Yesterday’s post was heartbreaking to write, and between the “hot, fat tears” shed while crafting it (to borrow the words of a friend who texted me after its publication) and the fact that I battled the worst bout of food poisoning I’ve ever had on Saturday night, I’m a little helter-skelter. I essentially look like the inverse of the chic, sun-kissed goddess shown above (Stephanie Hill of The Style Bungalow — I have been DROOLING over her posts lately, and she’s been spotted in a bunch of pieces from my girl Pamela Munson). At any rate, today’s post testifies to that truth, and I hope you’ll indulge:
+I had a number of lovely messages from classmates of mine from Visitation after yesterday’s post, including one who sent me this: “…But when I was awkward and the teenage years were so very cruel, she was so kind. Just the embodiment of the little virtues….I read “To an Athlete Dying Young” and I think of her fondly.” This poem, which we all read as sophomores or juniors in high school, is pristine — its marching iambic tetrameter startlingly formal for its tender, elegiac message. Lovely. Thank you for sending, R.!
+On a totally different note, I could not stop laughing at this. Mr. Magpie sent it to me because it is possibly my number one pet peeve in life. I cannot STAND when people do this!
+I ran out of mini’s stationery after writing all of the thank you notes from her birthday, and had a lot of fun looking for replacements. Etsy has so many precious patterns — I loved these, these (<<if they had an airedale print, I would have DIED), these, and these.
+While on the hunt for stationery, I also found this, which would be THE CUTEST gift for a teacher, and this cactus stationery, which I just love. Etsy is the best.
+I wish I could un-see this dress. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s haunting me. I need it.
+Just ordered this, and am pretty sure it’s going to be the best $28 I’ve spent in a long while. Love the boxy shape and tapered sleeves! I had it in my basket, along with this, which was just released, and then lingered for a day thinking about colors, and — lo and behold — the sweatshirt sold out in my size. I’m so annoyed. They always seems to sell out of its pieces too fast!!! I wanted it in the lavender-blue or bone white.
+If I had more space…THIS BASKET!!! Too cute. I love that, or this, in the giraffe shapes, as giraffes are sort of mini’s spirit animal.
+THIS ONE-PIECE. OMG. J. Crew is KILLING the swimwear game this season! (More amazing-ness here.)
+Gap is having an extra 40% off plus an extra 10% off (no idea why they have two separate discount codes, but some marketer is having a field day with it) PLUS free shipping, so I stocked up on some goodies for mini. (If I had a boy, this would definitely have been on its way to me. SO cute.) I snagged a few pairs of printed leggings, this flutter blouse, pink jeggings, and this classic raincoat in a size up, since she’s currently still wearing her Petit Bateau.
+I’m disappointed in the direction adult Gap has gone — I feel like I found so many cool statement pieces from there over the past few years, and suddenly it’s all SO boring. The only thing I’m contemplating buying with this great promotion is a pair of these in the khaki — it’s such a trendy shape right now, and you can’t beat the Gap price with the codes!
Have you seen Lady Bird yet? Mr. Magpie and I had mixed feelings. On the one hand, the acting was incredible, heartfelt — and I rather liked the mutedness of the film, too: it portrayed, earnestly, that delicate time in a teenage girl’s life where she’s on the precipice of adulthood and feels that everything is both conspiring against and centered around her–but it did so through a looking glass. It was as if the director, Greta Gerwig, was giving Lady Bird the space to act out teenage angst and emotion, but not without casting us sidelong, knowing glances. “Ah, yes. Teenagers,” Gerwig was saying. And I nodded right along.
On the other hand, in the words of Mr. Magpie: “I feel like I’ve seen this movie twenty times already.” And he’s right — how many bildungsroman have we encountered in our lifetimes? And what new information or message or emotion did this coming-of-age tale in particular convey? I come up short there.
But there were many tender, quiet truths in the movie that lingered.
“There are different ways to be sad,” cries Lady Bird, when her unbearable beau attempts to distract her from her very real emotions after she’s lost her virginity by telling her to think about the ongoing war in Iraq. How often I have found myself vacillating between these two truths: that I am entitled to feel a certain way about a certain thing, and that I also shouldn’t feel that way about that certain thing because, in the grand scheme, my woes are petty, insignificant. You know, the old “there are children in Africa…” line of thinking, which is not without its merits. I’m also reminded of that great quote that Jenna Bush shared in her memoir (full review): “As teenagers, when we would come to [my mom] with teenager-sized problems, she always said: ‘I promise. There are very, very few things worth worrying about.’ And she was right…she saw our anxieties for what they were: childlike.”
