-free versions in the future. Either way, I'm excited to drone on (and on and on) at length about how the Anonymous Husband and I made our choice & read all about yours.

So to review, this Friday + how you decided to be a stay-at-home parent + link-up here = the Awesome

Ok, back in a sec with my actual post of deep significance and global importance . . .

The Best (Worst) Birthday Post Ever & Roll Call

2012-01-20T14:06:00.002-06:00

I had a deeply important and terribly serious mom question all ready for you today, but then I remembered that today is my BIRTHDAY, cha cha cha, and thus not the time to get serious here. You'll just have to wait for Monday, poor dears. Thank you for your patience.

***

The beauty of birthdays - yes, it's my BIRTHDAY, haven't you heard? - beyond age thirty isn't in the decaying image staring back at me in the mirror. As soon as the Baby Factory portion of my life concludes - NO, I AM NOT CURRENTLY WITH CHILD, THANK YOU FOR ASKING - you know I'll be matriculating at the Demi Moore School of Scorched Earth Dermatology a.s.a.p.

No, the wonder of birthdays now is in the simplicity. Alas, the world - or my world, at least - no longer ceases spinning on its axis each January 20th. Elaborate parties and fancy get-ups aren't really part of the equation anymore. The little things I've always wanted, though, that regular, picket fenced life with my best boys, is:

A morning at toddler story time with friends and an evening at the movies with my other, best boys (the Anonymous Husband *and* Colin Firth, forever and ever, amen!) is all I want out of this day, and always.

Well, almost all I want . . . since it is my BIRTHDAY and all, and therefore my day to make ridiculous demands, I'd love to do a roll call here today. For lurker readers - you there, the ones hiding who've never left a comment - I'd love to hear who you are and where you're from and, if you blog, something about your site so I can come investigate. For you regulars, please leave me a love note or dirty joke, your choice; I promise to clutch my pearls accordingly in case of the latter.

I'm off to catch up on my blog reading, which f~~or once~~ is not code for "cocktails". Not 'til tonight, at least.

Ready? ROLL CALL! Exclamation point! (I mean it) (For serious) (Parentheses)

The Smug Marrieds Jet-Set: Napa, Day 3

2012-01-19T14:45:00.002-06:00

This is the third and final post in a series (phew!); here are parts the first and second. Alas, it's not unlike the Kardashians - repetitive and of questionable merit, yet here we are.

Again, none of the wineries, hotels, or restaurants mentioned here are paid or solicited placements, blah blah blah, etc.

***
We awoke on Day 3 of our Napa adventure feeling a bit over-served and missing our wee CEO, Master P; nevertheless, we started off the day with a hearty hotel breakfast in hopes of avoiding the toasted-in-the-tasting-room, buying too much wine trap of yesterday (hint: it didn't). We set out at the crack of dawn - code for "sometime before noon" - to collect our team and sample the Silverado Trail wineries.

Sleep

Our tour guides were staying at the nearby Inn on First bed & breakfast, about which they had nothing but raves; I didn't see the rooms myself, but from the looks of the stylish entry & family-style dining room, this looks like the place for the charming Napa B&B experience. We enjoyed our Westin stay (free thanks to Starwood points) well enough, but I'd save up to stay at a place like this the next time.

Drink

Having collected our hosts from their B&B, we sped off to a . . . quirky mix of wineries. We had a much more hit & mix experience on the Napa side vs. yesterday's Russian River Valley, encountering some iffy wines and tasting room staff who were . . . perhaps a little starved for company, let's say.

Mildly related side note: we tried to stuff 5-6 tastings into a day, which is simply too ambitious for post-collegiate me. Now that I actually have the resources to do stuff like this, my energy level (liver) doesn't. Next time I'd stick to 2-3 tastings per day and build in a healthy siesta or spa visit - siesta *and* spa visit! - before dinner.

The best from a wine & Pretty views perspective was the well-regarded Duckhorn Vineyards, whose less-pricey "Decoy" label is a household staple here at Pretty HQ. Much like dating the high school quarterback, Duckhorn knows it's a good catch and acts accordingly; they don't need your business, but it's tough to argue with why they think highly of themselves:

We were worried after forking over $20 each to the gruff front desk person - the previous wineries we'd visited had a much more laid back, welcoming payment and entry system, in which you only paid a tasting fee if you didn't buy any wine (if they remembered to charge you at all). Nonetheless, we shuffled through the beautiful, crowded tasting room to our seats on the glorious, sun-dappled patio:

No, those are not *all* my wine glasses (with thanks to the Anonymous Cousin / tour guide / stealth fab photographer for snapping this)

Our experience improved greatly once we were seated - our server was kind (read: smiled while pouring generously), that inimitable California sunshine was out in full force, and each & every wine tasted was, well, varsity quarterback level of good. As is our want, we "sampled" too much and purchased accordingly.

Our other stop I'd recommend, scoring highly in those all-important categories of scenery and "White Wines Most Likely to Pair Well with a 'Real Housewives Episode'" (that's a compliment in my soon-to-be-published book, obvs.), was Chateau Boswell, a smaller production winery with a Pretty wine grotto:

I'd call to book ahead here - consistent with many small wineries we came across, they require reservations for tastings - and if you do, brace yourself for a very friendly if . . . chatty tasting room staff. Worth it for the house white, I say - one of my favorites of the trip - and you can't go wrong with the view.

Eat

Speaking of chatty, do I ever have too many nice things to say about pricey-but-religion-changingly-good lunch spot Gott's Roadside (St. Helena location). Gott's looks like an unassuming, 1950s-era charming li'l roadside burger joint, but it is so much more. Like the glutton I am, I completely forgot to take a photo and just focused on devouring my ahi tuna burger and garlic fries instead.

