The other day, I was sprinting along an alleyway that cuts through a city block between 63rd and 64th streets, attempting to shave off a minute or two of transit time as I hastily ran errands in between nursing my son and writing. The alleyway is home to the side entrance of an apartment building on 64th, and there was a car stalled in front of it, occupying nearly the breadth of the alley. I noticed a woman about my mother’s age sliding into its backseat, looking wistfully over her shoulder. On the curb stood a young mother cradling an infant who couldn’t have been older than three or four days. And that young mother was weeping.
I knew, in an instant, what was happening:
This new mother was saying goodbye to her own mother as she set out to care for her newborn daughter on her own.
My heart constricted. Her tears and the need and concern and helplessness I saw in them felt like well-worn grooves in a track I used to travel. I had the decency to avert my eyes, but I longed to say something to that new mom, to that echo of my former self.
New motherhood is dizzying. It is a glut, a surfeit of — well, everything. There is so much — too much — to keep track of and experience all at once. It’s like running a marathon while reading a book and solving a math problem and balancing a ball on your nose and often while attempting to make it look effortless and beautiful. Drink enough water. Vitamin D drops. How much did she eat, and was that at 2 pm or 3 pm? I can’t remember when she last pooped. Doctor’s appointments. Should I be reading to her? Medication schedules. Sterilizing bottles, washing them. How long was her last snooze? Can I give her a pacifier or is that a no-no? Must order more diapers, a size up. Is it OK that she made that noise?Judy is taking her daughter to music classes already? A whole day went by and I don’t think I sang to her once. The Smiths are stopping by at 11. Should I pump now, or wait?Nanny interviews. Is it normal that I am still passing clots? Swaddling. Re-swaddling. Is she too hot or too cold?2 scoops formula for every 60 oz of water.Shouldn’t I have lost more weight by now? Birth announcements. Pain in my left breast — what is mastitis again? Did her SSN card get lost in the mail?40th percentile of weight. Google “jaundice.” Can a baby choke on milk?
My mother carried at least half the burden of these frets during my inaugural two weeks as a mother myself. She taught me many things during those early days, but above all reminded me, in her every word and gesture, of the high standard for motherhood she has modeled my entire life — one to which I continuously and assiduously aspire, even and especially now, two and a half years later — and that standard is all above patience and love.
“This too shall pass,” she said to me, on many occasions.
“It’s a phase,” she would remind me.
But also: “Isn’t she perfect?” and “Ohhh, how sweet,” and all of the tenured mom cooing and crooning that at first felt performative when it came out of my own mouth but that I now find myself reflexively echoing with my second child, all on my own, without her here to model them for me.
But mainly — above all the fracas of infant care, said directly to me —
“I love you.”
How do we survive new motherhood without our own mothers, be they near or far, in this world or the next, down the street or across the country?
I am an extension of my mother’s gestures: her expressions, her instincts are folded in with my own. And I lean on her and all I have inherited from her every day, often subconsciously, often without acknowledgement. Witnessing this tender moment of intergenerational exchange between strangers — one mother’s departure so soon after the arrival of new daughter, one generation removed — and observing the unguarded overflow of love between them brought this to the foreground.
+Loving this double-breasted trench dress situation. I actually have a similar one in heathered navy tweed by Veronica Beard that I like to wear with black tights, black turtleneck, and black pumps in the winter. Tres chic ca.
+These collapsible fabric storage bins have been my BFFs for years now. The greatest way to organize out-of-season clothing in a closet, if you have the space. In my old Chicago home, I bought a dozen of these and had them all lined up on the top shelf, and I’d use a few for sweaters, a few for jeans, etc. So easy and tidy.
+I absolutely love this hand wash. We have it in our guest bathroom and I purposefully use it to wash my hands just for the soap. I’m also drawn to the medicinal-style branding. (This is also chic for a similar masculine aesthetic — for about half the price.)
I wrote about mini’s upcoming enrollment in a twos program and all of the related supplies in a post not long ago, but wanted to share that I ended up buying one of the Oh Mint seersucker lunchboxes from Saddle Stitches (seen above, alongside a Cecil & Lou dress I bought last year but that still fits mini — they run BIG; similar here), a boutique that does the most incredible monograms on the Internet. Stunning, and with infinite permutations!
You’re Sooooo Popular: The Tropical Dress.
The most popular items on the blog this week:
+The tropical dress I wore to our nine-year wedding anniversary dinner at Rubirosa, one of the best pizza joints in NYC. It’s not a fancy spot, but I felt like getting dolled up and so I went for it. (More on this gorgeous label here!)
I had an interesting conversation with my sister, husband, and brother-in-law the other day: What is the biggest turnoff in a member of the opposite sex? Provocatively, Mr. Magpie and I essentially said the exact opposite of one another. (What does that mean?)
Occasionally, there is a chasm between the books mini loves and the ones I do. I tire quickly of most of the Mo Willems books, for example, though mini could listen to Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus ad infinitum. (As a side bar, I’m not a huge fan of some of the messages in his books.) Even clever books with interesting rhymes — ones likePout Pout Fish and Little Blue Truck(both definitely worth owning!) — can occasionally fill me with dread. Both of them run about two or three stanzas too long for my taste, and, if mini weren’t so observant, I’d happily skip a section or two — but she will inevitably point out my “forgetfulness.” Below, I thought I’d share the handful of children’s books I reach for time after time when mini permits me to select a book for our bedtime routine. Note — importantly — that all of these books are great for little children; none last more than a few minutes and most are heavily illustrated. (Who else has tried to read a book with too much text only to have a little paw reach up to turn the page?) Also note that all of these are ideal bedtime books in that most have soothing rhythms or messages about sleep.