And yet. When you are a teenager, everything that happens to you is amplified. Amplified by life-stage (i.e., wanting desperately to be treated like an adult), by hormones, by the sheer fact that you’ve not yet had enough happen to you to parse the significant from the insignificant.
The night after I watched Lady Bird, I had a vivid dream about one of my best friends from high school, E. It’s easy to see why, now: the Catholic school experience Lady Bird portrays felt deeply familiar to me, with its scenes of Mass, and its strict-but-benevolent nuns, and its hideous uniforms (we wore the same green kilts!), and its silly, fresh-faced girls trying desperately to be serious, mature women. There were many exchanges between Lady Bird and her best friend that took me back, heart-achingly, instantaneously, to some of the innocent exchanges I had with my friend, E. How many afternoons we spent on the floor of her living room thumbing through magazines, eating gummy bears, watching Can’t Hardly Wait or She’s All That or some of the oldies we loved, like the two-tape Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth, swooning over movie stars, wishing and willing that life wouldjust happen to us.
In the dream, though, I was at a house party we’d attended when I visited her at Elon as a first-year in college. I had been wearing an oxford and a short poplin skirt — yes, to a party — and we were wide-eyed and awkward, giggling to each other, exchanging hushed words, not knowing how to engage the older boys with their swoopy, fratty Southern haircuts and Rainbow flip flops and flipped collars. There were bits of this in the dream, bits of a nervous feeling, and, for some reason, the lights were not on: everything was dim. I couldn’t see, and it angered me.
I woke up crying.
My friend E. died the year I got married to Mr. Magpie. She was 26.
One of the most devastating things I remember about her is how upset she was when the cancer had compromised her reproductive organs and she learned she wouldn’t be able to carry a child. My heart aches at this memory — both with rage that something so terrible could happen to someone so young, and with agonizing tenderness at her optimism for the future, even when the cancer had advanced to such a serious state. She was not so worried about surviving; she was more worried about surviving and not having a child. I didn’t know whether this was because she was in denial about her prognosis or because she needed to hold out hope for a vision of a future that she’d nurtured since we were just kids, lying on the carpeted floor of her living room, talking in excited voices about so-and-so and this-and-that and all of the inanities that come with being a teenager girl, wishing and willing for life to happen to us.
Even eight years after her death, she visits with me. I hear a song — Lee Ann Womack’s “I Hope You Dance,” which she once put on a mix CD for me, and which we laughed at because we thought it improbably schmaltzy, and which I now cannot hear without a throb of grief, both because it was a joke between us and because its lyrics are devastatingly apropos. I come across a bright, preppy article of clothing — say, the re-launch of J. Crew’s rugby shirt last year (we both loved madras and seersucker and polo shirts like none other) — and I think how she would have liked it, too. “Can you believe they’ve brought these back?” I might have asked her, forwarding a picture of the two of us wearing rugby shirts back in the late 90s. Every so often, I see her quick smile, her knowing look, her ready hug, in the gestures of others, and I make a double take. “Was that…?” I see Lady Bird laughing with her girlfriend, their feet propped up on lockers as they lay on their backs at school, and I think of E. rushing over to me across the wood-slatted floor of the balcony in front of the Fennessy building just off 35th Street in Georgetown, as we’d head off to our lockers to exchange urgent jokes and plans for the weekend — and the juxtaposition of our carefree teenage years against her untimely death leaves me dark.
But there is this:
When I woke up crying that night, I texted another girlfriend of mine from high school who was also very close with E. We exchange messages only irregularly now — the occasional “Happy Birthday” or “How are the babies?” or “Just heard our song on the radio [Mariah Carey’s “Heartbreaker,” which we used to listen to at the highest decibel of my car stereo, with the sunroof open, coasting down Tilden Street to Rock Creek Parkway]” — but many of these texts are quick admissions: “I thought of E today,” or “Missing E,” or “It’s been [x] years.”
And I think that E. would have liked this.
Would have liked that she remains the tie that binds us together — as she was the centrifugal force keeping our group together in high school, too.
Would have liked the symmetry of our all having attended Georgetown Visitation, named after the miracle of the visitation of Mary by Saint Elizabeth — named after, in other words, the image of two women visiting with one another in a time of need.
Would have liked that when she visits with me, in thought or dream, I visit with our other friend.
Our sometime exchanges remind me, too, of the passing of time, of the fact that life has not only happened to us, but that we have happened to it, and by that I mean that we have become active agents in the building of the lives that we want, but not without fate or God or whatever you believe in intervening at opportune and inopportune moments. And I think that E. would have liked this, too — would have liked to know that we make things happen for ourselves, but that things also happen, fairly and unfairly, every day, to all of us.