Given the often tight timeframes between scheduled tastings, I recommend pre-ordering your lunch online; by doing so we were able to skip a formidable line and park it on the picnic-bench seating. Sunshine + laughing at the poor fools in long lines = a winner day.

***

We retired early from another long, long day of tasting, eager to get home first thing the following morning but determined to return to Napa as soon as possible - just as soon as we get through the case-and-one-half (!) somebody (ahem, AH) bought & then had to figure out how to ship home. At 5:30 am the morning we were departing. As one does. Ahem.

Summary of My Napa-Area Highlights

Sleep

Inn on First

Westin Verasa Napa

Eat

BarnDiva

Gott's Roadside

Oakville Grocery

Drink

DuMOL

Arista

Pezzi King

Duckhorn

Chateau Boswell

The Smug Marrieds Jet-Set: Napa, Day 2

2012-01-18T16:34:00.001-06:00

This is the second in a three-part travel series - because who doesn't like looking at umpty-million travel photos of a perfect stranger? Just imagine I'm a frumpier Princess Shinylocks Kate Middleton type, and it'll be more interesting, pinky swear.

Oh, and as usual, none of the wineries / restaurants / stores / blah blah blah mentioned here are paid or solicited placements in any way, though I'm volunteering right here & now to be sponsored by any of the below. Pretty please?

***

Drink

After my decadent afternoon in bed and Bouchon dinner, I was a little afraid that our second day of vacation, devoted to wine tasting in the Russian River Valley area (approx. 45 minutes from our Napa lodgings), couldn't possibly live up to the first.

Darlings, I'm happy to report that I was wrong - though that could just be because the Anonymous Husband and I partook in only a light breakfast before hitting the vineyards with some local family, which is how things like this happen:

Ever seen those wine snobs who, with all the pomp & circumstance they can muster, taste a wine and then spit it out? Readers, the Prettys are not those people. Though the burgeoning wine connoiseur AH has me swirling and sniffing the stuff before I taste now, there's no way I'm (a) spitting in public (b) spitting out good wine anywhere, whether in public or private.

It was in that spirit that we - and our designated driver, praise be to her - hit up our first & one of the best wineries, DuMOL Wines. It has the esteemed distinction of being the one winery for which we're actually wine club members *waves jazz hands*. We were confused upon arrival, since instead of the rolling vineyards and foo-foo tasting room we expected, we walked into what looked like an industrial park warehouse:

Which was because we were, in fact, walking not only into where DuMOL's excellent small-production wines are stored and bottled, but also the most helpful education I've ever received on the subject. The apprentice winemaker herself took us around the facility as we ~~chugged~~ tasted DuMOL's excellent wares:

That turkey baster thing you see was used to draw wine out of the barrels - who knew?

This would prove the first of many examples that you cannot judge a winery by it's cover, so to speak - often the less fancy the setting, the better the swill. Our tasting was not in a foo-foo tasting room but in the actual lab, a factoid that sent the winos in our group into paroxyms of delight.

You cannot go wrong any of DuMOLs choices, but I will say the pinots were uniformly excellent & my favorite. I highly, highly recommend the tour and the pre-order wine club *jazz hands*. If trying to book a tour here, check with the office first, since I believe they tour by appointment only; we weren't even charged a tasting fee, but I suspect that may have had to do with the wine club membership *jazz hands*.

Just to directly contradict what I've just said - because where can you be flagrantly inconsistent if not on your own blog? - I recommend our next vineyard mostly for its stunning scenery:

We started off our visit at Pezzi King, another small-production winery, with a poolside boxed lunch (insanely good, BTW - more on that later) and tasting, basking in the sun as we admired their hillside vineyards - and charming dog Riley. I may have pinched myself a time or two to make sure this was in fact my lucky, lucky life.

As if that wasn't enough, the winemaker then took us on an ATV tour of the grounds, giving us yet another education for the day on wine production - and Pretty views.

The wines here were too bold for my taste - if you can brace yourself for some pretentious wine-speak, I prefer a smoother merlot or pinot to their bigger, bolder cabs and zinfandels - though the "big red" drinkers in our group adored them. Between the customer service and the views I recommend this place. Again, call ahead to book your tasting and tour ($20 per person, with fee waived if you buy); at the smaller places like this without a dedicated "tasting" room per se, that seemed to be the usual practice.

In what proved to be a bit of foreshadowing, that potent cocktail of sunshine, scenery and wine resulted in our (and by "our" I mean "the AH") buying too much wine. Which continued at our next stop:

Arista Winery, home to my favorite wine of the day and at least one of my future weddings (Kidding, AH! Unless you buy any more wine anytime soon! Exclamation point!). This place combined the best of the pinot I love and scenery, with a friendly, non-foo-foo tasting room staff to boot:

For the mere price of $10, you too can do a tasting here and sample (read: buy - ahem, AH) entirely too much of the pinot:

Enter mid-afternoon hangover - can you tell how badly we need one more nap and one less pinot by then?

Skipping the next, mediocre place we visited and heading directly to . . .

Eat

The food, the FOOD! For the love of Nordstrom, did we ever have some excellent food that day, thanks to that hotbed of good food and the yuppies who worship it, Healdsburg.

That incredible boxed lunch I mentioned before came from Oakville Grocery, which is only a so-called grocery store in the same sense that Halle Berry is a normal human being - it's much Prettier than whatever you've experienced back home. Our tasting troop leader helpfully called in our order ahead of time & the vineyard picked it up for us, voila.

And then came BarnDiva for dinner, a restaurant dedicated to the "slow food" concept and provider of one of my finest meals in recent memory. You know when you can not only recall what you ordered at a meal, but your mouth starts to water at the very memory? That. Yes:

This crab cake with the California avocados on top was just . . . was just . . . and the lobster risotto that followed, with just the right, elusive sticky factor to the rice was . . . beyond. Between that and the delightful cougar scene at the trendy bar, I was in my happy place.

