I couldn’t help but snag Saloni’s Ruth dress, shown above, earlier this week when its price dropped to $140 (!!!). I bought it in the red. Va va voom! I’ll be wearing mine to my eight year (!) anniversary this upcoming Tuesday, but I’m also considering it for a rehearsal dinner in a few weeks. (More great wedding guest dress picks here.)
+These have made my bedside table so much easier to navigate in the middle of the night — remotes, hair elastics, hand lotions, pens are all so readily available 🙂
One of my mother’s many beautiful strengths is her ability to listen. She will solution with me and comfort me and occasionally tell me to get a grip (in far more elegant, gentle words) when I need to hear that, too — but mainly, she listens. Sometimes she listens so well that I pause, breathless — “Mom? Are you there?”
“Yes, yes — keep going. What happened next?”
I can just imagine her sitting on the settee of her well-appointed sitting room, iPhone to her ear, gears turning, heart open–but mouth closed. What a gift. Often, all I really need is an empathetic ear, someone to vent to; I’m not looking for Pollyanna or Ms. Fix-It. I simply need to get everything off my chest so that I can see how I feel about it, so that I can assess its shape in front of me as I simultaneously imagine what my mother might be thinking about it and therefore hold myself to a higher level of accountability. When I’m mulling things over internally, I can easily and invisibly suppress the voices of reason and opposition to which I should probably attend. But when I say something out loud, in front of the audience of my mother, I am forced to determine how level-headed I am being. And more often than not, halfway through my tirade, I’ll find myself shifting perspectives or recognizing that this is actually not such a big deal or realizing, all at once, my foolhardiness or blindness or wrongdoing. By listening, she gives me space to sort through all of that on my own.
After I’ve run out of steam, she’ll support me (“yes, you are doing the right thing, honey”), console me (“tsk tsk, I’m so sorry”), gently suggest an alternative, or — and this is when I know I’ve crossed a threshold into overly intense and probably unwarranted emotion or, worse, misjudged a situation — she’ll ask: “Do you want to hear my opinion?”
She is deeply solicitous in this, too, framing her reaction as an opinion rather than a truth and offering me an opportunity to decline her perspective if I don’t want to listen to it–something, incidentally, that I’ve never done, since she’s almost always right, even when it’s not something I want to hear.
I have been trying to model her unbelievable empathy in the conversations I’ve been having with friends and loved ones more recently–friends going through surrogacy, challenging workplace changes, IVF, illness, momentous professional decisions–and have discovered the tremendous restraint and focus it requires. If I’m not mindful, I am liable to shift into solutioning mode, or to heap apologies or condolences on them, or to play Pollyanna, and I know from experience that they are more likely to appreciate a good vent session with a benevolent, non-judgmental, open hearted listener than anything else. Though I often lean on a couple of the elegant turns of phrase I have picked up over the course of my thirty four years when facing a situation in which I don’t know what to say, I have been striving, to the best of my ability, to zip my lips and justlisten, present but silent.
Item No. 1: J. Crew just came out with a super classic, super elegant shirtdress in a variety of excellent colors and stripes. I snagged one in the khaki color, inspired by Grace Kelly in High Society (she wore a couple of khaki-colored outfits in it), though I am not kidding when I say I sat in my desk chair debating between navy and khaki for a good twenty or twenty five minutes. If I like the fit of the khaki, I’ll certainly be ordering it in other shades. To me, a poplin shirtdress is perfection for weekday attire — comfortable and unfussy enough for running around town with mini, but pulled together enough to feel appropriate at cocktails or dinner. I’ve been inspired by the entire getup Natalie Joos is wearing in the photo above for years, having repinned it about two dozen times. There’s something at once retro feminine and unfussily chic about it, especially with those elegant bow-towed kitten heels. I’d love to recreate the look with these or these.
Item No. 2: I had been dragging my way through Catherine Steadman’s wildly popular Something in the Water (Reese Witherspoon bought the rights to this, I think?) and was contemplating abandoning it. It was slow-moving and I hated the narrator’s clipped, vague way of speaking. Then she arrived at Bora Bora for her honeymoon and WOAH — suddenly I found myself breathlessly, anxiously turning the pages. This couple makes one bad decision after the next, leaving me in the “don’t go in there!” posture that so many horror movies elicit. It is a delicious ride at the moment. Please read if you need a roller coaster of a book (thrilling, evanescent), but beware the tedious start.
Item No. 3: I had to let you know about the Shopbop sale currently raging with all.the.amazing.things.
P.P.S. Re-reading my chronicle of the botched move to NYC almost leaves me in hives. I re-read it now through a glass, with the kind of emotional numbness that comes from time and a will to move on, but it was so, so hard. Still: worth it. (Even with a baby.)
P.P.P.S. My favorite new cocktail napkins and mini’s new cutlery. I’ve found that she prefers an implement that can actually spear a piece of food versus the dull ends on her Beabas, which were EXCELLENT just a couple of months back, as they are easy for her to hold and maneuver.
By: Jen Shoop
Do you remember the old Audrey Wood book The Napping House? I just added it to my shopping cart the other day in hasty pursuit of a new bundle of books to add to mini’s burgeoning collection, and I thought to myself, as I glanced down at the Kindle on my lap and the littering of books across the carpet of our living room, that though we are not a napping house (why do I never learn to nap when mini naps to make up for the consistent 5:30 a.m. wake up calls she’s been treating us to for the last many weeks?), we do qualify as a reading house. I worry, though, that mini sees Mr. Magpie and I reading on our digital devices and does not understand that we, too, are reading. My parents were never an arm’s length away from a physical book at any given time. I’d routinely find my mother reading in the carpool lane as her car idled in the handful of minutes before the end-of-day bell, and my father would often bring whatever hefty historical tome he was into at the moment to venues as ill-suited to reading as parent-teacher conferences and Christmas pageants. At the time, this embarrassed me, but the truth is this: the fact that they were so commonly found sneaking in a few pages whenever they could squirrel away a minute or two of vacant time modeled a voracious and omnivorous appetite for all kinds of literature that my siblings and I in turn cultivated on our own. We saw the way they prized the books in their lives and the unanticipated and fleeting opportunities to read them amidst a whirlwind of five children and their attendant and incessant needs. Through the model of our parents, we came to understand reading as a part of the fabric of quotidian life: eat, sleep, read. I hope to be establishing the same in my daughter, but I grapple with the unique challenge of modeling readership in the digital age in front of a wide-eyed daughter who might be interpreting my time on the Kindle as something else entirely.