Nancy Knows by Cybele Young — a beautifully illustrated book (using hand-folded origami!) that creatively explains memory to children. The writing is lyrical.
The Going to Bed Book by Sandra Boynton — when I misplaced this book, I ordered a replacement copy within hours. This book is blessedly short, covers the basics of bedtime routine, and somehow puts me right to sleep with its closing line: “Rock and rock and rock to sleep…”
Madeline by Ludwig Bemelmans — a classic, for a reason. Mini knows this book so well that when I skip a word and look at her expectantly, she fills in the blank. We both love the line about saying pooh-pooh to the tigers at the zoo.
The Rabbit Listened by Cori Doerrfeld — I love how this book explains grappling with emotions and empathy.
All the World by Liz Garton Scanlon — soothing rhymes, beautiful illustrations, and an interesting approach to explaining the vastness and diversity of the world.
Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak. Absolutely love the imaginativeness of this book. Mini and I dance and sing together during the multi-page “rumpus” interlude, where there is no text. Plus, the message at the end! It’s a beautiful book in all ways.
Jamberry by Bruce Degen. No substantial message here, but the rhythm is catchy and mini loves the illustrations (and also loves berries, so this is a big hit).
Jesse Bear, What Will You Wear? by Nancy White Carlstrom. This book is quiet, soothing poetry that helpfully paints the picture of the cycle of a day. I love the ending, as Jesse Bear lays in bed: “What will you wear at night? / Sleep in my eyes / And stars in the skies / Moon on my bed / And dreams in my head / That’s what I’ll wear tonight.”
Goodnight, Moon by Margaret Wise Brown. Something about the words “hush” and “mush” puts me right to sleep. My mother used to read this book to me a lot; I absolutely adore it and its epic illustrations.
When I’m feeling a bit more ambitious, we also both love Drum Dream Girl (incredible illustrations and beautiful writing) and Rosie Revere, Engineer — both books with strong messages of female empowerment, and both slightly longer than the others listed above.
What are your favorite bedtime books for toddlers? Please share in the comments! Always looking for new additions.
Post Scripts.
+Absolutely DYING (!!!) over this rug. I think it needs to go into micro’s nursery.
+Speaking of micro’s nursery — dream of wallpapering it with this.
I’ve now had ample time to reflect on both of my children’s births via c-section (the above picture was taken exactly a week after micro was born, and now I am closing in on three months; miscellaneous dispatches from the trenches here), and thought I’d share a few things that surprised me about the experiences, as I know there are many (!) expecting moms reading this blog, several of whom have written to say that they are anxious about the imminence of a birth via caesarean.
A caveat, of course: everyone experiences birth differently. I have one friend who claims the c-section was “a breeze” (insert bulging eye emoji) and that her recovery felt easy. I have another friend who cannot even talk about her c-section without tearing up, even now, over two years later. I fall closer to the latter camp; I found both c-sections emotionally difficult to muscle through and the recoveries, frankly, brutal — but the second one was far, far easier, in part because I knew what to expect, and in part, I think, because my body understood what was happening. (Maybe there was some muscle memory?)
At any rate: 8 things that surprised me about having a c-section.
1 // You lose sensation for inches around the incision because the doctors cut through nerves, and you don’t get it back for months. No one told me this and I worried that something had gone wrong the first time. “Is it normal that I feel…numb? Like, for a huge section around the scar?” I finally asked my doctor. Yes. And it takes months and months to regain feeling incompletely — even up to a year.
2 // One side of the scar can hurt more than the other. This happened with both of my c-sections and the doctor assured me that it was totally normal. I have no idea if this is true, but my sister-in-law (three-time c-section veteran) and I both think it tends to hurt more on the side the doctor stands on because she pulls harder/stitches more tightly while pulling towards where she is standing. At least, this was the case for all of our surgeries — the side the doctor stood over tended to hurt more.
3 // You might shake uncontrollably. For some reason, this aspect of delivery was the most upsetting during mini’s birth. I was shaking so wildly that I felt out of control, and could not have held mini for the life of me. I even had a difficult time clutching Mr. Magpie’s hand. Before the second c-section, I spoke with the anesthesiologists and nurses about this multiple times prior to entering the OR, and they were incredibly kind — they suggested draping warm blankets over my body to minimize the shaking and also taught Mr. Magpie that he could apply pressure to a point on my wrist to help with it. Both did help, to a certain degree, but, as they’d warned me: some of it is inevitable owing to a potent combination of medicine and the shock of enduring surgery. When I did start shaking this time around, the anesthesiologist looked at me with the kindest eyes and said: “Oh SHOOT, Jen. I was hoping we’d avoid that. Here, let’s get more heat on you.”