Shop

Quite tragically, we arrived in Healdsburg just after most of the wee, darling boutiques on the main square closed, but this prepster place looked like it had a TDF selection of Operation MILF-y clothes I could have happily bankrupted myself over.

After a long drive back to Napa, we were ready to collapse in preparation for Day 3, braving the Silverado Trail - and the entertaining eccentrics who work there. More tomorrow . . .

The Smug Marrieds Jet-Set: Napa, Day 1

2012-01-17T13:56:00.000-06:00

The first in a three-part travel series - yes, I'm dragging it out over three days, and not only because uploading the photos is even more predictably tedious and drawn-out than the Republican primary.

Back to our usual variety here this Friday. Until then, you get travel photos of a total stranger - and who doesn't enjoy that?!? In the words of dear old Jane Austen*, "You're S.O.L."

*I might be paraphrasing here.

***
Oh, and as usual, none of the hotels / restaurants / wineries / etc. mentioned are paid or solicited placements; sadly, we paid for them all ourselves.

***

Of the ~~many~~ things which I'm a snob about, wine isn't one of them. Though I can appreciate the difference between the boxed and the beaucoup bucks, $100+ varieties, I otherwise classify my wines based on two categories - "I like this" and "I don't like this". When people get all adjective-y about it - you know, how this syrah is very "berry forward, with just a soupcon of Justin Bie*ber" blah blah blah - my need to roll my eyes overcomes my desire to drink.

So when the opportunity arose to piggyback onto the Anonymous Husband's Napa work trip, I had a split-second of hesitation before eagerly accepting. I'm here to tell you that no fear of wine snobbery should hold you back from this feast for the eyes and palate. Our trip was fairly free of pretentiousness - if you ignore the fact that I was involved - and simply full of good food and wine.

Sleep

I arrived on an afternoon when the AH was still at work, leaving me to check into our hotel, the Westin Verasa Napa, and entertain myself for a few hours. I'll get into the hotel review later, but what you need to see first is an image that any parents reading will identify as nearly pornographic in nature.

Not to worry, darlings, this image is entirely safe for work:

I had an afternoon to myself, no toddlers to supervise, and a fluffy, insanely comfortable, crisp-white-sheeted bed before me . . . as any sane person would, I chucked my luggage aside and dove into that bed with abandon to take one of the better naps of my life. I napped ("Napa'd"? I'm sorry, I had to . . .) the hell out of that thing. I nearly left a $20 on the nightstand in sheer gratitude.

I reluctantly arose around the same time the AH's conference concluded; he met me at the hotel so we could commence checking out the place (code for "go to happy hour"). What the Westin lacks in unique charm it makes up for in creature comforts - the service was consistently excellent, and the rooms minimally chic (if corporate), clean, and well-appointed. It isn't the place to stay if you want that local charm and more one-on-one feel of a bed and breakfast - I'll have one of those to recommend tomorrow, by the way - but hearty golf claps to it otherwise.

Eat

We left the hotel to dine at a local legend, Thomas Keller's Bouchon:

This was one of those rare dining experiences that lives up to the hype - as promised, Bouchon is the best of the French bistro experience. We'd been to the Las Vegas location, and the Napa (Yountville, technically) experience is much the same - the dining room is boisterously loud, and the tables stacked atop one another, but the food was note-perfect and the service attentive. If I had to pick a last meal, Bouchon's baguettes and mussels with truffled french fries would make the list. Unsurprisingly, the wine list was terrific, but more on the grape goods tomorrow.

Speaking of, here's a teaser for tomorrow:

Notice anything amiss here? This is what happens when you go wine tasting in the a.m. after a light breakfast.

More on Russian River Valley wine tasting - and the perils of doing the same on an empty stomach - tomorrow . . .

Gone Tasting

2012-01-12T09:00:00.006-06:00

Source: us.mg5.mail.yahoo.com via Melissa on Pinterest

Back in a glass or three - or next week, whichever comes later . . .

On the Pretty Bookshelf, New Year's Ed.

2012-01-11T09:00:00.001-06:00

I regularly update my book nerdly doings over here at Goodreads, but just in case that site isn't in your social media mixed cocktail - which I prefer slightly dirty & with at least 3 olives, naturally - here's an abridged recap of my & my wee CEO's recent favorites:

For the "Of Age" Set - I choose that language of cocktails instructively here, because you'll want a glass of wine or six to tackle the weighty subject matter:

Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redepmption by Laura Hillenbrand

One of the most engaging books I've read in a long while. I often struggle to read what I call "straight-up history, yo!", but Hillenbrand masterfully weaves an element of humanity into this WW II tale of Louis Zamperini, an Olympian turned Air Force pilot whose plane crashes over the Pacific, and his resultant struggle to survive.

The subject matter is heavy, at times nearly unendurable - the inhumane treatment of prisoners in Japanese POW camps, for example - but the author manages to keep the reader engaged and invested in Zamperini's survival throughout.

The book appears to be meticulously researched, so it satisfies from the academic standpoint as well, though it's the human element of Zamperini & the empathy the author creates for him that kept me reading. A must-read for any interested in the Pacific theater of WWII or human survival stories generally.

Sarah's Key by Tatiana de Rosnay

I wish the words "haunting" and "beautiful" weren't so overused in book reviews, because this one is, um, both haunting and beautiful. No, really.

Though the book is a work of fiction, the WWII horrors described therein, like the Vel d'Hiv, sadly did occur. I don't want to spoil the story by putting too much detail here, but the book describes the plight of a little girl - merely described as "The Girl" for much of the book - whose Jewish family falls victim to the anti-Semitism of WWII France in the worst manner imaginable. A modern-day reporter, Julia Jarmond, stumbles upon the girl's horrific story during her research for a story about the Vel d'Hiv tragedy. The woman & the girl's lives become inexorably intertwined.