Regardless, at a very minimum, I trust that I am instilling a love of books in her (an intention I set early on) by reading to her routinely, multiple times a day, and at virtually any request of hers. (Though I have occasionally drawn the line on the fifth or seventh reading in a row of Goodnight Moon, one of her current favorites.)
Below, I thought I’d share some of her absolute favorite books now that she is just shy of a year and a half–ones that, importantly, I enjoy as well. One tip my sister shared with me that helped when mini was a bit younger and less capable of sitting through any of the longer books: it’s OK to abbreviate some of the text on the pages. For example, mini loves the book Corduroy, but some of the pages are a touch text-heavy and I find it easier to abridge the writing and sort of summarize what happens on the page instead of laboring through an entire paragraph while mini wrestles to turn the page or loses interest. Maybe that advice will be helpful to some of you, too.
The Best Books for 1.5 Year Olds.
+Corduroy. Something about the illustrations in this book speak to mini, and I think the simple story of a misfit toy venturing out to better his life and then finding the friend and home he always wanted is simple and poignant.
+The Very Hungry Caterpillar. I mean, who doesn’t love this book? I like counting out the fruit with mini, and she enjoys pushing her finger through the cut-out in the board book version. Though the book does not rhyme, it has a good rhythm to it.
+Curious George. This book is a little long for mini right now, but my goodness does she love the 10 or 15 pages we manage to get through before she loses interest. What baby doesn’t love pointing out bananas and monkeys?!
+The Pout Pout Fish. One of her all-time favorites. A super catchy rhyming book that Mr. Magpie and I can recite to one another from memory, and of course mini dies at the “SMOOOOCH” part at the end.
+The Sleepy Little Alphabet. This book is lovely because it introduces ABCs and features a lot of images/objects mini can identify: a rubber duck, an octopus, a car, etc. It also has a great, soothing rhythm to it and it makes me sleepy just thinking about it. A perfect bedtime book.
+The Runaway Bunny. OMG, mini has a deep and fierce love of this book. She loves to help me find the baby bunny in the pictures (they’re kind of hidden) and we linger for a good couple of minutes over the page with the circus setup. She needs to point out the dog, the horse, the clowns, etc. every single time.
+Is Your Mama a Llama. I was skeptical of this book at first because the images are less bright and distinct than most childrens’ books — but my goodness does mini adore this. Again, it has a strong rhythm and rhyme that she will sort of sing along to.
+Dear Zoo. A great lift-the-flap book with easy-to-identify zoo animals. She just never tires of this one; she’s loved it since maybe eight months?
+Pig the Pug. Adorable book about sharing, also with a strong rhyme sequence. The illustrations are wonderful.
+Please Mr. Panda. Mini laughs every time I get to the climax of this story and yell: PLEEEEEEEEASE, MR. PANDA?! A clever story about manners.
+I’m Going to Give You a Bear Hug. Mini loves the marching rhythm of this book and all of the different animals in it; we often pause at each page to make the animal noises together.
+Brush Brush Brush. This is not exactly great literature but I bought it for mini just after we went to her first dental appointment. She’s very into brushing her teeth at the moment especially given this new book and her own special toothbrush. She’ll often ask us for it by pointing to the drawer in which we keep her toothbrush and then at her mouth!
+Where’s My Teddy? “A fast-paced comedy of errors” that has apparently been in print for over 25 years. I’ve never read it!
+Should I Share My Ice Cream? My sister (an early childhood reading specialist) mentioned that she loves all Mo Willems books recently.
+Hug. I know just from the colors and existence of a monkey that mini will love this one.
+Ten Black Dots. My sister says she reads this book to her son nearly every day. I like that it’s a counting book — we’ve got so many alphabet ones already!
“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” – Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God
This quote made me sit upright in my chair: wow. It brought to mind Alison’s response to my jagged musings on 2017: “Some years pass kind of quietly and others you come out at the end a completely different person than when you started. It’s clear this one was the latter!”
Last year asked a lot of questions. Come to think of it, last year asked a lot of me, full-stop. It was an intense, unwieldy, incessant series of swoops and dips into stress, emotions, and challenges I’d not anticipated. I became a mother, I recovered from a c-section, I closed a business, I moved cities, I bungled through a botched move, I parted ways with a home, I metamorphosed into an entirely new kind of work. I did not always handle the turbulence elegantly. I remember stepping into the glass-walled shower of our old Chicago home about eight or nine days after mini was born, turning on the water, and sobbing for no reason and every reason. I am a crier by nature, but this was different: I could not give a name to the intensity of what I was feeling. “Why am I crying?” I wondered, groping for the familiar shapes of disappointment, or frustration, or hurt, or tenderness and emerging empty-handed.
Now I know: it was the agony of change, offset by painkillers and hormones from mini’s delivery, shot through with the thrill and potency of new parenthood.
I wouldn’t say that 2018 has presented me with answers, exactly, as I still have only the haziest idea of what the future will hold. But 2018 is an answer, even if I haven’t yet discerned its meaning. It has the feel of resolution, of a page turned. “Here, then: the next chapter.”
What about you? Is 2018 a year that is asking questions or answering?
Post-Scripts.
I absolutely loved listening to Sarah Jessica Parker on the Goop podcast. She is whip smart, deeply kind, ambitious, and self-effacing. Her vocabulary is sterling, too — she uses “circumspect” where I might use something banal like “cautious” — and she talks a bit about her love of books, her relatively new imprint with Hogarth, and the first book she published through it, which I now am desperate to read. (Listening to her marvel over the book was delicious.)
I adore the brass crab figurine in the snap above. I think I need one for my bookshelves — a nod to my Mid-Atlantic roots. I also love that it’s nestled alongside a vintage Cecil Beaton New York book! #COVET
These are at the top of my beauty lust list. I’m currently using and loving this — hint, hint, I will be gifting this to basically every woman I know at some point this year — which seems to fill a similar beauty niche, but…glow drops?!
I am absolutely obsessed with Jonathan Van Ness from the re-boot of Queer Eye. (Can another season come out ASAP?) My father recently chided me for my overuse of the word “obsess,” but this circumstance merits its use. He is hilarious, self-deprecating, thoughtful, modern, and this interview was a delight.
