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.
Today, we celebrate nine years of marriage. In many ways, I can’t believe it’s only been nine years, and I mean that in the kindest way possible, in that it feels like we’ve endured countless metamorphoses and lived countless lives in that time. I barely know the Jen I was when tears streamed down my face as we exchanged our vows in that stone Church my parents had been married in thirty years prior. I feel the same heartswell when I think back on that humid and hazy D.C. afternoon now, nearly a decade later, but — is it unkind to visit it with an air of smugness, thinking of my twenty-five-year-old self as one might a much-younger sibling, seeing my former stresses and concerns as the tiniest tremblings of turbulence rather than the towering monstrosities they appeared to be at the time?
This year, I want to thank you for the many lives you have given me the space to create. In our time together, you have helped me carve my way into the most beautiful, exhilarating niches: motherhood, entrepreneurship, writing. You have held my hand when I needed the support and given me a wide berth when I needed space. You have empowered me to put myself first, to negotiate for higher salaries, to see myself as an equal to you (and your undeniably superior analytical abilities), to forgive myself for my failings and missteps as a mother and wife, to recognize my strengths, to pursue a passion as a career.
The other day, you chastised me for buying too many treats and — you were right: I have been overbuying in the dessert category. But I reminded you, archly, that whenever the cabinets run barren, you complain.
“It’s OK to want things, Jennie, and to have to wait for them,” you replied with a smirk.
You meant it as an airy retort, and possibly as a veiled criticism of my shopping addiction, but I tucked it away and have been lingering over it since.
There was a kernel of wisdom in there that explained a lot about…a lot.
It seems to me that we have always had to work a long time for the things we want together. Our marriage, for one (ha – – maybe that felt longer to me than it did to you). And the long, stressful periods of professional duress — endless job searches, extended seasons of life with jobs that we did not find fulfilling or in which we struggled with incompetent bosses and colleagues, a business we launched and ultimately shuttered. We waited, agonizingly, for a long while for mini to come along. We waited and worked for our first home, waited and worked for our move back to the East Coast. If that hockey stick graph exists (and it could well be a figment of the entrepreneurial imagination), it’s never found its way into the arithmetic of our lives or ambitions together. We’ve gone through things the long way. I wouldn’t say we’ve had a tough life by any stretch of the imagination, but we’ve been known to elbow along here and there, and often as a result of the outsized aspirations we have for ourselves and our lives together.
You’ve never been big on shortcuts anyhow. You’ve always done things the straight-and-narrow way. You have the patience and grit to grind away, keeping the endgame in focus.
It occurs to me today, on our nine year anniversary together, that this stick-to-it-iveness of yours bodes well for our union as two highly motivated, extremely passionate people. I feel a tingly sense of anticipation when I reflect on this, knowing that big things are coming our way thanks to the seeds we have planted and nurtured over the course of our marriage together, mainly by virtue of your determination and resolve, even if I am unsure of what those sprouts will one day transform into. I’m deeply satisfied to be where we are now, but the prospect of our future selves and their shimmering victories together leaves me hungry for our future in nine or twenty-nine or forty-nine years from now, God willing.
I one time told you, after too many glasses of champagne, that one life with you is not enough. You scolded me for saying that, but in a way that suggested I’d pierced your heart. And though I meant it in the sense that if we only have twenty-nine years together left, I am already devastated by their brevity — I also now see those words in a new light, in the sense that I am grateful for the many lives we have already lived together and excited for the many lives ahead of us.
+I have been swooning over HVN’s beautiful, retro-leaning dresses for a long time now and finally snagged one of them, on sale! Love the cheery cherry-print. Also in love with this style.
I’ve featured select pieces from this brand a number of times, but I have to tell you — I am head over heels for this label! I finally ordered a lovely dress of theirs, this tiered flamingo-print dress I’d been eyeing forever. I had been looking for something to wear for our NINE YEAR anniversary tomorrow and though I tend to wear white for the occasion, this just felt right for this chaotic but fun time in our lives. (Bonus: it comes in a coordinating mini size at Maisonette.)