The back-and-forth narrative structure of the story - one chapter as told by the girl in 1942, the next by modern-day Julia - moves the plot along nicely and does a terrific job of keeping you engaged in both. In fact, by switching back and forth between the stories, the author makes the girl's story bearable to read, which it might not be if told all from her point of view. At times, getting through the girl's story - which includes unimaginable tragedies, like the treatment of children in internment camps - was an act of will. Without the somewhat lighter Julia interludes, it would have been a tough, if also rewarding, slog through the girl's devastating details.

For the Pre-Cocktails Crowd:

Both of our favorites here are by the acclaimed children's author & artist Eric Carle. I only knew him for "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" until recently, but Master P and I were equally happy to discover these two others thanks to the Toddler Book Swap:

The Artist Who Painted a Blue Horse

The rare toddler read that works on two levels; your wee one will enjoy Carle's imaginative, colorful animal art, while you'll appreciate both that and the overarching message encouraging children to explore their creative potential. This book was written as an homage to early 20th century painter Franz Marc, an artist banned in Nazi Germany where the author/artist was raised.

Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See (board book version, though you can get the Nook version as narrated by no less than HRH Gwyneth in her continued quest for world omnipresence here)

More vibrant animal art from Carle - a playful review of colors and books, with sliding panels for the tots to enjoy moving while you read.

***

Any recommendations for the Pretty bookshelf? I speak for both Master P and myself when I say we're going to lay off the harrowing World War II reading for a bit, so perhaps something a bit frillier?

Top Ten Reasons Why Parenting is Like "Downton Abbey"

2012-01-10T08:00:00.001-06:00

(Minus the glorious dresses, elegant parties, and sexy, dead Turkish lover s-e-x, of course)

1) There are unspoken rules nobody bothers to tell you;

2) If you can't make time for personal maintenance (When??? How???), you might sprout sideburns;

Do you think she gets paid overtime for the terrible, awful hair? Wears a shirt in her free time declaring, "IT'S A WIG, PINKY SWEAR!"?

3) You'll run into a Doubting Thomas or two determined to undermine your every decision;

4) Nobody's sleeping when & where expected (ahem, Lord & Lady Grantham);

5) There's a grandparent who knows everything - or more precisely, how you're doing things all wrong;

Witness the Dowager Countess of Awesome, more fun than you can shake an in-law at

6) There's a strict, two-tier class structure in place, and you're decidedly Second Tier;

7) Every time you think you've finally got things figured out, there's a plot twist that changes everything;

8) Sometimes you have to ship your kid off to a relative's to improve said child's prospects ("prospects of remaining alive" most definitely included);

9) You find allies in unexpected places;

10) Just when you think all hope is lost, the Universe gives you a sign that your Greatest Love of All (*cue Whitney Houston ballad apropos of nothing*), greater than you ever thought possible, will endure:

FIGURE IT OUT, LADY MARY & MATTHEW!

(Psst - for the uninitiated, you can catch up with the "Downton Abbey" Season 2 premiere & some of Season 1 for free on PBS's site - unless you'd prefer to just read my rambling on and on and ON about it here.) (You're welcome!) (I'm sorry?) (Parentheses)

(All images via IMDB courtesy copyright Masterpiece blah blah blah etc.)

Mommyblogging: Should You Buy Your Boy a Barbie?

2012-01-09T14:28:00.001-06:00

Subtitle: "In a Rare, Unlikely to Be Repeated Moment of Seriousness . . ."

In all that perfect parenting I did before I was an actual parent, I'd resolved to be an open-minded (if Smug) mommy when it came to creating a gender-neutral learning and play environment at home. The Pretty Parents had encouraged me to play with a number of toys, both traditionally female ("Cabbage Patch Dolls", naturally) and male (I served as chatelaine to both HeMan's Castle of Greyskull *and* an entire Darth Vader head of Star Wars figurines). Who knows if it's related, but I did grow up feeling entirely at home playing with the boys, both on the playground and in the classroom, and eventually in the often chauvinistic field of law.

Let me hasten to add: I'm not at all saying that men & women are the same - there's unlikely to be any sending my boy child to school in tutus, for the love of Nordstrom - but I am concerned about raising an independent, empathetic thinker of a man who respects women. Before Master P was born, I resolved to allow for whatever form of play would best build a foundation for that, thinking that might include both stereotypically male & female toys and books, from dolls to dump-trucks.

And then, of course, came my actual child - the boy who toddled straight over to the toy cars and tractors just as soon as he was mobile, no cultural gender pressure necessary. When left near a stereotypically female toy like a play kitchen, he immediately mans the grill. I mean, he's even hogging the remote controls already.

None of this is a problem, of course, but it did get me to thinking about the age-old "nature or nurture?" question when it comes to raising our wee CEOs, and the role we play in encouraging any stereotypically gendered play. That question is well above my pay grade here, of course, but this article got me chewing on the issue again & sums it up well - to a certain extent, toy selection is one of the biggest displays of differences between the sexes, with boys generally (not *always*, but generally) gravitating towards the sports and mechanics and girls preferring things like dolls.

An equally important note it makes - boys and girls exposed to a variety of toys and opposite gender friends at an early age tend to do better when it comes to things like empathy and even romantic relationships later on. Even my icy, cold heart can get on board with that.

All of this is easier said than done, of course; here in the US, my *highly scientific* experience has been that it's more controversial to have boys playing with traditionally female toys than vice versa. I recall a mom I ran into a few weeks ago with her 3-year-old boy; her son was pushing a bright pink toy stroller with (bright pink, natch) doll in tow, and she rushed to explain the situation, seemingly embarrassed.