I need to get out of my candle rut. I am contemplating this, this, or this. (PSSST – check out the copywriting on the Goop candle description. Outrageously stirring and provocative! Who writes for her?! Get that woman a book deal for her first volume of poetry.)
Thinking I might snag a bottle of this for those weeks in between Tilly’s baths.
My mom gave me one of these in my stocking one year, and I use it every day after getting out of the shower. Genius because my hair gets really tangly.
Has anyone tried Outdoor Voices’ relay shorts? I’m inclined to give them a whirl in that cheery pink or sweet lilac.
I use these clear pouches when traveling — they’re TSA approved for all of your liquids and much chic-er than a baggy. Also, on sale RN!
Speaking of travel, Paravel is offering 20% off orders over $75 with code OUTOFOFFICE. I have long been eyeing their chic weekender and crossbodies, both of which can be personalized with hand-painted lettering and emojis!
I’m intrigued by these gorgeous turquoise AB sandals, which boast a heel far more manageable than the pair I usually wear of theirs and a price tag that is pretty darn impossible to turn down, but — what to wear them with?! I’ve never worn turquoise in my life…
I have a major crush on this bag by Naghedi, which looks like Bottega Veneta to me.
By: Jen Shoop
Have you ever gotten yourself into a pickle where you’ve been invited to do something that is inconvenient, or unappealing, or too expensive, or too complicated? Or maybe it’s with a crowd you don’t particularly care for, or you just don’t want to do it because you…just don’t.
This has happened to me a couple of times recently and it always leaves me feeling horrible.
Will you judge me if I admit that I sometimes reach for a white lie: “I can’t make it that day,” or “I can’t find a sitter” or “Shoot, I have plans”? Then I sit in guilt and worry about the next time I’m invited to do something similar, when I will either find myself beholden to attend or in desperate search of a different excuse.
Other times, I give myself a little Shonda Rhimes pep talk: “How bad can it be? Just say yes! Be open! Try something!” Unfortunately, this usually ends badly for me, if I’m being honest: if I’ve resorted to a private pep talk of this ilk, the day of the event comes and I’m in a slumpy mood because I’m keying myself up to do something I don’t want to, and I’m grasping for an exit clause. I always find myself thinking that while I appreciate the “year of yes” mentality, I also feel that learning to say no is an equally important exercise, as I am in turn conserving energy for the things that matter to me most.
Sometimes, I think about something my elegant, well-mannered grandmother once told me about such situations: “You should be polite, but you don’t owe anyone an explanation. Just say, ‘No, thank you.’ End of story. They shouldn’t have the audacity to ask why.” This is far easier said than done; I’m prone to over-explaining everything and would need to bite my tongue and wince in pain to prevent myself from offering some kind of half-baked excuse, as it feels somehow cruel to respond to an invitation with a cool “No, thank you,” though I’m sure my grandmother pulled it off with aplomb. (I also think that we live in a different day and age, as I am convinced that someone would ask me: “But why not?” rather than gracefully accepting the decline without inquiry.)
Recently, I asked my mother for her opinion on the topic. As I had expected and admittedly dreaded, she urged me to tell the truth: “If you make up an excuse, she’ll invite you again and you’ll be up a creek without a paddle. There’s always a decorous way to explain the situation.” Oy. She was quick to advise me to offer alternatives that might work (“coffee instead of lunch?”) and to extend kindnesses (“so thoughtful of you to think of me”), but she was also insistent that I be truthful: “I cannot come because I have limited time with a nanny and I need to use that time to work,” “I’m honestly not a huge fan of that kind of movie,” “I’d love to see you, but I’m not especially comfortable with that group of friends,” etc. For context, my mom has season passes to the Kennedy Center’s ballet programs, and she often invites her girlfriends, her sisters-in-law, her daughters to attend with her. (Otherwise, my dad will sleep through them.) She has one very dear girlfriend who straight up told her: “It’s so nice of you to invite me, but I just don’t care for ballet.” My mom accepted it and moved on without a second thought: “I’d rather treat someone who enjoys it!” (She and her friend now spend their friend dates at fancy restaurants and spas instead.)
It’s a tough pill to swallow–but I know in my heart of hearts that she’s right. I still gravitate toward the ease and convenience of a white lie from time to time, but I feel this brand of honesty is somehow part and parcel of being a true woman.
What are your thoughts on saying “no” to an invitation?
Post-Scripts.
+It dawned on me that there is a big discrepancy between the ethos in this post and the one on breaking up with friends, where I come to the conclusion that a quiet and gradual dissolution — rather than a direct, head-to-head conversation — is an OK path to forge. I feel there’s an obvious distinction between the two, in that in the latter, I have made a decision that someone is not a good or healthy fit for me and my life, and I have the right to quietly move on from a personal wellness standpoint. But maybe I’m wrong here? Is that too inconsistent?
+These are adorable in the pink — and marked WAAAAAAY down.
+This would be super chic for an expecting mother — I’d style it more Charlotte York, though, with pointed toe flats and huge pearl earrings. It looks to be roomy especially with the back pleating!
Growing up, one of my sisters collected dog figurines. She saved every dollar she earned to procure new ones from Sullivan’s Toy Store on Connecticut Avenue. She would play with them, yes, but the principal joy of owning them was lining them up along the shelves of her expansive white desk in highly particular arrangements. My mother collects Lladro porcelain, stored tidily in a glass-front cabinet, and — it must be said, mom — shoes; she is the Imelda Marcos of our family. One of my best friends collected elephants — stuffed animals, toys, knick-knacks — throughout her childhood, and her bedroom is a pachyderm menagerie. My mother-in-law is a polyglot collector, with an impressive array of vintage oyster plates (Majolicas are a big deal), of Hungarian pysanky, of Ingeglas Christmas ornaments. Mr. Magpie had an extensive set of baseball cards as a boy, and so did my brother, who kept his organized in plastic sleeves stored within binders, organized by team and league. I have been an intermittent collector — as a child, I collected stickers, trolls, My Little Ponies, Barbies, beanie babies (ugh). For a time, I collected Louboutin shoes: I stalked eBay regularly for gently used pairs no longer purchasable online. And I have been a lifelong collector of books. Even as a kid, I loved lining up all of my Elizabeth Coda Callen books on my shelves, my glossy red Bobbsey twins, my pastel Baby Sitter Clubs, my garish banana yellow Nancy Drews. Nowadays, one of the most common comments when someone visits my apartment is “Did you buy these books exclusively for the color of their spines?”, as I have organized all of the books on one of my shelves by spine color: at the bottom, Penguin Classics in neat stacks with their staid black spines crackled through with use. The next few shelves are aquamarine and pale blue. And the top shelf is cream: Oxfords, Scribners, and Little Browns.