For bargainistas (but aren’t we all…): Saks has a bunch of Banjanan pieces on sale, including this maxi for $135 and this stunning wrap.
For those averse to trends: You can rent select pieces of this label from Rent The Runway, like this chic dress! A sharp reader recently asked what to do about trendy pieces that have strong patterns/prints, as she feels she can only get 2-3 wears out of them before retiring them since they’re so noticeable/recognizable. I mentioned that, first, I often wear statement dresses multiple years in a row so I get a few uses out of them and genuinely don’t care if they are last season’s style! If I love something, I love something. I will also invent occasions on which to wear them (i.e., “let’s go out to dinner and get dressed up…just because!”) BUT. Rent the Runway is a good way to get a little dose of a trend for a special occasion without the commitment.
And, also — a couple of other boldly printed pieces I’m loving right now:
THIS SHIRTDRESS (I OWN AND LOVE THIS — CAN’T BELIEVE THE MARK-DOWN PRICE HERE!)
P.S. I mentioned recently that mini loves nightgowns, and I found this one on sale at J. Crew plus an extra 40% off! More updates on motherhood and the gear and musings that come with it here.
Though my faith as a Catholic is a central part of my life, and though it inevitably works its way into my musings on this blog because it shapes the way I understand and navigate the world, I generally and rather fastidiously try to avoid anything too religious here. When I do mention God, I feel I need to caveat by saying “or whatever you believe in.” I’ve written about this elsewhere, but my general ethos in life is “do no harm” and so I strive to be very careful with my language. (I fail at this routinely, but I do make a strenuous effort.)
My Magpie tribe has had all kinds of reactions to the erstwhile presence and absence of religion on the blog: some want me to share more about my faith and have asked for posts on the topic. Others have thanked me for not barreling too hard into Bible verses; they feel more comfortable and welcome here without them. Still others (well, to be fair, one other — the howling wolves and all, right?) have posited that I occasionally come off as “holier than thou” — a critique that makes my face burn and my stomach drop, as I have been audience to members of that tribe and they are insufferable.
And so I vacillate between a scrupulous avoidance of the topic and a shrugging “well, hey — this is me! This is part of me! So I’m going to share what I want to share and hope it doesn’t upset too many people.” (Hello, novena.)
Generally, though, I use the Landon Litmus. Mr. Magpie was not raised within a specific religious tradition and though he is courtly enough to go to Church with me when I ask him to and though he bows his head at grace before dinner every night and though he supports my intention to raise the children as Catholics, there is a difficult-to-articulate-but-easy-to-see line that I intuitively know not to cross when it comes to incorporating religion into our conversations at home. It’s not that he would stare at me in discomfort or dissuade me from expressing myself or my faith, but — there is simply a level of discourse that feels a bridge too far for us as a family. For example, I would never interrupt a vent session to suggest we pray together, though I will often later pray about it myself. I would never say a Hail Mary audibly, though I am often repeating it silently to myself when I am facing a particularly challenging moment of parenthood. Etc. It’s the Landon Litmus: would I do or say this thing at home? If not, it shouldn’t find its way onto the blog.
I hope this has prevented me from turning too many readers away and I certainly hope to avoid the “holier than thou” impression because I make just as many mistakes as the next gal, with or without religion involved.
But so —
All of this to say —
I hope I will not alienate you, kind readers, by sharing a Bible verse today because, well, when I wrote about literary fragments that see me through difficult times, I suppressed a handful of potently important Biblical ones. I felt something like guilt settle across my shoulders the following few days: why hadn’t I shared them? To seem “cooler” in some way? To avoid ruffling some feathers? To…?
So I’m sharing it here today.
From the Gospel of Matthew:
“Focus on me, not the storm.”