4 // Related to the above: you can advocate for your own preferences during the c-section. Because a c-section is a surgery, for mini’s birth, it felt to me as though I had to just go with the flow and endure what I needed to endure. With micro’s birth, I realized that I could explain my biggest concerns — that I was anxious about the uncontrollable shaking, and that I wanted desperately to be able to hold my baby the minute I could — and that they would work to help on both fronts. Holding micro to my face just after he was born made the second c-section a million times more bearable. I can’t emphasize enough how big a difference this made and strongly recommend you make the same preferences known!
5 // It doesn’t hurt, but it feels bizarre. I was surprised, during both births, that I had no awareness as to when they had started the surgery. You feel absolutely no pain. They could have been caressing my stomach for all I knew — at least at the start. Then, once they are actively helping the baby out, there is a lot of tugging and pulling happening beneath the blue sheet, enough that sometimes it feels as though you might fly off the table (!)
6 // Your husband is not permitted to be in the room while the anesthesiologists place the spinal. During my first c-section, I was distraught over this. I remember feeling so very alone as I shuffled into the OR with my weird baggy socks and my oversized belly, wondering how long it would take before I could see Mr. Magpie again. Even though the room was crowded with doctors, nurses, anesthesiologists (literally 8 or 9 people attended both c-sections, I think!), I remember staring at the wall of the room with tears in my eyes, willing him to appear at my side. A doctor finally asked — “Did it just become really real?” I nodded vaguely, although it was more that I felt completely isolated during one of the most intense moments of my life. I was better prepared for it this time around and found the nurses much more attentive to my emotional state anyhow — one held my hands and asked me all kinds of questions that I barely had the wherewithal to answer. In fact, I had a protracted conversation about this blog with one of the nurses while the anesthesiologists were placing the spinal! I have no idea what I said. Probably mumbled something about Amazon caftans and called it a day.
7 // You will be asked to drag yourself from the surgical gurney to your hospital bed when you are wheeled up from recovery to your hospital room, within hours of the c-section. I was…astonished that I was being asked to do this because I had just barely regained movement in my legs as the anesthesia wore off, and I was beginning to feel that burny-sharp feeling radiate through the painkillers. But you can and will endure this first step in recovery — the first of many relatively minor though temporarily overwhelming physical challenges as you recover. This, and the fact that the nurses threaten to re-catheterize you if you cannot urinate on your own the first day, loomed large over me as they wheeled me upstairs.
8 // You will get through it–and forget about (most of) it. If you’re anything like me, there will be a day about seven or ten days into recovery where you think, “Oh my God. I will never ever feel normal again.” The recovery feels endless and even though you are making progress, you long for the days when you could laugh or cough without wincing and not have to think for a minute about whether or not you feel up to stooping to pick up your toddler’s toys. I learned to look for the minor milestones: I remember celebrating when I felt comfortable enough to lay on my side in the hospital bed. And then, one morning, I temporarily forgot about the incision. “I didn’t even think about the c-section for the past few hours!” I exclaimed to Mr. Magpie. And we cheered. I turned a major corner at five weeks on the dot. Just the week prior, I had been running around the Hamptons, lifting my toddler when I shouldn’t have, and I felt absolutely awful. I felt so badly, in fact, I thought I might have torn a stitch or something. I told Mr. Magpie I felt I’d regressed to how I’d felt a week after surgery and had to take Advil to cope with the burning. But then, as if by magic, at exactly five weeks out, I felt normal again. And now, at almost three months out, a lot of the details feel blessedly hazy and remote.
But the main thing — the most important thing — the most clicheed thing, but the most true thing — is that
9 // You are able to cope with the unpleasantries of a c-section and its aftermath because you are so wildly in love with and distracted by your perfect baby. There is no better medicine than laying in bed, cradling your squishy newborn. I am weepy with nostalgia when I reflect on those early days with both mini and micro.
Post Scripts: Things that Help with Recovery.
If you are preparing for a c-section or have a girlfriend who is, a couple of things that would be good to have on hand:
+High-rise underwear. I absolutely loved these and especially their soft and forgiving waistband. (Also, not hideous!) You won’t want anything low-rise for awhile…
+Nursing nightgowns. I hated anything that pressed against the incision; loose nightgowns were far more comfortable for me. I love these ones from Gap and actually wore them through much of the third trimester, too.
+Text check-ins from girlfriends. Nothing helps you through the recovery like an empathetic friend.
+Milk of Magnesia, colace, and GasX. Having any major surgery stops your digestive system and it takes awhile to get back to a place of normalcy. God willing, you’ll be right as rain in no time, but I’d have all of these stocked in your medicine cabinet just in case. But my God. This second time, the gas pain was worse than the incision pain at some points. Horrific.
+Chic mules/slip-ons for the first few weeks, when you won’t be able to bend over and tie your shoe with ease. These are so adorable!
+I am so loving pointelle right now. I ordered one of these for mini, am coveting one of these (the prettiest color) for myself, and am contemplating one of these, which has such a delightful innocence to it.
+I had one of these bracelets made for mini as a gift for her when she goes off to school in a few weeks, but how fun would it be to have one of these for me and one made for mini, saying something like “mama” and “mini” or some other personal message?!
+This is marketed as a laundry bag, but I saw it and thought it’d be ideal for a car trunk. We sold our car earlier this year, but I always had random bags and miscellaneous items rolling around the back. What a great way to keep things organized.