Why do we collect things? Stamps, seashells, vintage cars, charms for charm bracelets, Steiff stuffed animals, vintage Herend china? Why do we feel the deepest reaches of satisfaction arranging those curiosities on shelves, on sticker pages, in binders, in bins?
As a young child, collecting was about ownership. “These are mine,” I would assert, elbows out, keeping my Barbies out of the clutches of my nosy little sisters. I wasn’t this way about all of my belongings; there was something grandiose and defense-worthy about having multiples of something — of anything — that made me particularly possessive of them.
A little later in my childhood, collectibles formed a sort of early economy. We traded stickers, baseball cards, beanie babies. I can’t tell you how many questionable swindles I took part in at the hands of my brother: “Here, take this brand new pack of cards — all of them! even the piece of stale gum! — and give me that dumb old card in exchange for it.” I’d skeptically hand over a Cal Ripken. Our collections were a currency at a time when we were illiquid.
As I aged, I noticed that collectibles were more about habit, sort of similar to the way we all had “favorite colors” as kids. For years, I would automatically reach for the blue one of anything. “And a blue one for Jennifer,” my mom would say instinctively. Even in college, my friend would gravitate towards anything with an elephant on it, more out of tradition than anything else.
And now? Some collectibles are status symbols, externalized wealth, members of an actual asset class (versus the false economies of my youth). Others are shorthand for personal passion: a wall of Audubon prints in various shapes and sizes and stage of decay, a glass bowl of wine corks, an unwieldy bundle of yellowing road maps, a bookcase of old Vogues. But nowadays, I mainly think that collecting is more about remembering. These curiosities we gather and organize are artifacts not from cultural history, but from personal memory, signifiers of adventures or relationships or versions of ourselves we worry we might otherwise forget. The seashell from a honeymoon, the fraying Andres Galaraga card from a summer spent in Colorado that year that the Rockies were really good, the miniature cocker spaniel figurine from a special trip to the toy store with mom–all of them insurance against the lapse of time, the threat of oblivion.
What do you collect? Why?
Post-Script: A Collection of Things I Absolutely Love Today.
A truly random smattering of items with no legible relationship to one another except for the fact that I love them. See my notes at bottom for the why…
+Banjanan Dress — The collar! The color! The sleeves! The print! I must own this dress.
+Cocofloss — It was only a matter of time before someone figured out how to luxify floss. What epic branding! Opening my medicine cabinet to this would make me legitimately excited to floss.
+Sam McKnight Lazy Girl Dry Shampoo — People LOVE this stuff, and it apparently smells ridiculous (in a good way — highly floral). And I love the packaging!
+Hunter Toddler Rainboot — For some reason I’m very excited for mini to wear her first pair of rainboots this fall.
+Mrs. Meyers Rosemary Laundry Detergent — I love Mrs. Meyers’ detergent and feel like rosemary, which I’ve never tried before, would be the perfect scent for this upcoming fall!
+Prep Solutions Brown Sugar Keeper — Why I get so excited about kitchen/pantry storage and organization is beyond me. But I do. It me.
+Jamin Puech Personalized Tote — This is just flat out epic. How many straw bags does a girl need, you might be asking? Don’t answer that question.
+A lot of my mom friends raved about this! On sale!
#Turbothot: The Languages of Love.
Every night, around 7 p.m., I scoop mini up and we wave good night to Tilly and Mr. Magpie. “Nah nah!” she says (“night night”), waving her hand, and then “mwah!” as she blows a kiss. We draw the blinds, read two books, say our bedtime prayer and intentions, and then turn out the light. She rests her head on my shoulder, her impossibly fine hair tucked against my chin. We rock in silence for a few minutes. I rub her back. I kiss her. I wrap my arms around her. I think to myself that these nighttime snuggles are numbered, and I cherish them. She occasionally points at objects in the room or murmurs to herself or looks at the door and inquires, “Dada?”, but most of the time, she is docile and sleepy. For many months now, she has turned to me at some point during this evening snuggle with her little mouth wide open, bird-like, and sort of slobbered over my face before depositing her head back on my shoulder. I have usually responded by laughing or stroking her hair or saying nothing at all.
About a week ago, I said, “Oh, I could just eat you up,” one afternoon and covered her with kisses. “Can’t I have one kiss back?” I asked. She opened her mouth like a little bird and slobbered over my face.
For many months, in other words, my daughter has kissed me goodnight and I had no idea what she was doing.
Where did she learn to kiss Iike that? How did she know to kiss me goodnight?
Setting aside the tears I wiped off my cheeks thinking about this tender nightly act of affection, I wondered — how many other acts of love do I misinterpret or miss entirely? Not just from mini and my own loved ones, but from the world around me? I am often so dialed in on getting from Point A to Point B and wearing that oh-so-New-York mask of impassivity while doing so that I think I’ve tuned out everything but the most outlandish. So I kept my eyes peeled for acts of love this week. So far, I have noticed an old man and woman holding hands in Central Park on what must be their regular evening stroll. I have seen more than I cared to see of young couples sprawled out in Central Park in all forms of romantic embrace. I have observed babies nestled against their mothers, sisters looking out for little siblings, a camp director laughing genuinely, kindly, with fondness, at what her three-year-old charge was telling her. I have noticed an old lady fawning over her three yippy, fluffy little dogs with moving tenderness. I have seen, in other words, that there are acts of love everywhere if I look for it.
#Shopaholic: The Lemon Dress.
+I absolutely LOVE this little lemon dress. It reminds me of a D+G print that was all over the place a few seasons back.
+This lace midi (on sale at the Outnet!) would be a lovely dress for a wedding. Also available in top form!
+Veronica Beard is having a major sale, and I am in love with this and these.