Whatever our cultural double standard, if my boy wants a Barbie one day, he might well get one. In the meantime, amidst all the footballs and trains currently filling Pretty HQ, we'll continue to attend our boys-and-girls-welcome playgroup, and reading books written for all children, not just the boys-and-trucks stuff (though we have plenty of that too, I should add). Naturally, he'll be ~~dragged~~ taken to the occasional shoe sale.

Most importantly, I'll continue to try and sit back and learn from the remarkable, actual, trains-and-trucks-loving little boy I've been given, stupid pre-child parenting imaginings be hanged.

How does it work in your household - does your toddler's toy preferences fall along stereotypical gender lines so far? If they don't, would you be comfortable buying your kid a more "male" or "female" toy?

I'll Show You Mine if You Show Me Your . . . Writing Space

2012-01-06T14:10:00.002-06:00

I seem to have started an irregular regular series on blogging, maybe because I can't afford to indulge my shoe habit every day? In any event, should you have a problem falling asleep at night, you can read more here, here, and here, though the Surgeon General advises against it.

***

Realtors are always going on about that "Location, location, location" thing being important. I know nothing about that - though I'd gladly pick up a real estate habit given the resources - but as someone who likes this reading & writing thing, I do know that a place to be quiet and create is an important thing. (No, not as important as Nordstrom, obvs, but close.)

In my mind, I write to you in a room that looks very much like this:

Source: prepaganda.tumblr.com via Melissa on Pinterest

I mean, in such a delectable space surely one could pen the next zombies-meet-"Downton Abbey" (TWO MORE DAYS YES YES YES!) bestselling novel, no?

Alas, the place I go to get inspired - and, as a creature of habit, I go there every time when I'm writing from home - is this one:

That's my version of the Betty Draper fainting couch, outfitted with my blogging necessities: (a) trusty Mac; (b) trusty Pretty Pug; (c) baby monitor; and (d) some fizzy beverage. Things don't go well if one of those is missing.

Since this is usually coming to you during the wee CEOs naptime in this small, less-than-soundproofed house, there's no music or TV humming in the background. After a loud morning of cheerful toddler babble, there's something very Zen about just hearing the tap-tap-tap of the keyboard.

(This is code for - I often take naps here instead. Obvs.)

Given its exotic locale in my living room, the view from my "desk" offers nothing exciting - TVs and piles of books, basically - except for my writing companion:

Where do you do your writing - home, work (it's ok, I won't tell), or out & about? Want to send me a link to your writing space post here, and I can try to figure out how to do a linkup thingy-madoodle whatever?

(Edited to Add:) Link-Up to Reader Spaces

Forever 29

***

Postcript - I also just signed up for my very first blog conference. Between that & this writing space nonsense, I'm worrying about what's happening to me - surely I'm not taking this stuff seriously? Am I a chic flat away from the blog equivalent of Star Trek conventions?

Most importantly, what on Earth do I wear to this sort of thing?!?

The Flip Side of This Stay-at-Home-Mom Thing, with a Silver Shoe Lining

2012-01-05T14:13:00.002-06:00

You might understandably believe that I'm trying to paint a sunshine & rainbows-y picture of my stay-at-home-mom state based on this & this recently.

This morning, however, served as a wonderful, if unwelcome, reminder of the painfully un-chic moments on this job, the ones where I wonder, "Which (glass bowl) put me in charge of this household, and why did I accept? *This* is the highest & best use of my fancy-pants degrees?"*

*Mildly important sidebar: Yes, I'm aware that I'm a prude who swears in parenthetical substitutes. The great thing about being in your thirties is accepting yourself for who you are, pearl-clutching prudery and all. Plus, the Anonymous Husband curses enough for the two of us, pinky swear (but I won't).*

In an unfortunate series of events, here's how my morning evolved as I was attempting to get the wee CEO out the door for our playgroup. Yes, I'm typing this to you from my Betty Draper-style fainting couch (or wish that I was, if we're slavishly sticking to facts here):

The commode spontaneously exploded (iiiiiick) (talk about a glass bowl problem) (Haute Mommy, didn't this happen to you too recently?) (parentheses);
I looked around for a staff member to take care of the problem;
Recalled that I *am* the staff and attempted to remedy the problem (iiiick) while keeping my curious, must-be-involved-in-everything 18-month-old out of the room;
Realized I then had to tidy myself up and somehow shower while keeping said curious, must-be-involved-in-everything 18-month-old out of the shower / the ER;
While I hurriedly rinsed off, said wee CEO discovered how to get into the china cabinet *and* upended the Pretty Pug's water bowl all over himself and the living room.

Approximately 1.5 hours later, we scrapped our plans and headed straight to an impromptu mother-son lunch & shopping date. I'm not advocating retail therapy as The Answer Whenever Life Goes Wrong, but some problems can only be solved by french fries - and new (to Master P, at any rate) shoes . . .

His first saddle shoes - praise Neiman Marcus for children's consignment stores, one of the budget ways I keep my little prep in his finery.

Smug-Worthy Spring Shoes: That Time I Blogged About Something Other Than Kids

2012-01-04T21:47:00.000-06:00

Subtitle: "Because Mr. Short-Time Nap Has Ensured That, At the End of a Long But Good Day, I Want to Gaze Quietly at Pretty Shoes."

Sub-subtitle: "Because My Waistline May be Shot Post-Baby But, For the Love of Nordstrom, I'm Not Letting My Accessories Go to Hell Too. Also, I Like Long Titles."

A friend of mine - a fellow congregant at the Church of Tory Burch and chic mom-to-be - and I were recently chatting about the natural progression of footwear. We were comparing our sensible but Pretty, neutral ballet flats and noting that, now in our young(ish) mama thirties, we've moved on into a different phase of style. We're less in the strictly trendy state of mind & more in the investing in classics one, though we don't want to get too responsible about it - yet.