Though I ragged on The Falconers in my latest book club post (yikes), I did enjoy the descriptions of New York. Like a true New Yorker, the protagonist vacillates between romanticizing its energy and history and despairing of its endless movement and occasional grotesqueness. At a low point in the novel, the protagonist projects her angst onto the city, writing:
“The world is indifferent and uncaring and New York is its agent of apathy. New York doesn’t give a damn. New York sounds like a choir conducted by the devil. And that’s on a good day. New York will take all your money and all your kindness and all your love and will keep it for itself. There is no return on your investment…New York is an orchestra in a constant state of warming up. It never, ever finds its tune or any semblance of melody.”
I see in this portrait some of the vitriol I have occasionally let fly on particularly bad days, when the worst of New York tends to surface, as though the city has some sixth sense: Aha, she’s having a toughie. Let’s show her our worst, gang. Or, the opposite: when you’re waxing poetic about the city, New York will be sure to serve you up something disgusting. That’s a little too Pollyanna for our taste, lady. Try this instead. On days of either extremity, weird subway juice drips from the ceiling onto my brand new dress, or a cockroach lands on Mr. Magpie’s back, or — as happened a week ago — I witness three strung-out teens shooting heroin on one of the gently sloping hills of Central Park, while children blithely kick a ball to one another just a few yards away. I called Mr. Magpie, distraught, not sure what I should have done. Do I keep moving? Call an ambulance? I had noticed one of the teens was wearing a hospital bracelet — a detail that has haunted me and left me wondering over his wellbeing ever since.
This is New York: the hideous and obscene and disturbing abutting the overwhelmingly romantic and stately. Just head to Midtown: it’s desolate and overcrowded, overcluttered with chain restaurants and filth–but then you’ll catch a glimpse of the Empire State Building or find yourself in a weird state of inward content as you watch the world pass you by, and it feels like magic, or poetry, or something ethereal and out-of-body you can’t quite put your finger on.
Mr. Magpie recently asked me whether I felt more at home in Chicago or in New York. New York was an easy, at-the-ready answer. I loved our home in Chicago but it felt distant from everything I knew: a plane ride away from family, a subtly though distinctively different culture and mentality. Even its landscapes felt foreign: endlessly and expansively flat. I always felt minuscule there, like a tiny pin-dot on a map, the corn-fields and farmlands extending into oblivion over and around me. New York feels narrower and easier to wrap my head around, and the rolling hills that met us as we approached the East Coast for the first time on our pilgrimage here felt like home.
But there is something else, too: in New York, I travel everywhere by foot, and most of my life is spent within a 10 block radius of our apartment. Because of this intense pedestrian-ness, I know every nook and cranny — the spots I am likely to run into dog poop, the stinky trash corners to avoid, the intersections I hate. I know where I’ll be heckled by folks pushing a political agenda or asking for donations, when to stop by the grocery to avoid lines, how to order at Bouchon Bakery in the Time Warner Building (it’s an odd layout). I know my neighbors and the doormen and the barrista at my coffee shop and the cashier at my local Duane Reade and the “regulars” at the playground and the nail technicians at my salon by name and I interact with them all so frequently that I feel braided into the community here in a way I never did in Chicago. We have deeper roots here, too: siblings and cousins and an expansive network of friends and acquaintances I never had in Chicago. Beyond that, blessedly, my parents are now an easy three-hour train ride away.
Still.
I don’t know if New York will ever feel like “home.”
D.C. continues to occupy that spot in my heart and head. If someone asks when I’ll be going home, I reflexively think of my parents’ lovely home in Spring Valley, D.C., and have to do a quick mental shimmy to acknowledge that New York is, in fact, my home at the moment.
Will this change with time? If I stay in Manhattan for, say, a decade — will it then become my home? Home-buying did not transform Chicago into “home,” although I felt comfortable and secure there for a time, so I don’t know that it’s tethered to property ownership. Maybe watching my babies grow up here, plugged into schools and activities and budding friendships and soccer on Saturdays and donuts after Church on Sundays will make this city feel more like my own?
On the flipside, spending a week in the leafy, Suburban-esque bliss of the Hamptons earlier this summer left me aching for space and nature, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I will slowly emotionally alienate myself from the concrete jungle of New York, longing instead for cricketsong and the normalcy of an American youth for my children.
I don’t know. But I can tell you that I feel that life has brought me here for a reason — that there is something brewing here, something important — and that Mr. Magpie and I are determined to take advantage of this incredible town for however long we stay here.
So two years in, I continue to tango with New York, loving it on the good days, telling myself “if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere” on the mediocre ones, and wondering how impractical it would be to up and move our family back to the nostalgia-lined mid-Atlantic on the tough ones. Somewhere in that dance, my two year old daughter informed me, rather haughtily, that we were “in a taxi, not a car” as we zoomed up Broadway to visit a girlfriend; a stranger helped a man up after he tripped over a curb in Union Square; I was nearly run down by one of the furious and insane cyclists in Central Park who are always, apparently, in the midst of racing the Tour de France and have no time for pedestrian walkways; an old woman shoved me out of the way as I attempted to board the Subway; and my manicurist made a point to ask after my son, noting, with accuracy, that “he is two months, right”? It’s a weird thing, the swell and give of this city, the small kindnesses against the unseemly rudenesses, the poignantly personal against the inhumane, the dingy against the magical. At the end of the day, it’s a city of extremes, and, as a moderate in all things, I don’t tend to like living in the poles.