By: Jen Shoop
The other evening, Mr. Magpie and I sat down to a late supper at home. He had made Chicken with Vinegar from one of our favorite new cookbooks, and we served it with buttered green beans and mounds of white rice. (Is there anything better than fluffy white rice? Incidentally, we use our rice cooker close to weekly, but I’ve still been unable to convince Mr. Magpie to upgrade to this, which I’ve wanted for years because I am geekily obsessed with the Japanese brand Zojirushi, or this, which people lose their minds over. Mr. Magpie rightly asserts: “If ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” So we’ll keep on keepin’ on with our 1980s era rice cooker, a monstrosity of white plastic that consistently burns the rice on the bottom, which, incidentally, I rather like.) Though we usually time dinner to be ready shortly after mini has been put down and Tilly has been walked, this night, we didn’t sit down to eat until 9:45 p.m., and by the time we’d finished our plates, drained our wine glasses, savored a languorous conversation about school for mini, and enjoyed a few spoonfuls of Ample Hills ice cream (“right out of the bucket,” as Mr. Magpie says), the clock was pushing eleven and I was drained.
As I walked into the kitchen, I looked around with dread at the piles of pots and pans and utensils and heaved a sigh.
“You know what? I’m not going to clean the kitchen tonight,” I asserted. “I’m going to break my own rule. I’m too tired. I’ll just pile these in the sink and –”
The sink was full with dirtied bowls, a plate that had once housed raw chicken, and miscellaneous cups and cutlery.
“Well, I’ll just toss these in the dishwasher and –”
The dishwasher was packed, clean, and waiting to be emptied.
“Well, I’ll just empty the dishwasher and load these couple of things –”
As I unloaded the dishwasher, I found myself with no space to temporarily set the larger items.
“Well, I’ll just put some of the food stuff away that’s cluttering the counter –”
Thirty minutes later, the dishwasher was empty, the pots and pans were scrubbed, the counter was gleaming.
My New York City apartment had been judging me hard. She would not permit me to break my own rules. Her diminutive proportions mean that there’s no excess of space to just “let things lay” temporarily.
She’s a tiny tyrant.
She also deters me from baking : “But you’ll have to pull your stand mixer out of the cabinet and that’s a pain,” she asserts, a glimmer in her eye. She hates when we travel: “You’ll need to go all the way down to the basement storage unit to get your suitcases. What a pain.” She’s curmudgeonly about seasons, too: “Ugh, do you really want to pull all of those overstuffed vac packs out of the top of your closet, dangerously threatening to crush you? And where do you think you’ll store all of those bulky coats?” And don’t even get her started about gatherings with more than two guests: “And just where do you think they’ll sit, missy?!” She doesn’t seem to want us to grow our family: “Can you imagine squeezing another kid into this place?” And she’s still bitter about our dog: “I told you it wasn’t a good idea to bring a 60-lb dog in here…do you know what it’s like to bring a muddy dog into a tiny apartment on a rainy day?!”
She’s kind of a sourpuss, come to think of it.
But then, she’s got a soft side, too. Her stately crown molding and arches charm me even when I’m angsty. Her quirky details — like a pass-through window from the kitchen to the dining room, and the ornate chandelier in the foyer, and the now-defunct house phone once used to call the porters and doormen from the apartment — hearken back to times past and fit the out-of-vogue formality to which Mr. Magpie and I still cling. Her broad windows look out over a quiet courtyard sequestered from the thrum of the city, and she feels, to me, quietly and benevolently vigilant, like a kind but strict aunt sitting in a rocker on a front porch, waiting for me to come home. She makes me feel safe. She’s an escape from the city. And once you’re in her good graces, you’re in them for good.
I think I’m going to call her Louise.
Does your apartment/house have a personality as big as Louise does?
I’ve decided I want to refresh my living area by updating the throw pillow situation, and I’m leaning towards something a bit more bright and modern/whimsical since we tend toward the traditional elsewhere. I have long been in love with Lee Jofa’s bunny print, and who doesn’t love Brunschwig & Fils’ Les Touches print? I might layer one or the other in with some of these textured solid pillows from PB. I also LOVE these and they’re on sale, but my favorite color is the stone white, which seems highly dangerous.
+I absolutely love this night stand. The texture, the shape, the proportions, the hardware. Perfect.
+I am thinking about buying one of these for our undersink area. It’s currently a bit like Tetris and I’m actually proud of how organized and tidy it is, but this would give us a lot more real estate to work with.
+I just discovered these pro-keepers and now I want all of them for everything — a couple of the minis for stuff like spice mixes — and then one of each of these specialized ones for different kinds of sugars (brown sugar, powdered sugar, granulated!) Read the reviews!!!
+Unrelated to home decor, but what a SALE Rebecca Taylor is having! I want this, this, and this.
One of the most common questions I receive from friends and family members who have never lived in New York City is: “Is it impossible to live in New York with a baby?” I think I surprise most of them when I respond that I actually find it easier than living in Chicago with a baby — admittedly, my only point of reference. Now, moving to New York City with a baby is another story entirely, and I wouldn’t wish that hell on my worst enemy. But living here? It’s been surprisingly convenient. Here’s why:
+Everything we need is walkable.Everything! Her pediatrician, music classes, movement classes, playgrounds, the grocery, the drug store, the library, the zoo, museums, and even her pediatric dentist (I’m taking her to first appointment this week). So we just load up the stroller and head out for the morning or afternoon. No parking, no transferring from car seat to stroller, no collapsing and hoisting a huge stroller into a trunk. And the best part is that I’m never more than fifteen or twenty minutes from home (usually less), so if there’s a disaster (blowout, meltdown, change in weather), it’s easy to zip home. This in turn means I don’t need to pack a ton of stuff in my diaper bag. It’s honestly a breeze. I love being car-less at the moment.
+Everything delivers. Initially, I was daunted by the idea of doing things like picking up the dry cleaning and grocery shopping in Manhattan. Even though our dry cleaner is only a six or seven minute walk, pushing a stroller while hoisting a bag of dresses and shirts over my shoulder sounded like a highly unpleasant trek. And even though our closest grocery (Whole Foods) is about five minutes from us, lugging home groceries — even with the support of a stroller — was not high on my favorite things to do list. (Just think about the logistics of dragging a shopping cart behind you while pushing a stroller with one hand — all while in the busiest Whole Foods in the entire world, largely populated by two types of people: idle tourists stopping to stare at nothing or angrier-than-hell local New Yorkers.) Then I discovered that the dry cleaner and the grocery, like every other business in the city, deliver.