I repeated this simple command about four trillion times in the days and hours leading up to micro’s birth, when three different nurses attempted to get the IV into my arm and I thought I was going to pass out, while the doctors attempted to give me my spinal (cringe: there was a “training” anaesthesiologist who administered the medicine to me, and at one point I heard the supervising doctor say: “OK, just take it out and try again” — AHHHH!!! WHAT!!! I was sweating bullets and fighting tears!), and then, of course, during the actual c-section. I remember staring at the blue sheet separating me from the imminent birth of my son, my body shaking, tears streaming down my face, telling myself to breathe, and repeating those words:
“Focus on me, not the storm.”
Even if the peace it offered was evanescent, the calm that would briefly flood through my body as I’d bend my thoughts away from the fracas surrounding me, unhooking myself from the intensity of the moment, was life-giving. It saw me through some extraordinarily bumpy moments. It was emotional lidocaine mixed with something like adrenaline: six words motoring me through one of the most intense hours of my life, minute by minute, breath by breath.
I am so grateful for their companionship. I hung onto every letter of those words hungrily. I needed them.
And though I hope this isn’t the case today, maybe one of you does, too?
+Just ordered this pretty dress. I can’t get enough of this midi linen floral look.
+We made good use of this booster seat, which can “grow” with the little one since the insert can be removed. I kind of like it in that “cashmere” color. Minimalist Kanye West chic?
+Micro came down with the saddest old man cough (ugh, second child problems; mini didn’t have a cold until she was maybe eight or nine months old? and micro has already had a bad one at two months of age) and though I swore I’d never use the NoseFrida, my pediatrician suggested it and — well — it works really well. So never say never. (Add this to the long running list of things I said I’d never do as a mom.) A friend prompted me to also buy the brand’s nail clippers, which she described as “life changing.” (This is hardcore mom talk, people — you know you’re in the weeds when you and your friend are texting about nail clippers and she says: “I’m so so excited for you to try them.” HAHA! What is this. Who are we.)
I wrote about this just earlier this week, but I found this $30 dupe of a very popular Doen dress and as I write this, it is en route to me. V. excited about this. (Note it’s by the same brand as my favorite inexpensive caftan.)
Do you have a big question that you grapple with on a regular basis? Something that sits with you, recurring and resurfacing in nearly everything you do?
For me, that question is all about the role of providence in my life. To what degree do I exert control over the zigs and zags of my life (and what a squiggly line it’s been)? How much of it is pre-ordained? My clumsy fall last December — one that has left a permanent scar on my forehead — led me to think a lot about this in particular, and I was so moved and stirred by so many of your reactions to my musings on that front. One comment that has lingered with and troubled me over the past many months came from my reader Brooke, who wrote:
“This resonates with me as well. My first daughter was shockingly, unexpectedly stillborn after a healthy and normal pregnancy in which I had excellent prenatal care and took every precaution. The idea that the loss of my baby girl was not some senseless twist of fate but happened for a “reason”? I find that notion appalling. My mom assured me in the days following Eliza’s death that God didn’t do this to me, that He was grieving with me. Since then, I’ve come to believe that the idea everything happens for a reason only works for those of us who are sheltered or privileged enough to think life is essentially a meritocracy… I was that person for nearly thirty years, but I can’t abide by that philosophy anymore. I do think, however, that it is up to us to make meaning from accidents, to take tragedies big or small and allow them to shape and grow us. So my personal approach would to say there was no “reason” that you fell (I can’t believe God orchestrated that anymore than believe He is the cause of natural disasters), but there was certainly a lesson to come from that experience, and perhaps you will take from it what you need to be more centered, more mindful, less hurried. (A lesson I often need in my own life, come to think of it!)”
I don’t know how to think about this, how to digest this. I am beside myself every time I think about her (your — if you are reading!) loss and deeply motivated by her strength, her introspectiveness, and her conviction in her own outlook.
There are times where I think along the same lines, and it gives me peace of mind to think that life happens to me, and that I am in turn responsible for the grace and courage with which I respond to its twists and turns.
But there are other times where I look around and think, “There is no way to understand the dramatic kindnesses afforded me other than to see them as the hand of God.” Or — there is no way to make sense of the world around me unless I understand it as predestined in some way.
This is the big, dogged question of my life. What is yours?