In need of some toddler respite tonight, I took to the Interwebs to suss out what Spring '12 had to offer us, sensible (but not too sensible) flat-wise. The metallic and nude trends seem to be continuing in full force, with plenty of options for whatever your age, spanning the spectrum from budget to Bergdorf's:

Left: Payless "Chelsea Flat" ($17) / Right: Marc by Marc Jacobs "Glittering Mouse Ballerina Flat" ($230)

Left: Payless "Gloria Flower Flat" ($27); Right: Tory Burch "Metallic Lurex Reva Ballet Flat" ($235)

Left: Steve Madden "Karisma" ($90); Right: Tory Burch "Eddie Ballet Flat with Crystal Bow" ($250)

(Important, Special Note: Yes, I've posted these TB flats before; this is consistent with my theory of "If I blog it, it will go on sale." Results of said theory to date are, um, inconclusive at best.)

Left: Talbot's "Lyla Metallic Leather Tuxedo Flats" ($119); Right: Vera Wang Lavender "Louise 2" ($225)

Top: MICHAEL Michael Kors "Fulton Quilted Moccasin" ($98); Middle: Tory Burch (Yes, TB again) (I know) (Parentheses) "Patent Prescot 2 Ballet Flat" ($250); Bottom: Manolo Blahnik "Quilted Ballerina" ($466)

Left: Kate Spade "Tabby Cap-Toe Ballerina Flat" ($225); Right: Ferragamo "Varina Textured Ballet Flat" ($395)

(With thanks to the inimitable Ms. Privilege, who taught me about the Grande Dame and how I aspire to join their ranks when I grow up.)

Whaddaya think - that look about right to you? Is it wrong that I want to track down those Marc Jacobs sparkly, silly, hopefully-on-sale-somewhere flats right this very minute?

Multitasking, Smug Mummy Style

2012-01-03T14:40:00.001-06:00

Of the many, many Captain Obvs. statements I make here about parenthood, this may take the (pink frosting, of course) cake, but - I'm a little Smugly impressed with the amount of things I've learned I can do all at once while parenting.

This morning, for example, I was doing my best to get primped Operation MILF style before running some errands. I double-checked my watch, noted that we'd have to hurry to make it home to maintain the all-hallowed nap schedule and hurried up my efforts - and then the wee CEO abruptly marched into my bathroom with all the stern seriousness of a third-world dictator (with apologies for the highly technical iPhone photos - shamefully, I have yet to reach that blogging state in which I'm surgically attached to my DSLR):

This is an excellent book if any of you are looking for an obsessed-with-transport toddler read, BTW.

Never mind that I was hunched over blow-drying my hair at the time - see that digit forcefully pointing at the book? Master P waits for no one when it comes to his literature, so on I went with my drying while reading *upside-down* about stuff like "combine harvesters" and "front loaders" and other things they don't sell at Nordstrom. We reached a high point when I managed to wield my lash curler while going over the "Tractors" (huh?) page.

It's a small mother-son moment, but when I think of what I've learned to do over the past 1.5 years, particularly back in the newborn days - anyone else eat their meals half-asleep (read: out of your mind with exhaustion) with one hand while rocking a colicky baby with the other? - I'm Pretty impressed with us.

What's your latest feat of multitasking Smug Mummy strength?

***

PS - You may notice a trend here this week towards brief-ish posts (for once). You might suspect this is part of my naptime attempt to re-watch "Downton Abbey" before Season 2 premieres here in the US this Sunday yesyesyes. You would be right. xoxo, the Dowager Countess of Austinshire

No Mo' Mondays: When the Wrong Job Leads to the Right One

2012-01-02T00:01:00.000-06:00

As I sit here noodling around with this post on a Sunday evening, a bit peaked ~~hungover~~ but excited about the new year - happy 2012! - something is missing.

There are no more Mondays in my world - or, more specifically, no more grey cloud of dread that used to loom over my weekends as I contemplated returning to a job I always enjoyed more in concept than in reality.

I've danced on the grave of my legal career many a time here; longtime readers will recall that, after seven years of practice, I was thrilled to hang up the Ann Taylor to be a stay-at-home Smug Mummy. Not only because was it the right decision parenting-wise for my family - (but not necessarily for yours because For the Love of Nordstrom there's no one universal right answer here and can't we all just be glad we women now have the right to decide what's best for our respective families?) (deep breaths) (parentheses) - but also because I was ready to move on to a vocation I felt passionate about. I don't at all regret having given the law a chance, but I'm also proud to have stepped away after having thoroughly proven that it wasn't my right answer.

It kinda came full circle for me tonight, as I sit here enjoying some blessed post-NYE quiet ~~snarfing cookie dough while the AH is away, because it doesn't count if no one sees~~ - much like those Life Goals I fretted about for so many years, I wonder if the long time spent in the wrong job threw this time in the right one into greater relief, in all senses of that phrase?

Feel free to leap on my #yuppiewhitegirlproblems perspective here - for starters, I'm admittedly in the fortunate position that I get to leap from a lucrative job to this unpaid one. I get that, and I'm immensely thankful for it, pinky swear. Plus, being grateful for having spent ten years, between law school & practice, in the wrong job could fairly be called revisionist history - couldn't I have ended up in the right career for me minus the headaches and the student loans?

Maybe - but that isn't how it worked for me, and my hope for any of you reading this & fretting about What You Should Do When You Grow Up is that any initial wrongs lead to eventual rights too. If the Plan A job ends up not being what you hoped, that doesn't mean you're doomed to it forever. In my twenties, I wasted a lot of time worrying that I had to figure out the One and Only Perfect Job for Me and felt plenty guilty when I started to suspect the Law wasn't it sometime around, oh, the first semester of law school. Let me spare you that guilt - it just ain't so.

Sometimes the wrong job is just the precursor to the good stuff. Mondays don't always have to be Mondays:

Okay, fine, these photos were technically taken on a Friday, but my point is - how awesome is this? This, this is what my working days look like now. I took the long road here, but - praise Neiman Marcus - I'm *here*. Finally.