We now place an Instacart order for groceries every Sunday, and occasionally elsewhere throughout the week as needed depending on what we’re cooking. (N.B.: the “unlimited” fee is absolutely worth the investment. With it, you get free delivery on orders over $35 vs. paying $6-$12 per delivery, and since I order at least once a week, the fee paid off within a couple of months). Separately, I tried a couple of other grocery delivery services and prefer Instacart for selection, website experience, and communication with the shoppers. They do a really nice job, and if there are errors, have been very generous in refunding or making the situation right. I still go to the grocery at least two times a week to pick out protein (steak, chicken, etc — I still prefer to pick that out myself or at least get a sense for what looks good) or scoop up some fresh produce, but the Instacart orders have made my life so much easier when it comes to staples like mini’s milk, peanut butter, bread, eggs, butter, LaCroix, snacks, etc.
We order wine from Astor Wine every two weeks or so on Tuesdays (they run a promotion every Tuesday where you can get 15% off select kinds of wine — sparkling, wines from Italy, etc), and they deliver for free on orders over $100. We used to buy wine from a local spot (that also offered free local delivery!), but Astor Wine has a better curator — we have literally never had a bad bottle from them. I just sort by their “staff picks” and know I’m in safe hands. Also, their website is super easy to navigate and they have experts that are available to help you pick finer wines via email, a service I used recently when trying to select a nice bottle of wine for Mr. Magpie.
We place monthly orders for household products like toilet paper, toothpaste, cleaning supplies, dishwasher detergent, q-tips, soap, etc. from Target using Google Express. I’ve found that Target has far better deals on that kind of stuff than Instacart’s options. For example, you might pay $5 or $6 for a bottle of Mrs. Meyers countertop spray via Instacart vs. $3 or $4 at Target via Google Express. And they offer free delivery on orders over $35 and are often, I find, running 20% off coupon codes.
Chewy, a subscription pet food service, delivers our dog food. Extremely convenient because a month’s worth of food for our airedale is HEAVY, and the prices are reasonable.
We use Amazon Prime for recurring monthly purchases like diapers, wipes, laundry detergent, and my beloved household gloves (I get one new pair delivered each month) — I’ve found that their subscribe + save prices on those kinds of items are better deals than other suppliers.
+The city is basically our backyard. Living in such small quarters encourages me to get outside with mini every single day. This in turn breaks up the day for me and makes me feel good in the sense that I am taking advantage of this incredible city — which I should be! It is so expensive to live here, I want to make sure I’m drinking in all of its attractions.
+Mini is…well, mini right now. I am thinking that life in a small Manhattan apartment will become more challenging as mini ages and might want more privacy or play space, but, right now, the “petite” dimensions of our living arrangements are honestly convenient. It’s easy for me to keep an eye on her since I’m always only a few steps away — there’s just no where to hide or get into that much trouble without me seeing her immediately, and there are no stairs to worry about.
+The Subway is a few blocks away. I will invariably walk if I possibly can (my cut-off is the 25 minute walk to the Children’s Museum), but the Subway makes getting around the city fairly easy. I definitely needed to buy the Babyzen Yoyo travel stroller to accommodate Subway travel on my own because it’s pretty rare to find a Subway station that does not involve steps at some point. (Grrr.) And even the stations with elevators can be super frustrating to navigate. At our closest station, for example, to take an uptown train, I would need to get on (not kidding) three elevators, and those elevators move like dinosaurs and often have clusters of people waiting to access them. So I usually just bite the bullet and use the steps. Setting aside the accessibility element, the Subway is the easiest, fastest way to travel in the city. The trains run very regularly–except for on the weekends, which is a major bummer.
+New Yorkers are nicer than their reputations suggest. I am often surprised at how helpful New Yorkers are in opening doors, holding elevators, and helping me carry mini’s stroller up and down stairs. Just don’t idle slowly down a crowded street or stop still in the flow of traffic — the fastest ways to enrage a New Yorker.
Caveats…
I’m aware that my positive experience may be idiosyncratic. Here are some caveats…
+I am extremely fortunate to live in a building with an elevator and doormen, meaning I don’t need to lug a stroller or deliveries up and down stairs. Further, the doormen will keep packages for me until I’m home, which makes delivery of everything super simple and non-logistically-complicated. I have friends who live in beautiful walk-ups in the West Village and Brooklyn who — though they have adapted, usually by buying the Yoyo stroller — complain about how challenging it is to be on their own with a baby and a stroller in tow. It also makes deliveries of diapers, food, etc., much less appetizing because you need to coordinate your presence in the apartment with the delivery service.
+As mentioned above, I had to buy a decent travel stroller to navigate the Subway. (And, occasionally, to attend museums! For example, the Children’s Museum will not permit you to leave a stroller unless it folds fairly compactly!) I splurged on what I believe to be the best umbrella stroller on the market and it has really made a difference. I love that it folds into a square you can wear via a strap over your shoulder — it enables me to be handsfree while navigating the subway. Even with the Yoyo, though, I have to say that traveling on the Subway with mini by myself is not my favorite thing to do. I will do it to visit friends and so forth but it’s pretty exhausting (and dirty).
+Baby-proofing is really hard in a New York apartment. We don’t have enough square feet for a dedicated play space for mini, but we don’t want to live in an apartment that looks like Gymboree, so baby-proofing has been hard. We essentially moved all fragile things up to higher shelves, but, for example, she can easily access our receiver via our media console and she loves to turn it on and off, on and off, on and off. She also loves to mess with my husband’s fancy speakers (his biggest pet peeve) and print blank pages with our printer, which lives on the floor. For all of these things, we have no other options available to us unless we want to get rid of those electronics. And in some cases we just have no where else to put stuff out of her reach — for example, we have a gorgeous console in our foyer and an elegant sideboard in our dining room, and we need to use the exposed bottom shelves of both to store items. We simply have no other storage solutions available to us! So this means we need to be on constant patrol when she’s near them and likely to mess around with their contents.
+I live on the Upper West Side, where the streets are (generally) wide and accommodating when it comes to pushing a stroller. Downtown, by contrast, the streets tend to be narrower and bumpier and I’m more likely to anger or be angered by the pedestrians around me.