But New York may prove to be the exception.
Because even though New York will knock you down a peg when you’re feeling too good about it, it will also always finds small ways to make it up to you. A conductor holding the door of the Subway car open for you as you race through the turnstiles. The quiet of Central Park on a weekday morning. The elegant stateliness of Lincoln Center, the hush of its fountains temporarily suspending you from the din of the city. The knowing look of a fellow New Yorker as you edge your way around a clump of tourists. The proximity and urgency and thrill of it all.
+I had a lot of questions about a dragonfly mug I posted on Instastory not long ago. It was from our wedding china, the June Lane collection by Kate Spade.
I have a personal shoe addiction. I usually think of myself as a dress splurger, but when I look at my major investments over the past few years, I’ve principally splurged on footwear. Right now, at the top of my list:
Separately, this happens to me routinely: all at once, usually in the middle of a season, mini cannot fit into any of her shoes. And suddenly she’s wearing one threadbare pair day after day as I pretend that we can survive until the end of winter/spring/summer without reinvesting in her shoe wardrobe. Does this happen to other moms?! I’m in the midst of re-upping her shoe situation and thought I’d share how I approach this.
+Fun shoes: I usually have at least one pair of frivolous shoes for her, whether they are in a funky pattern or an unusual style like an espadrille. This season, I had to buy her these because she’s borderline obsessed with Frozen (like every other toddler girl), and I just added these to my cart in the navy. Also, how adorable are these snakeskin t-bars?!
One bonus to a lot of the shoes above is that they can be dressed up or down. I routinely have mini in a dress and a pair of her canvas sneakers — it’s a darling look! — but they can also be worn with shorts or leggings without looking out of place. The same goes for her sandals and even her Mary Janes; I feel like these are versatile footwear that can be worn with nearly anything!
Shoes for Baby Boys.
Finally, micro’s still in the socks-or-bare-feet phase (I love these booties for home — they are the only sock/shoe that ever stays put!), but I am loving these for him as he moves toward official footwear:
+Ralph Lauren — extra 40% off sale with code STYLE. Picked up a few polos for micro ($10 with code) and mini, some leggings (trying to stock up on fall clothes for school), and some sweaters (<<marked down to $34 with code!).
+Gap — great time to stock up on fall basics for little ones. Mini had to have this vest and this jumper (cute over a Peter Pan collar shirt with tights), and micro had to have these overalls!
P.P.P.S. Speaking of good buys: this Doen dupe is a must. Been wearing it constantly!
By: Jen Shoop
I was moved by Erin Gates’ recent post on turning 40 and then — in the fortuitous way in which reading fortifies and amplifies life — found myself reflecting further on aging as I indulged in Mary Oliver’s book of essays (this month’s book club pick). Erin’s struggle with fertility throughout her 30s has been heart-aching to follow. I have many friends who have walked a similar, lonely road and I have seen first-hand the way IVF, miscarriages, and the agony of waiting for a child entirely consume the hearts and minds and bodies of so many women. In her book of essays (at least thus far), Oliver speaks only obliquely about her personal life and often through the prism of the natural world, and we are left to guess at the private heartaches and tragedies she has endured. But she writes from the end of a life satisfyingly well-lived, one with which she has made a deep and abiding peace, and Erin writes from the middle of its busiest season, when some of the biggest struggles of her personal life gape open like wounds.
Reading Erin’s post left me in a state of melancholy contemplation for some time. Even though I cannot possibly imagine the heartbreak she has endured, I felt deeply for her. But I also felt uplifted by her determination to make the most of her 40s — to enjoy herself a bit more as she slopes towards middle age. Her list of resolutions alongside Oliver’s wise reflections as an aging woman made me think about all of the things I want to know more about in this life. Below, a few of them, some serious and others decidedly less so:
+Impressionist artwork. I love artwork from this period but know only the bare minimum about it. I dream of auditing a college course on this. In the interim, maybe I’ll make a point of attending a lecture at a local museum or picking up a book on one of my favorite artists from the era.
+How to unplug. I have tried this in small doses and with middling success.
+Spoken French. I’ve been wanting to take a conversational French class for years and years, and somehow always make up an excuse as to why it’s inconvenient or not worth the price (I was surprised to see how expensive some of the classes were at L’Alliance Francaise!). I was briefly, highly motivated by Jhumpa Lahiri’s decision to learn Italian and write a book in it — just because of the intellectual exercise it presented. While in the Hamptons last month, my friends and I spoke to one another in French all evening (to the best of our abilities) and — yes. I need to continue to exercise the language I spent so many years learning.
+The American South. Mr. Magpie and I occasionally talk dreamily about where we might live if money and careers were no object. We have often mused about trying various cities in the South, drawn to the pace of life, the warmer climate (especially after those five damned Chicagoan winters), the rich history, the vibrant food culture. We recently decided that we would like to explore more cities in the South over the next few years on family vacations as a kind of litmus test for livability. Could we be Charleston people, for example, at some phase in our life? Are we through-and-through Virginians?