A Year End (Note: Not a Rear End) in Review

2011-12-30T15:30:00.000-06:00

I'm afraid we're going to have to summon that chic mental disguise I mentioned yesterday; though I've mustered the energy to get Pretty today, I'm in a funk about some, ya know, personal demon stuff I'll bore you with at some point here. I need to send it (and myself) to the spa for a peel & salt scrub first.

However, since I believe in faking it 'til you make it - and whatever other cliches that justify my highlights habit - I'm choosing to close out 2011 here on a positive note, like the champagne onesies that will be making their annual New Year's Eve appearance here at our Pretty HQ fete:

Always with a straw, naturally.

Source: papertastebuds.com via Melissa on Pinterest

Speaking of things for which I'm grateful, I'm thrilled to be back here in blog business this year, after taking a long hiatus to immerse myself in all things b-a-b-y. Grateful for the support of you darlings, whether you be Smug Singletons, Marrieds, or fellow Mommy Mafia members, both in reading your brilliance and in your commenting here on my decidedly non-brilliant drivel.

I'm also thankful for the creative outlet this space continues to give me, for better or worse (worse) (yet you keep reading) (parentheses). In my former lawyerly life, this provided me with a much-needed escape from an ill-fitting career. I like my current, stay-at-home-mom job infinitely better, but this gives me an outlet I hadn't realized I'd still need. In taking a regular bit of time here to do my own thing while Master P snoozes, I find I'm better able to devote myself to him when he's awake.

I leave you in 2011 with a giant, smoochy thank you, and a round-up of my sentimental favorite posts from the year. Not that I think they're any good, of course, but like old-school "90210" reruns, I find myself coming back to these - minus the 1990s babydoll dresses but with all the teen angst, of course:

A merry New Year to you all. Here's to more complaining & Champagne, not necessarily in that order, in 2012 . . .

Prettifying the Planet Review - Modalu "Pippa", Small Wallet in Oak

2011-12-29T21:23:00.001-06:00

Preface: Let us pretend that I'm not typing this to you in the Secret Sweatpants of Shame and Ponytail of Defeat, unable as I've been today to muster any post-Christmas pre-NYE entertaining energy for my usual primping. Rather, let's picture me in a chic turban and faux fur, twirling a swanky cigarette holder or something. Thank you for your cooperation.

Post-Preface Disclaimer: Alas, it appears that I am still not the missing Middleton sister, so this review is entirely unsolicited & unpaid; Santa bought this with his own hard-earned cash money.

I have no idea how it happened. None! Somehow - was it my multiple subtle hints about my need for a wallet, or my demurely sending him the link directly? - my own personal Santa / Anonymous Husband type gave me just the Prettiest wallet I'd been wanting, thanks to the holiday Modalu sale:

I'm not here to brag about my swag, believe it or not. No, for serious! It's just that my review of the Pippa Medium Grab bag drew a lot of interest, so I figured a number of you Accessory Acquirers after my own cold, AmEx-plated heart might be interested in this too.

Here at Pretty HQ, we have a *highly scientific*, rigorous testing process for new accessories; the more expensive, the more rigorous. My prior, too flimsy Marc by Marc Jacobs hadn't passed inspection, so I was anxious:

I'm happy to report that both my wallet and my lines of credit survived the inspection. Even better, the Pippa wallet has survived both my Pretty and my functional needs:

Love the "Pippa" exposed zipper detail and stitching . . .

I am not a carrier of many cards, so it has just the right amount of storage for me . . .

My one tragically American quibble: my US dollars don't fit the inner pocket. I don't exactly fault a British company for not sizing their wares to my Colonial needs, but it's something to keep in mind if you're fussy about this sort of thing. Here's my workaround:

Dear Thieves: Those aren't Benjamins, but merely $1s from the local strip joint. Even a prissy girl has needs. (Do I need to add that I'm joking here?) (Really?) (Where's that sarcasm font when I need it?)

And here she is with the Pippa bag herself (a bag is a "her", yes?); I prefer the non-matchy colors & finish so that I can more easily find the wallet in le bag. The oak mock croc of the wallet is a lovely, light cognac in person.

Overall Impression: Just as happy with the quality, functionality, and the Pretty here as I am with the Pippa bag. I can't think of an American equivalent in quality for this price range ($85 US as of this writing here). A big, smoochy thank you to the Anonymous Santa Husband for this one.

Where to Find (as of this writing): Here's the tricky bit - it appears to be gone from the Modalu site, though you can find the matching Pippa bag in oak croc here. Brit retailer House of Fraser has the wallet in red here; Modalu has a larger Pippa wallet here in a similar color for $100 US.

Any questions? Reprimands for typing about the Pretty while sporting the Ponytail of Defeat?

A Post About, Um, Posting: Do You Need a Niche?

2011-12-28T14:13:00.001-06:00

I seem to have inadvertently started an irregular regular series on blogging; you can read more here and here and here if you're having trouble sleeping.

I figure I can safely ramble here about the business of blogging since nobody reads these things during the Christmas-NYE doldrums, right? *taps microphone*

It's a dirty, dirty blogging secret of mine that, though I try to pay no heed to things like the numbers of comments I get on a post or followers I have, on some level I pay attention. After all, if I didn't care about having you unusually good-looking readers I'd just write in the half-dozen half-completed journals strewn about Pretty HQ.

To that end, I admit that I occasionally click on those obnoxious looking "HOW TO BRAND YOURSELF!!!" sort of posts about blogging, with all the nervousness of an adolescent boy looking up, uh, that stuff adolescent boys look up on the internet. With a similar sense of shame, I quickly skim the article and close out of my browser, upset with myself for giving in to the forces of the "blogger branding" thing - which never seems to emphasize quality of writing, strangely enough.