+I live across from Central Park. This, I think, has entirely shaped my positive view of the city. I don’t know if I would be quite as enthusiastic about living here with my toddler if it weren’t for Central Park, which we essentially live in. We visit it at least three or four times a day to walk Tilly, go to a playground, visit the zoo, enjoy the carousel, have a picnic, etc. Having that much green space and openness makes me so happy and gives me so many incredible (free or low cost!) activities to do with mini at my side.
+The two major downsides that I can think of right now are lack of space (which, as noted above, is also a convenience from time to time) and the car/taxi situation. I do wish mini had a dedicated playroom where we could set up a small table for arts and crafts, give her a wide berth to play and run, and even purchase her some bigger toys (like a teepee or a playhouse or a small trike) that are straight-up impossible for us to store here. I tell myself these are not important in the grand scheme of things, though — she still has plenty of room to run and explore outside and in classes, and she doesn’t need a trillion toys, either. (That’s what visiting friends and family with kids out of state is for.) One drawback I’d never thought about prior to moving to New York is traveling via car with her. We have an inexpensive travel carseat (very safe and super light) that we keep in storage down in the basement of our building, so it’s not exactly available at the drop of a hat. (And we definitely don’t want to keep that bulky thing in our apartment!) As a result, we never — and I mean never, not even once! — take a cab anywhere. We Subway or walk exclusively. When we travel out of the city, we take the Subway to the train or rent a car and install our carseat in the back. It’s not been a huge issue thus far, but it certainly limits my options when I am trying to zip around town.
Post-Scripts.
+For what it’s worth, my favorite classes I’ve found on the UWS for mini are Musibambino and Juliette and Ella’s Playdate. She’s also in a private music class with a couple of other kiddos that was arranged by a mom I met through our nanny and taking swim lessons at the local Y, but I would still say Musibambino and Juliette and Ella are the absolute best, and we tried a LOT! I don’t go regularly to either, though — I save them as a once-every-few-weeks treat using their drop-in option. (They get so, so redundant. Probably good for mini but would drive me nuts!) For activities, I like the Tisch Children’s Zoo in Central Park (mini loves to pet and feed the animals) and — more rarely — the Museum of Natural History and the Children’s Museum of Manhattan (I am pretty convinced that’s where she came down with her case of hand-foot-mouth, though…) We are trying the Children’s Museum of the Arts next week!
+Found a new children’s wear label with the most darling Liberty print sets — check out Little O!
+This smocked romper is TOO CUTE for fall with the little apples! Also comes in dress form, and would be darling for a first day of a “twos program”! (Mr. Magpie and I are currently trying to decide whether or not to send mini to a twos program next fall. I realize how ridiculous that sounds, but the New York pre-K scene is intense; we would need to apply soon for admission a year out. And applying is a multi-step process! I’ll have to write a longer post about this topic, because it’s more nuanced than I thought — even deciding if we want to send her to a twos program or wait until she’s three has been meatier than anticipated.)
+Speaking of school for minis — this is a fun backpack for a little one.
+Several moms have said they like Hatley brand pajamas. I’m not super wild about the prints except for the thumping bunnies pair! So adorable. I just snagged a pair of jams from Petidoux, though, and am anxiously awaiting their arrival.
+Mini is in a stage where she is ripping bows and hair elastics out of her hair any time she’s bored. I am thinking of buying a pair of these old school Goody barettes — I wore these exact ones as a baby!! Throwback!
+I think we’ve moved beyond the stage of using an infant toothbrush, and this toddler one is in my cart.
A couple weeks before my first day of high school, I was sitting in the backseat of my parents’ rented SUV on a summer vacation in Colorado reading Robert Penn Warren’s All the Kings Men. It was mandated, a part of my required reading list for freshman English at my new high school, and I stared angrily at the margin, my pen poised in the air, trying — desperately — to jot down something observant.
A question from my reading list guide, What are the book’s major themes? jeered at me. As I scanned the mountainous landscape out the window, this line of inquiry felt hopeless, and I felt dense: I had no idea what the book was about. I groped around for some common themes from other books I’d studied in the past: love? loyalty? independence? Those felt sturdy. But were they in Warren’s book? I had no idea. I felt as if I was forcing my brain to perform gymnastics and that my brain was sassily wagging its finger in my face: “Homey don’t think so.”
A couple months later, a friend of mine observed that the Walker Percy book she was reading was “B grade.” She added: “It’s not nearly as good as his other work.” Oh. I realized that until that moment, I hadn’t held books up to a rubric for quality. I certainly preferred some books to others, finding myself either flying through the pages or stalling, but my blind assumption was that in order to be a published author, you had to be pretty damn good in the first place. I scrambled to form discerning opinions on the subsequent books I read, grasping at straws, finding it impossible to “grade” books in any meaningful way. I worked strenuously to give off the impression of percipience, but inside, I knew the truth: I was a simpleton, spooling vapid and meaningless observations about books I didn’t understand.
Fast-forward to 2018, a full twenty years later. Mr. Magpie and I are sitting on our couch in our New York apartment binge-watching Jerry Seinfeld’s Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee show, a series in which Seinfeld interviews comedic talents while driving flashy cars. Mr. Magpie and I are enamored with this show in part because it affords a more personal view of many of our favorite comedians and actors as they ad lib on topics as disparate as how much tip celebrities should leave (Sarah Jessica Parker) and the experience of racism in apartheid South Africa (Trevor Noah), but principally because we love Jerry Seinfeld, and especially the Jerry Seinfeld on this show. He has opinions — and sometimes surprising ones that do not sit well with his companions, like his shrugging acceptance of the fact that fans have a right to photograph or interrupt him when he’s in public, or that parents are too “soft” nowadays — but he rarely comes off as pontifical or domineering. He seems like a world-wearied, observant, fair-minded guy, one who will call a spade a spade and assert his perspective, but without the kind of browbeating or virtue signaling so prevalent in much public discourse today. Mainly, we admire the fact that when he stakes a claim, he does so calmly, evenly, and with the posture of someone who has given that topic considerable thought.
In one interview, Tracy Morgan asserts something and Jerry Seinfeld flat out disagrees with him, but non-contentiously.
“OK. I was afraid you might say that,” says Morgan, and then he listens, eagerly, to Seinfeld’s point of view, gradually relinquishing his grip on his own.