+On the recommendation of a friend, I bought this intense-looking swaddle. I’ve always been more into swaddling using muslin cloths, but micro has liked to have his hands up by his face since the day he was born — it was honestly hard to pry them away from his face while nursing (and still is a daily battle). He has been really liking this.
+I bought mini this dress-up set as a present for successfully using the toilet with no accidents for TWO days in a row (!!!) and she was beside herself.
+Own these dreamy joggers in a few prints/colors and can’t rave enough about them.
By: Jen Shoop
So many of you have gotten to know my luminary of a mother through my frequent references to her and her exceptional kindness, devotion, and empathy that she’s cultivated her own celebrity status around these parts. And oh my, is it deserved. I’m almost at a loss for words as to how I can describe her pithily here, but suffice to say that she is my best friend, my greatest role model, my trusted sounding board, and everything to which I aspire in life.
Elaine was born in Washington, D.C., the fifth of seven children in a tight-knit, very Catholic family. She attended Stone Ridge High School (though all of her own four daughters attended Visitation or the National Cathedral School — traitors! — but this fact, too, serves as a reflection of her deep and selfless dedication to the wellbeing of her children, as she preferred to find the best possible school for each of us versus craft some sort of matrilineal legacy) and then Marymount College before pursuing certification to become a Montessori school teacher, which she happily and competently exercised until after she had married my father and was expecting the first of her five children. She has since been a full-time mother and home-maker, rule-maker and rule-enforcer, devoted wife, volunteer, support system to about half the women in the D.C. area, speed-reader, etiquette guru, expert-level shopper, Zumba dancer, and tenured philanthropist. And so you can see that my mother is many things, but any tribute to her must acknowledge that she is first and foremost a devout Catholic. If perchance a pair of sunglasses goes missing, you are more likely to find yourself praying to St. Anthony alongside her than actually looking for said object. I have leaned on her rock-solid faith throughout my life, finding myself the fortunate beneficiary of thousands of decades of the rosary, which she says daily on her morning walk around the neighborhood in support of a long and rotating list of intentions. (Many of my friends’ names have found their way onto this list, occasionally or in fact mainly without their knowledge. “Mom, can you add so-and-so to the list? She’s going through a tough time.“) And when I found myself alone in a taxi cab on the way to Mount Sinai Hospital having regular contractions at 32 weeks pregnant, I called her, sobbing, and she sat on the other end of the phone and prayed the Hail Mary with me until my tears had abated and I was able to make it through a prayer without losing my voice.
How many times I have called her in moments of duress, confusion, hurt, agony — and how many times she has calmly listened and sorted it all out, usually and most poignantly through the intercession of Saint Mary.
Don’t let her saintliness and decorousness fool you, though: my mother is also quick to laugh, down to earth, and supremely approachable. She’s been known to shock all of us with an unexpected wisecrack, and it has occasionally been said that she could make conversation with a brick wall.
But where I see her shine brightest (and of course this is heavily biased by my privileged role as her daughter) is as a mother. She is practical. She is never over-fussy or overbearing. She is patient, affectionate, encouraging, involved, present — and yet has nurtured our independence, curiosity, and self-sufficiency in all things. She is easy with words of affection but will tell it to you straight when you need to hear it. She is, in short, #momgoals. I think I may need to write a follow-up post interviewing her on her approach to parenting, in fact, but for now, while I have her pinned down — her answers to my Proust Questionnaire.
Favorite qualities in a woman.
Kindness, humility and being a good listener.
Your favorite heroine.
The Blessed Virgin Mary. I can’t imagine how difficult her life was, and she accepted it with such grace.
+Arcona Triad Toner Pads. My mom and I love these so much — such a great, easy way to refresh, cleanse, and tone skin. And we especially love a good deal (get a duo for a great value during the Nordstrom Sale).
+Linen placemats. My mother sets a proper table every single day, even when it’s only she and my father and they’re eating frozen pizza. (Which doesn’t happen often, but when it does…it’s still on china with linen napkins.)