I've also made some cosmetic changes here - new layout, an ongoing attempt to improve my photography - though I like to think that's more motivated by my enjoying having a Pretty slice of the internet to call my own versus reader ~~ensnarement~~ enjoyment. (*Note the naughty absence of photos with this post, by the way; definitely a secret blog article no-no.*)

Here's the thing: most of us aren't here to become the next Dooce, though I'm guessing if someone came to us respectively with a book deal or QVC merchandise empire, we wouldn't turn our noses up at it either. Given that, if we want to put out something that we enjoy writing and (hopefully) others enjoy reading, does it help to categorize your writing as one thing or another, as so many articles out there encourage us to do?

The great irony is, of course, that the Big Damn Deal sort of bloggers are just that because they defy categorization. They manage to be compelling, relatable writers *and* photographers *and* able to dole both of those out in regular, easy-to-read doses (as they have done for years and years, well before most of us knew what a "blog" was) without resorting to a "THIS IS A MOMMY BLOG!" title or description. My blog roll - click over on that tab to the left for my super-duper favorite reads - is full of reads that similarly aren't tidily pegged.

Of course, some blogs lend themselves to a niche - my friend over at the uber-fabulous What Kate Wore is a terrific example of the type. I can click over there and reliably expect to read something about Princess Shinylocks, aka the Duchess of Do-No-Wrong, and what she's been seen in lately, and I enjoy that consistency there.

At the risk of being too Holden Caufield-y about it, this space is a different, non-nicheable one - though of course I'd devote it all to Princess Shinylocks if I could just figure out how to get that damned hair. Until then, you can click here and expect to see: Grace Kelly; Pretty shoes & bags; too many photos of my child; travel ideas; examples of how not to keep a home; Pretty paper; bad puns; books I like; books I hate; stories about that time I told a room of nuns about my sex life. You know, er, just as an example.

I stand for excellence in husbands, children, friendship, and accessories, usually in that order. How's that for a niche?

Until that qualifies as a blog category, I'm saying no to the niche - am I missing something by doing so? Or is pigeonholing your site, for lack of a better term, only relevant if you're trying to drum up sponsorships?

How about you - do you tailor your writing and your blog design for a particular audience, or are you more in my "Let the random, freak flag (does Hermes make these yet?) fly" camp?

The Undomestic Goddess Guide to Successful Holiday Entertaining

2011-12-27T19:24:00.001-06:00

Subtitle: "Half-Birthdays and Homicidal Thoughts"

One of the trickiest bits of being a stay-at-home-mom, trophy wife sort is the lack of feedback. There are no job evaluations like there were back in my pre-retirement days; short of your kid ending up in juvi or Julliard, there aren't too many external markers to give you a sense of how well you're doing running your roost.

Someone went & had a half-birthday while I was busy paying attention to Christmas. How are we at 18 months already, how???

It may be shallow, but I'm enough of a Type A Minus retired lawyer type to miss that feeling of gold-star accomplishment. Therefore, I'm returning from my holiday hiatus to bring you my *highly scientific*, three-step guide to knowing your first time doing the holiday hosting - or mine, at any rate - was (I think?) (I hope?) a success:

With thanks to the lovely & talented Lulu McGee, from whom Santa bought this precious tee.

Step 1: Accept help from your guests

Hailing from a tribe of introverts as I do, I didn't grow up with much in-home entertaining. Somehow I'd picked up the idea that a host/hostess was obligated to cook ALL of the food while keeping an immaculately clean house, providing wildly witty repartee, looking like a "Vogue" ad, and keeping an eye on the wee CEO.

(Yeah, I have no idea where that came from either.)

Here's what actually happened: the grandparents kept an eye on Master P while I shuffled around in my (most stylish/clean!) flannel PJs, stressing about the apple pie; everyone involved magically appeared with a side dish or dessert and kindly encouraged me to breathe already. The pie and I both survived - as did everyone who ate the former, to my great surprise.

Step 2: Limit thoughts of familial homicide to less than five

The face of innocence, after yet another hit on the toddler nativity set.

I can count the number of murder plots I may have hatched towards Anonymous Relatives on one hand. One hand, after four days, five house guests, and at least six passive-aggressive swipes about the state of my kitchen! Feel free to let the Nobel Peace Prize committee know where to find me.

Step 3: Beg, borrow, or steal some kids if you can

At the risk of sounding insufferably Smug Mummy - though of course this applies if you have a niece or nephew, dog, cat, or secret love child-type handy - Christmas is just a whole 'nuther level of enjoyable with littles around. It just is. I want to find a sarcastic remark here to cut the sugar level of that statement, but . . . but . . . I can't. It's just better.

With the last of our house guests just having left today, I'm signing off now to sit very still. That is, until tomorrow, when someone - ahem, Anonymous Husband - thought it would be a good idea to invite friends over for dinner. And then there's New Year's Eve, which we're hosting too.

Excuse me while I go cry in the leftover mashed potatoes.

A Very Smug Mummy Christmas to You

2011-12-20T07:06:00.001-06:00

Darlings, that time has come when the Pretty goes into hibernation for one week so that I can tend to some other festive holiday projects (code for: somehow learn to cook, clean, and entertain before our Christmas houseguests arrive. And buy presents for that one person I keep forgetting. Not you, of course it isn't you, obvs. Pinky swear. Or is it, I can't remember . . . gaaaaah.).

In the meantime, I leave you with our 2011 holiday card, replete with plenty of wee CEO and self-satisfied looks of Smug Mummyness both front & back:

(This isn't a paid plug, merely a happy customer endorsement): Three cheers to Minted for quick & excellent service.

A very merry whatever it is you celebrate. I'll be back much, much sooner than you had hoped with more holiday photos and stories than you or that malevolent Elf on the Shelf ever dreamed possible.