+Baking. I’m a passable though ambitious baker. I’ve been known to take on a meringue, an angel food, a souffle — to occasionally wonderful and often mediocre result. But I would like to elbow into this a bit further in my future years.
+Wine. I drink enough of it that you’d think I know more than just “this tastes good, this tastes bad.” But such is the extent of my prowess. I’d love to embark on a more formal wine appreciation program. (A thinly veiled excuse to drink a lot of wine.)
+Whether expensive skincare is really worth it. (I keep going back and forth on this.)
+How to raise happy, healthy, curious, well-mannered children. Currently in a crash course called motherhood but could use additional support.
In short, and in the words of the one and only Mary Oliver:
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
Post Scripts.
+Shoutout to Nicki for reminding me of the Oliver quote above.
+Loeffler Randall has a fantastic end of season sale running. I insist you consider adding these block-heeled mules to your wardrobe. They are perfect (!) for outdoor weddings, can be dressed up and dressed down, and are surprisingly comfortable. I wear my similar Tory Burch Tatiana mules (now only available on eBay) CONSTANTLY. Like, at least once a week. They’re the perfect way to transform a day dress to an evening one and are so easy to walk in.
+Loeffler Randall has a fantastic end of season sale running. I insist you consider adding these block-heeled mules to your wardrobe. They are perfect (!) for outdoor weddings, can be dressed up and dressed down, and are surprisingly comfortable. I wear my similar Tory Burch Tatiana mules (now only available on eBay) CONSTANTLY. Like, at least once a week. They’re the perfect way to transform a day dress to an evening one and are so easy to walk in.
+Also love these and these (I own and adore the latter).
+Mini is going through a major princess phase — she only wants to wear “pretty nightgowns” to bed (just added this one to my cart) and always wants a “pretty dress” during the day. She’s often seen clunking around in these dress-up heels, which I think every girl ever has owned a pair of.
+PSA: Yoox has an incredible collection of baby/toddler Supergas in the cutest patterns and prints (difficult to find elsewhere!) Mini had asked me for a pair of red sneakers, and I finally found a pair in her size here. Also love these and these!
I apologize in advance for the heavy sampling from Mary Oliver over the next few weeks. I’ve already showcased a ton of her poetry across this blog (ahem and ahem), and now that I’m reading a second series of her essays (loved this one, too), she’s sure to be woven into the fabric for a good while now. She is unassumingly brilliant, and such a dutiful caretaker of language. In other words: much of what I aspire to in my own writing.
These caveats out of the way, I’ve been musing for a long while over this brief passage on her decision to build a small lean-to in her backyard one summer with a hammer, nails, and her own elbow grease:
“The work went slowly. The roof went on, was shingled with red cedar. I was a poet, but I was away for awhile from the loom of thought and formal language; I was playing. I was whimsical, absorbed, happy. Let me always be who I am, and then some.”
Let me always be who I am, and then some.
I love the notion that we are who we have defined ourselves to be — but that there is always space for growth and experiment and play. That there is a sturdy core to us — I am me wherever I go — but there are branches to explore, eaves to briefly occupy, small backyard huts to build in a fit of whimsy. We can be sixty-eight and decide to take up needlepoint for the first time, or thirty-two and trying on tennis for size. It reminded me of the value of hobbies and the rich learning that comes in the posture of the novitiate.
Today: make space for that added bit of you. Stretch into it.
Post-Scripts: New Mascara.
+Intrigued by this mascara. You know I’m always game to try a new one. Still using and loving this dramatic stuff on the daily.
+We are planning to purchase new glassware and everyday china after we move this fall (a lot of our pieces are now, a decade after their purchase for our wedding, showing wear and tear, and we have curiously lost about half of our pieces through accidents and the bizarre way in which we simply lose things over time) and these are at the top of my list.
+Been drinking a lot of palomas lately — THEY ARE SO GOOD. We use the recipe from this drink cookbook.
By: Jen Shoop
I have been remiss in leading our book club, wholly skipping the July book club pick in favor of other literary meanderings. I hope you will forgive this truancy, but on the rare occasion I have the wherewithal or time to read, I have been selfish.
“I feel like…this,” I’ll say, scarfing down a handful of pages of the latest thriller in something akin to standing in front of the kitchen cabinet, eating a fistful of cereal right out of the box. (Incidentally, why I chose the picture above for today’s post — what is that chic lady doing? Taking a break from a dressage event to read, quickly and quietly, amongst a crowd of onlookers? I love it.)
Or, “I need something substantive today,” and I’ll savor a paragraph from this slim volume of essays I am loving by one of my favorite poets, and it’s a sensation similar to eating a ripe peach and letting the juice run down my chin — decadent, evocative, best done in moments of unharried quiet. Some of her chapters are academic-leaning, but the first few consist of poignant reflections on aging, intellectual pursuit, and, always, the reverent mystery and glory of the natural world.
“I don’t think I am old yet, or done with growing. But my perspective has altered–I am less hungry for the busyness of the body,” she writes, addressing her advancing age head-on, “more interested in the tricks of the mind.”