+Lladro Madonna. My mom has an expansive collection of Lladro porcelain, the centerpeice of which is her elaborate Christmas creche.
+8 Hour Cream. She’s been putting this on us since we were wee ones — every burn, scratch, chapped lip, hang nail got the same treatment. She often carries it in the lipstick form in her purse.
+Cuyana cardholder. For her daily rosary walks, so she can just carry the essentials.
+Pique husband pillow. Just the kind of old school home affordance you’d find on my mom’s bed. (She also has things like bed trays for breakfast in bed and toast holders.)
+Bernardaud teapot. My mom has a beautiful collection of china and she often brings them out for her formal teas, of which she’s thrown many in her day.
+Lady Dior Bag. My mom inherited one from my elegant grandmother!
P.S. My mom is something of a beauty junkie. She’s said on many occasions that she has more than enough bath/beauty products to last her multiple lifetimes. She’s driven me to buy most of the beauty must-haves in my medicine cabinet.
P.P.S. My mother’s summer must-haves are included in this roundup.
*Photo above of Kendall Jenner in the epic Giambattista Valli for H&M collaboration.
One of the most frequently asked questions I receive via email and direct message is — “What should I wear to a wedding with xyz dress code?!” (You can see a chain of my responses to this query across Magpie Mail posts over the past few months, including this one, this one, and this one.) Here, I thought I’d round up a few of my top picks, as I’ve given this question a lot of personal thought since I will be heading to a wedding in just over a month:
Evening Wedding Guest Dresses.
Most of these would work great for black tie or black tie optional:
MY BEDSIDE WATER CARAFE, WHICH I’VE LATELY BEEN FILLING WITH WATER INFUSED WITH LEMONS AND CUCUMBERS, OR STRAWBERRIES AND MINT, OR WHATEVER I HAVE ON HAND
Things I’ve recently ordered that I’m very excited to test out and report back on:
+My boy is two months old tomorrow, and I can’t bear it. His firsts and lasts slay me, especially as I usually take stock of them late at night, in the quiet of a 3 a.m. nursing session, when I am prone toward weepiness anyhow, and I realize with some combination of remorse and mawkishness that it is far harder to keep tabs on the minute evolutions of this little soul with an active, demanding, in-the-midst-of-learning-to-use-the-toilet toddler around. I am fairly sure Hill will be our last child and so — oh. The tenderest to realize that not only is time flying, but it is flying by occasionally without a tenth of the notice and devotion I afforded mini’s early weeks. And so, shelving or donating his too-small clothes (he has already outgrown a small crop of them) wrenches my heart.
+I once told a room full of women here in New York that having a double stroller in Manhattan is “unseemly.” I was cavalier, uninitiated, stubborn, and though I was angling for a laugh, it was an inelegant thing to say anyhow. (Though, in my defense, I have been run over or boxed out by one too many of them in my time here, and the double wide strollers take over entire sidewalks, forcing other pedestrians into the street.) At any rate, we are making do just fine with our combination of Bugaboo, Yoyo, and Baby Bjorn Mini carrier. Most days, mini is out with her nanny in the Bugaboo and, when I need to go out, I put micro in his Nuna carseat, which has been conveniently strapped into the Yoyo using these new-fangled adapters. Not the prettiest sight, but it works and it’s incredibly lightweight and it’s meant we can get by without purchasing a third stroller or being beholden to the carrier when we want to take long walks. (Also, I rather like the zippered pouch in the back of the Yoyo — most days, I don’t even carry a baby bag with me when I’m out with micro on my own, and I just keep my wallet, key, phone, and emergency pacifier in there, as we never venture far from home and are never gone for more than an hour at a time because he’s still nursing every three hours. More products for a hands-free parenting life here.) When we take both kids out together, we either take both strollers and each push one or one of us carries the baby in the carrier. The Bugaboo ride along board we optimistically purchased for mini (as the Nuna carseat also snaps into the Bugaboo base) has been used a grand total of once or twice. Mini will occasionally sit on it out of novelty but it’s maddeningly useless when we need to quickly leave somewhere and need her strapped into a seat instead of dramatically wailing and leaping off a kick board. Maybe its utility will increase with her age, but…