The show — and especially the Morgan interview — left me musing over my own opinionatedness. You see, the problems of my early high school years have long since faded; nowadays, I have opinions in spades. (This blog is a testament.) Sometimes I think I am overly quick to form an opinion. Am I too critical? Does everything need to be analyzed? Am I too reliant on the decades of life experience behind me to greet a topic with fresh eyes and an open heart? Life has a way of conditioning you, of teaching you lessons that you’d be idiotic to ignore, of giving you a tray of meaningful experiences that you can parade around as proof that you are right about something, when provoked. But then — I am halfway through Factfulness and it has taught me how provincial my own thinking can be. And one of the many treasures (and, occasionally, trials) of writing this blog is uncovering alternative perspectives via comments and emails and even while playing devil’s advocate myself prior to hitting “publish.” (When I am writing something possibly controversial, like this post, which left me biting my nails, I often sit down and imagine reading it as an outsider with a completely different perspective. I then refine the writing and polish the thinking to avoid coming off as obtuse or injurious.) These exchanges force me to interrogate my own opinions in a process that can occasionally leave me feeling simple-minded (how did I write that?!) but always afford me a more nuanced view of a topic. (I loved, as a recent example, the varied and insightful reactions to my post on the dotted lines between work and private life.) Through these interactions, I feel as though I am on the path towards Seinfeld-level comfort with my own opinions in large part because I know they have not been arrived at hastily. I have no qualms about changing my opinions over time; in fact, I think it’s critical that I continue to question myself. But confidence, calm, a kind of studied thoughtfulness when presenting an opinion? That’s what I’m after now.
Where do you fall on this spectrum? Too bashful to assert an opinion? Too quick to stake a claim? Or do you just keep to yourself?
+New mamas: Baby Bjorn just released a mini version of its carrier. I don’t know why but this intrigues me — it’s lighter, smaller, and specifically meant for itty bitties. I think I would have liked this more than the Lille Baby I wore, which felt clunky and enormous.
+I’m buying a bunch of these to tackle the final frontier of our apartment’s organization: the dreaded front closet, which is super deep and super tall and currently houses way, way, way too much stuff.
+Madewell has some major finds right now: this looks like a Caroline Constas or MDS Stripes or something and this airy tiered midi nails that boho muumuu vibe I’ve been crushing on.
+I am daydreaming about laundering my clothes with the Laundress’s new collab with Le Labo. I stayed in a hotel in San Francisco that had the most exquisite Le Labo toiletries and the scents are incredible.
In my quest for a desk lamp, I got sidetracked (obviously) and came across this insane vintage rattan cabinet. Please someone buy it — what a great piece for a lovely and authentic addition to your home for a reasonable price. I found the snap of the similar style above on Pinterest and thought — how chic! (I’m pretty sure the one in the picture above is this style from UO, which is also delightful.) This whole vibe is, of course, reminiscent of ma girl India Hicks, whom I have long been obsessed with…so maybe I should go for this rattan-topped lamp?! (My favorite dresses are possibly making me lean more boho than I normally go.)
Pick No. 2: The Belt Bag.
OK, speaking of woven straw goodness, I think I have *finally* found a winner for my belt bag search. I was steeply inclined towards purchasing this style in the white for my hands-free-mom-on-the-go days, but these from new-to-me line Parme Marin have won my heart. Possibly impractical after October, but…I LOVE! I dig the brand’s emphasis on sustainability; they explain: “Mindful and conscious practices are at the heart of our company, with an approach based on sourcing natural materials, minimizing waste and creating reusable packaging.”
I had a friend recently email and ask how I keep my unmentionables organized. (She knows I’m an org freak.) I use a divided organizer nearly identical to the one shown below that I scored at Target a few years back, and I love it. It makes it easy to fold your underwear/bras without having them end up in a big jumble. (I roll mine. My sister once noticed this and looked at me like I came from Mars — “that’s like what serial killers do.” HAHA!) If your likelihood of folding underwear is super-low and you just want something to keep them separate from your socks and jammies, I would consider these — one for undies, one for bras, one for socks? I also came across two intriguing finds: a bra organizer (!) and scented drawer liners. Right now, I often spritz this “Delicates Spray” from the Laundress into my clothing drawers and will tuck it into my suitcase when traveling to keep all my clothes smelling fresh from the laundry. (It smells more like soap/laundry than anything else, which I love.) But scented drawer liners…!
Pick No. 5: The Must Read Thriller.
My mom texted me urgently to let me know she could not put down Here and Gone by Halen Beck. I love a good thriller, so I am eager to pick it up! Currently reading this thriller, though — I’ll need to get to Beck’s book after I get through the next few books on my list. (Are you reading along?)
Pick No. 6: The Fall Flat.
Though I’m still ga-ga over all of the bow-topped mules out this season (these!!!), I’m beginning to look toward fall and I am kind of in love with these loafers by new label Rothys. The shoes are made out of recycled bottles and are intended to be the perfect everyday shoe — fun/flashy enough to feel stylish, but high on comfort. AKA a perfect shoe for a mom on the go. A friend of mine (also a new-ish mom!) bought a pair and raved about them. I like them in the two colorways shown below in particular.
Pick No. 7: Chanel Bronzing Base.
OK, first it was their mascara base. Now I’m intrigued by Chanel’s bronzing base, a “light cream-gel bronzer that leaves your skin with a beautiful sun-bathed look. Wear it on its own, or for a hint of outdoors radiance, over or under your favorite foundation.” Ummmmm yes.
One of my favorite summer evening outfits? A white blouse with white skinnies, which I then liven up with statement earrings (currently lusting after these and these) or a pair of flashy shoes (recently bought these in pink) or a swipe of bright lipstick. I love this eyelet style (shown below, on sale for $55), this affordable ASOS (dramatic white bows FTW!), and this laser cut style (off white, and under $100).
Pick No. 10: The Everlane Sweatshirt.
They’re baaaack! I have had my eye on this sweatshirt in the bone color for like a full season but it keeps selling out before I can order one. Currently on the waistlist. Also intrigued by the celadon color…
P.S. This week’s random Amazon discoveries: we have a couple of miscellaneous inexpensive kitchen knives floating around one of our utensil drawers and it’s a dangerous situation — just snagged a set of these to solve the problem; mini has been getting into a couple of our cabinets, so I ordered these inexpensive and easy to install cabinet locks (read the reviews!!!); mini’s favorite pasttime is removing all of my credit cards from my wallet — I think this needs to be in her future (minus the coins).