Her words and the seasoned, sage, sit-back-and-tilt-my-head-in-appraisal perspective that support them remind me of where I am along the arc of adult life, and that place is best defined by extreme “busyness of the body.” Oh, I am tired. My body is banged-up and bruised from the intensity of pregnancy and birth and all its unholy aftermath couple with the physical exertion that breast-feeding, and carrying a baby, and wrangling a toddler, and not sleeping through the night for an eternity entail. It feels as though I am never without something in my hands or slung over my shoulder or resting against my breast, despite my best efforts at a hands-free life. And on top of this, there is the frenetic busyness of the mind: the fretting over micro’s horrible cough, the logistics around even the simplest trip to the playground (“can we time it around mini’s last toilet visit and micro’s last feed?”), the never-ending to-dos and admin tasks that accompany motherhood and marriage.
And, we plan to move in the next few months. (Fellow New Yorkers will respect the traumatic undertaking this will be with two small children and a large dog in tow. I do not know how we will pack. Where will the boxes go? Dangled out the window? Lining the common areas of our apartment building? My mind explodes. And this is just the tip of the iceberg.)
But so, my Magpies —
Will you forgive my negligence in slinking away from the YA novel I’d selected and instead supplanting it with Mary Oliver’s essays? Because I need it right now (and her words rank highly among the fragments I shore against my own ruin). It is reassuring prose — elegant, self-effacing, measured, quiet. As such, it stands in stark contrast with the busyness of this body and this season of life and shows me what might lay at the other end of the span of the next few decades — at least, if I am able to remotely channel the archetype of graceful aging she models.
And in the meantime, I’ll appreciate its respite from the fracas of parenthood in all its ungainly glory.
Post Scripts.
+Really, really enjoyed this thriller. It’s quickly paced and easy to read and full of the twisty-turniness us thriller fiends love best.
+Was lukewarm on this heavily-touted novel by a former sports-writer, whose past profession reveals itself in the uneven prose: the author is at her best describing the pick-up basketball games her protagonist plays and far shakier elsewhere in the novel, especially in the preposterous, borderline disastrous, dialogue. I could sense the striation of her artistic muscle as she attempted to flex outside of her skill-set. (Harsh, I know.) But narration and dialogue should not be of the same voice — except for maybe in the highly styled, well-crafted prose of a Junot Diaz or Sherman Alexie, when it is understood to be intentional. The book was also cloyingly determined in its pursuit of “the woke,” which I found fatiguing. The exception to my scathing review? I loved her descriptions of New York; much of the novel takes place on the Upper West Side, and I recognized many of the landmarks. It was straight-up fun to see a novel unfold in my backyard.
+This gingham midi gives me Brock Collection vibes. Love the shape — and the $49 pricetag is a delight!
+These widgeon fleece coats are AMAZING (and on sale!) for babies and toddlers. I love that they are secured with velcro — no zippers or snaps to contend with. And, this Etsy shop offers monogramming!
Doesn’t motherhood always look like the elegant portrait above? Ha. (Never.)
I will eventually get around to updating my ultimate guide to baby gear with many of these products, but in the interim — a round-up of new-to-me products I’m loving with baby deux:
1 // Tubby Todd All-Over Ointment. Micro had very dry and rash-prone skin and I tried about four or five different lotions, everything from a pricy Chantecaille to your run-of-the-mill drugstore Aveeno. Then a classmate of mine from Visitation posted something about Tubby Todd as a miracle worker for everything from eczema to cradle cap and I gave it a shot. It did not disappoint. Micro’s skin cleared up instantly and I love that you can use it on anything from diaper rash to face. It’s got a lovely consistency — sort of a whipped ointment? — that glides right into the skin without leaving a sticky residue. I’m a total convert. I use it on his entire body every day. I’m impressed enough that I currently have this “starter kit” in my cart — eager to try their other products!
2 // NoseFrida Nasal Aspirator. When I first heard about this, pre-baby, I was nauseated by the concept and insisted I’d never be That Mom. “Old blue bulb for me, thankyouverymuch.” Then micro came down with a something that left him horribly congested — to the point that he often spit up his meals because he was coughing so hard. I was beside myself trying to ease his discomfort. We spent long stretches of every day in a steam shower. I propped him upright most of the day. One night, we had him sleep in his carseat so that the post-nasal drip wouldn’t keep him up and coughing. Etc. So when my pediatrician suggested I give this a try, I decided to put my old squeamishness aside and give it a shot. I’m so glad I did. It’s disgusting, but it works. And trust me when I say that I would have done anything to ease the discomfort of my congested two month old.
3 // Love to Dream Swaddle. I just wrote about this recently, but micro has always loved to have his hands up by his face. Though I’m partial to a classic swaddle via muslin blanket, at the suggestion of a friend, I tried out this snug-fitted zip-up swaddle, which keeps the baby’s hands up by his face. Micro loves it. I’ve been using it primarily during daytime snoozes and then swaddle him in the traditional way at night, but I’m very impressed. It fits really snugly and he seems to be very cozy in it.
4 // Kissy Kissy Convertible Gowns. I must have been out to lunch with mini because I never really got into the habit of using these with her. She was born in a Chicago March, which is pretty much the deadest, most desolate part of a long and brutal Illinois winter, and I remember wanting her to always be dressed as warmly as possible — and even a convertible gown felt like she was too exposed. Anyway, this go around, I’m loving the genius of the convertible gown. It makes nighttime changes so, so much easier.