+I prattled above, but the truth is — I do wish I had one of those “unseemly” Bugaboo double strollers. I’d order one in a flash if we lived anywhere but here, and if Mr. Magpie wouldn’t possibly blow a gasket if I introduce one additional piece of baby gear to our massive collection. We used to be so good about keeping baby gear and toys to a minimum in our apartment. At night, save for the monstrous stroller parked in our foyer, it was as though no child lived in our home. All toys were hidden in compartments, larger items broken down and stowed, candles and trinkets returned to their rightful places on coffee tables. Now, we’ve lost the battle. There is a children’s table in our living area, permanently littered with crayons and Little People. There are two overflowing baskets of books and toys whose mountainous contents continue to escalate in height with dizzying alacrity. The bath tub in our master bathroom has become the permanent home to a tangle of bath toys, micro’s Puj (<<more on this later) is seemingly always air-drying on its floor, and its tile is forever adorned with bath crayon scribbles from our beloved. Our closets might implode from the collective weight of baby gear and clothing. There is nearly always a small stack of neatly folded laundry on the dining table. Etc. At any rate, at this point, I think we have made do long enough with our travel stroller, Bugaboo, and carrier permutations, but oh how I long for the double stroller when I am with both on my own. How convenient! How simple! How much less hack-y! But, there isn’t much of a lifespan for such a splurge anyhow, as mini is off to school in a month and a half and suddenly the number of times I will be out with both on my own will be dramatically reduced, I think.
+But still. I’ll admit to a gear-aholic envy when I see one of those Bugaboo doubles roll by…
+One of my girlfriends commented, with no small amount of (undeserved?) admiration, that I put Hill “down to sleep” at under a month of age. I had forgotten that, with mini, we never really demarcated between night and day until she started going for longer stretches between feeds — perhaps at around three months? — as it didn’t really seem to matter. It’s a feeding “lather, rinse, repeat” routine no matter what time of day with a newborn, right? With micro, though, I usually feed him around 7:30-8, bathe him and change him into his pajamas, draw the blinds, turn out the lights, and put him to sleep in his bassinet, positioned like a sidecar on my side of the bed. On good nights, he will sleep his longest stretch at that point — until around 2 a.m. It’s a lovely gift, even if he then does tend to wake again at 4 and again for the day at 6:15. (Odd, but he nearly always wakes me at 6:12, 6:13, or 6:15. Like clockwork.) Upon reflection invoked by my friend’s comment, it dawned on me that perhaps his delightful habit of sleeping from around 8/9 to 2 was owing to our bedtime routine? Hm.
+With regards to infant bathing: this time around, I only bought micro the Puj Flyte, which is sort of like a travel version of the Puj tub. I honestly don’t know why anyone would get the full Puj at this point. The Flyte is less expensive and less bulky but better constructed (I far prefer the material of the Flyte, which is a heavy rubber, instead of the easy-to-scratch foam of the full-size Puj), and I swear it is the same size tub? Meaning that micro will soon outgrow it (as mini did the full-size Puj, at around 2-3 months), which is fine, because I have the Boon ready and will be able to use it now that I’ve healed from the c-section and bending over is no longer an issue. But so — the Flyte! I love it! Also folds in half and can easily fit into a suitcase. Strongly recommend.
+Micro had a mild case of cradle cap and though I know it goes away on its own, I am horribly vain on behalf of my children, and I learned from the sweet Colombian nanny we had back in Chicago how to treat it. It disappeared within two days of the following regimen: massage baby oil (she also advised olive oil, if you don’t have any Johnson’s on hand) into baby’s hair and let sit. Then loosen and brush out the flakes using this little brush (note the 1,500 five star reviews). Then massage in additional oil and let it sit for an hour or so before bathing him with this shampoo. Voila. I share this boring remedy because I would have had no idea how to deal with it had I not had a lovely nanny show me the way, and maybe it will strike someone as helpful.
+Deciding to toilet train mini while micro was under two months of age was not…my most brilliant decision. But I had told Mr. Magpie I simply could not take on anything else while I was a million months pregnant, and I had also promised I would get toilet-training started prior to the start of the school year–and so mid-July felt like the right time. (Plus, our life is generally chaotic and messy and out of focus right now; why not add one more thing to the plate? Ha.) Our school does not require children entering the program be toilet-trained, but they strongly encourage it, and — well, the truth was, mini had been giving us signals she was ready. Beyond that, though I generally do a decent job of blocking out parenting peer pressure (“oh, your daughter hasn’t been taking Mandarin since the age of six months?” etc), I will admit that I felt anxious to keep up with the joneses on this front, as I would never want mini to feel weird or behind her peers, and I knew that some of the kiddos she pals around with were either toilet trained or in the process thereof. I will dedicate a longer post to the…adventure (carefully selecting my euphemism there) of toileting once it’s more firmly in our rear-view mirror and I am confident we’ve gotten to a reliable place with it, but let me just say here that toileting is kind of like breast-feeding in that everyone has different advice and strategies and no one possibly knows what will work best for you, your family, and your child. I had a lot of moms tell me to just give up if mini wasn’t “getting it” by day two and return to it a few months down the road. I had other moms tell me to stick to my guns, as waffling back and forth would be very confusing. There were urgent claims about the three-day-pants-free method, and others about only using underwear (no pull-ups ever, even at night!); others about the danger of using bribery, and still others advising a lollipop as a reward for each successful trip to the toilet. And those are just a handful of the bits of advice I absorbed, wide-eyed and confused. My point is this: sift through the advice and forge your own path, as even the best-intentioned suggestions of others often fail to account for important ancillary details, like whether you are able to stay at home with your child consistently for, say, a week, or whether you have a nanny who can relieve you and support you in your process when you think you might rip out your hair (ha) or whether your child is in a proper bed or still in a crib or whether you have any major events or trips coming up that might throw a wrench into things. I’ll lay out our strategy in a future post for those interested, but I will say that the biggest takeaway for me was to think of “progress” in very different terms than I’d initially imagined. For us, it turned out to be less important that mini successfully use the toilet for the first few days and more important that the number of accidents decreased (i.e., she was becoming more aware of “holding it”) and that her comfort with sitting on the toilet increased (i.e., she seemed to be less intimidated by the concept). Every day, we saw small, incremental shifts in her attitude and physical awareness, and then, on the fifth day (yes, fifth — even my nanny thought I was insane for sticking with the program), it just seemed to click.
+This book, the Sesame Street episode on toilet training, and the Youtube video “Potty Monkey” (thank you, W.!) seemed to grab mini’s attention on the topic of using the toilet. Again, every child is different, but I found these helpful as a way of explaining the process with visuals — and as a conceptual hook for reiterating things. (Mini would even say things like, “I want to pee like Elmo” and make the noises that the monkey makes while sitting on the toilet — ha!) I had also heard good things about this “body puzzle” as a tool for explaining things, but we never bought it. We also did not use a chart or formal rewards system, which seem to be the convention among most of my mom friends, so who knows what the hell we’re doing…to each her own, again.
+Both because mini is in the midst of toileting and because her school sent a (40 page!) parent handbook outlining appropriate attire among other regulations, I have been hunting for outfits that are easy for mini to get on/off, easy to wash, and — as the parent guidebook said — optimized for movement and play. This has been a hard pill to swallow as I have always subscribed to the belief that I would dress mini up and then let her play — and so she has cultivated quite the reputation for personal style among the nannies and their charges with whom she plays on a weekly basis. (Ha!) I’ve had other moms express judgment on this front (“you must spend all your time ironing” and “don’t you ever let her dress in play clothes?”), but harrumph! I have never seen her outfit impede her from play, and I’m never overly precious either: never have the words “don’t get dirty” escaped my lips. I want a rough-and-tumbly kind of girl, though she may be dressed in smocked dresses and crisp bubbles — and so was distraught when, on our trip to the Hamptons, she expressed squeamishness over running through the backyard with bare feet after stepping into a mound of mud on one such sprint. We got her over the hump, but — oh! I want a child who plays in the dirt, lets popsicle juice drip down her arm, and whose clothes return with the markings and stains of a good time out-of-doors. But still. I feel I owe it to her to find more cotton play dresses and shorts for the near term. Below, the items I’ve either ordered or am eyeing so far:
+Mini loves these little $2 sticker activity books. I bought a whole bunch and have scattered them throughout my bags, in the stroller, by the toilet she uses, etc. (She also still loves these.)