5 // Stroller Phone Mount and Apple Airpods. Such a silly thing, but having these set up while I’m out walking with the stroller has been a gamechanger for me. It’s so nice to be hands-free and able to listen to podcasts or music (even when said music makes me weepy) or chat with my mom on the phone while I’m bopping around.
6 // YoYo Nuna Pipa Adapters. I am so, so glad these came onto the market in the last two years. They’ve enabled us to make do without breaking down and buying a double stroller (though I do wish we owned one on occasion). For $50, we have basically all over our needs covered and I can easily take micro in a cab with me.
7 // Puj Flyte Tub. I wrote extensively about this last week (scroll down to post scripts — who knew I had so much to say about infant bathing?!) but I prefer this compact, sturdy little foldable bath (which fits into virtually any sink) to the full-size Puj. Fantastic buy and strongly recommend this over the full-sized Puj. Babies outgrow even the full-size Puj by like 2-3 months anyway; believe me, this is not that much smaller.
8 // Laundress Baby Detergent. I used Dreft for mini, but I have been really impressed with the Laundress formula. I love the scent (and it lingers — just the right amount, not too overpowering!) and I find that it is much gentler on clothes, as all of micro’s clothes look as good as new even now after two months of intensive washing. I also feel like this formula lasts a lot longer — I am still somehow on the first bottle of it even though I feel like I do a load of his every other day.
9 // Pehr Swaddles. I like these just as much as I like Aden + Anais brand for actually swaddling the baby. Both brands have a nice thick muslin that stays in place well but is breathable. Plus, the prints are adorable!
10 // Organic Baby Towels. These towels are excellent! Highly absorbent and, most importantly, super long, which is something I overlooked when I had my first baby! You want long towels so you can flip up the bottom portion and cover that shivering baby. I love love love these.
And, a few MVPs that mini loved but that micro has been especially into:
+The 4Moms Rockaroo. Oh how micro loves the colored balls on top of this! He stares and gurgles at them happily forever. He also naps in this swing happily for long portions of the day. A fantastic addition to our home.
+Fisher Price Activity Mat. Never mind that its music will haunt your dreams — this mat is the stuff of baby dreams. Both of our babies have loved it. The garish colors are so attractive to them, and the silly sounds and flashing lights…oh! A great way to get tummy time out of the way, which both of my kids have not been huge fans of.
+Wubbanub Pacifiers. Micro is like mini in that he’ll take a pacifier and it often helps prolong the time between feedings but it’s not a totally necessary fixture in our lives. Still, as far as pacifiers go, these are my absolute favorite. For some reason, both babies have preferred the Soothies to every other kind of pacifier I’ve given them (the rest they tend to just spit out), and I like that the stuffed animal makes the pacifier easy to find and also kind of holds it in place in the baby’s mouth. Genius.
+Philips Avent Baby Bottles. I just love these. They’re brilliant! They have a wide lip, meaning that it’s easy to dump powdered formula in there (have you tried doing that with a LifeFactory bottle?! The opening is like one inch wide!), they do not spill or drip (a problem we run into with the Comotomos for some reason), the caps stay on snugly, and — best of all — you can swap in different “speed” nipples as baby grows. I think these are the best bottles on the market.
Finally, a few things in my basket right now:
+New books for micro. Mini has had a few jealousy outbreaks when she’s found me reading her books to micro. We will need to figure out an elegant way to get through it (or it might just be one of those “buck up, sweetheart” moments for mini), but in the meantime, I did buy a couple of new books for micro. Sometimes it dawns on me that it can be special to buy new, specific things for baby boy — he doesn’t need ALL hand-me-downs! I just ordered this and a few of the STEM books by this author. He already loves this book, which I did not have for mini. I like using it to expose him to different textures and he’s always trying to grab for the tail. (More great books for babies here.)
+Nuby teething keys. He’s not teething of course, but these brightly colored keys looked like the perfect addition to his small toy basket — something to attract his attention now but perfect for drooling on later.
+Rainbow heart jammies. For those who were fans of the Roller Rabbit blue heart jammies I have been dressing micro in, these are a great way to get the look for a lot less. (Though, I’m addicted to Roller Rabbit pajamas — so soft and so adorable. I am eyeing this new print and already snagged him a pair in the batik bunny print. And wouldn’t this be the sweetest gift for a new mom?!)
+Micro needs more proper clothes now that he’s edging out of the layette phase, where I essentially only dressed him in cotton coveralls and onesies. Anything else feels too exposed and scratchy! I like the look of little overalls/rompers like this, this, and this (<<he owns these thanks to a generous girlfriend) layered over these bodysuits.
+Micro’s baptism is coming up! For the actual ceremony, he’ll wear a baptismal gown that belonged to my grandfather and that countless babies in our family have worn (I have 18 cousins and many of them have multiple children, all of whom have worn this special gown!), but he’ll need something special for the celebration after. I am debating between this romper and this ceremony button-in. Either way, I’ll be putting him in ribbed knee socks and t-bar shoes!
+Love these cotton bubbles from Lila + Hayes. Super soft and well-made. They remind me in a certain sense of these Pima cotton playdresses, which I am going to order in multiples next time TBBC runs a promo — they hold up SO BEAUTIFULLY in the wash. They come out looking like they’ve just been ironed?! Love. And so comfortable and easy for mini to play in.