+Micro absolutely LOVES this hideous floor mirror and the little balls on his rocker. He must spend a good hour each day gazing at either/both before drifting off to sleep. (Also, the rocker is getting SO much use — micro loves it! Every baby is different, but this really works well for him.)
+Mini has been obsessed with nightgowns lately. I ordered this one and this one for her, but her long-time favorite is this one (and I could EAT HER UP when she wears it — too, too precious).
I won’t soon forget the way you first kissed me behind your boxy black Jeep Cherokee, our friends only a couple of paces away, wielding red solo cups and candy-colored polo shirts and the headiness of school’s-out-for-summer frivolity.
Or the way you sometimes furtively traced the letters ILY on the palm of my hand while we were driving down to Charlottesville, safe from the gaze of your buddies in the backseat.
Or the steel set of your jaw when you picked me up from that ill-advised fraternity formal when I was in the midst of breaking up with a college boyfriend, or the red dirt on your sweats from sliding into third base while playing softball with your buddies just prior, or the trace of sweat on the brim of your UVA baseball hat — reminders, all, that I had interrupted your evening with a Hail Mary and that you hadn’t minded a bit.
Or the way the sun played on the forearm you’d so casually lean out the window of your car as we whizzed around the shade-dappled coil of Rock Creek Parkway in the parochial wild of N.W. D.C. so many afternoons that first summer we were dating.
Or the way you’d sheepishly stand behind my parents’ kitchen island when you’d trek over to their home after getting off of a long shift waiting tables at Faccia Luna in Clarendon, as you were wearing all black server’s clothes, and they embarrassed you, but you preferred to hastily come to see me rather than stop quickly at home to change.
Or the way you’d drive all the way across town at 11 P.M. for just thirty minutes of time with me, even if you’d nearly fall asleep on the drive home.
Or the way you added “mtb” in small blue letters to your AIM profile, an acronym for “meant to be,” something we told each other optimistically about our relationship with one another at its very naissance and that has proved, as a matter of fact, to be incontrovertibly true.
Or the way you introduced me to country music with a mix CD — “JMN’s First Sticks Mix,” you wrote in thick black sharpie on its front —
And I was just walking home from Magnolia Bakery the other day when Tim McGraw’s “Watch the Wind Blow By” — the second track on that CD you burned — came on through my AirPods, and I walked around with my heart in my throat for three city blocks and then replayed the song, even though I am not a repeater —
Because that song is all bare feet and nowhere-to-be and too-deep-tans and your young, bright-eyed, handsome, twenty-year-old-face and let-time-stand-still and sweet nothings whispered into the cicada-song of a mid Atlantic summer night and I LOVE YOU traced into the palm of my hand and the honey and breeze of youth —
And we have come so far from that time together, from the bucolia of sticky-still summers in Charlottesville to the moving-too-fast, don’t-blink-or-you’ll-miss-it thrum of urban life with two young children —
And though I wouldn’t trade where we are for anything and especially not a revisiting of the past ten years of hard work and heartbreak and often feeling as though I am not enough —
I won’t soon forget the way you were back then.
And I carry that you with me always, but occasionally and most tenderly in my Airpods, while walking briskly down Columbus Avenue, thinking — and I don’t give a damn how saccharine it is —
And all I want to do is let it be And be with you and watch the wind blow by And all I want to see is you and me Go on forever like the clear blue sky