Did she know these things at the age of 26, when all I could think was “why is this happening to you?”
Had she had enough experiences at the time of her death to parse the significant from the insignificant?
Had I?
Have I now?
When do we learn these things?
So, yes, I’ve seen Lady Bird in thousands of iterations in my lifetime, but maybe I needed to be reminded that I am not the protagonist of one coming-of-stage story; I am the author of many. The number of times I have grown up all over again, learned things from scratch, made a late-stage realization? Uncountable. It feels unspeakably, unthinkably, unimaginably cruel that E. was not granted more time to experience these evolutions herself. But she has certainly been the instigator in many of my own, even now, when those afternoons spent on the carpet of her living room feel so distant and so close, the memory weaving and unweaving, the teenage laughter and the adult tears blurring together, now and then, forever and ever, amen.
Post-Script.
Now would be a good time for me to take a minute to send some love to the girlfriends who visit with me. Some lovely just-because gifts:
+A little hand-written note letting them know how much they mean to me, on pretty stationery, like this or this.
+Goop bath salts/soaks — so trendy right now (I feel like the blogosphere can’t stop/won’t stop talking about them!), but they also promote a sense of self-care.
I mentioned this recently, but my skin has been looking super dull lately. It’s as if my skin is protesting the lingering cold weather. I’ve gotten back into my obsession with m61 peels and have been using every few days for the past week, and those are helping, but I’m going to up my ante and add this resurfacing mask to the mix. It’s currently en route to me. I also snagged this night renewal cream, which caught my eye because it contains salicylic acid, which is the active ingredient that has helped me with breakouts in the past.
My Lenten resolution was not to give up dessert or avoid snacking between meals (both resolutions of Lents past), but to be gentler on people. I find that — especially now that I live in New York — I tend to be quicker to judge, to become frustrated, to lose my patience, to assume mal-intent. Especially when I’m working to be gentler on myself, how can I not turn that energy outward?
I give myself a B so far this Lent. I still find myself huffing and puffing when people amble around slowly in front of me, or — worse still — cut in front of me with that oh-so-common ruthless, elbows-out mentality.
But then I think about the time I was driving out by Tyson’s Corner in D.C. behind a buffoon who was swerving all over the place.
“What the hell is he doing?!” I yelled, slamming on the breaks, my brows knit into a semi-permanent expression straddling between rage and incredulity. When I finally passed him, I turned to give him a dramatic glare — and that’s when I noticed a young man, driving white-knuckled, with a bunch of balloons next to him that said: IT’S A GIRL!
My heart broke, not just a little.
Who knows if this is true — it could have been a delivery boy? — but I immediately went slack, thinking I’d just harassed a new dad racing to the hospital or racing home to be with his new baby girl.
Many years later, in a moment of odd deja vu, a friend whose wife had just nearly lost her life giving birth to their daughter told me that while the past couple of weeks had been a nightmare, it had taught him to be patient, to give people space, to not immediately assume the worst. “When I was driving home, going 5 miles per hour, dodging potholes so that it wouldn’t jostle my healing wife and my brand-new daughter, I just thought…why do we forget this so fast? Why do we immediately bounce back into rushing around, not giving people the benefit of the doubt? I never want to forget that.”
I’m re-centering the remaining few weeks of Lent around these two moments, and hoping I can bring myself up to at least an A- by April 1st.
#Shopaholic: The Printed Blouse
+I think I need to go ahead and order this in advance of the Fourth of July. How adorable with white jeans?
+I wasn’t as enthused by SJP’s new collection for Gap as I’d hoped — but I LOVE this gingham number, which looks like it could be a Veronica Beard (this style in particular — or this one, which is on RIDIC SALE!
+I feel like Louboutin’s star has fallen, but this heel would be a perfect bridal option — it looks like origami! In love!!!
+For minis: I’ve heard such good things about this brand of jammies. The lace collar reminds me of pairs I used to wear as a kiddo!
+Have y’all heard about this stuff?!?!?! I need to try it. I literally had to restrain myself from ordering it since I just bought the Tata stuff and re-stocked my m61 peel supply, but this is NEXT! You use a MAGNET to pull off the mask! WUT. I’m so curious…
A reader recently requested, in a comment, a post dedicated to what I actually wear in a given week. I thought I’d share a couple of snapshots from the past few days, wearing a few of my go-to easy outfit staples, as shown in the snapshots below.
What I’m Wearing on Repeat…
+These light-wash jeans are so comfortable and stretchy, and yet they still hold ya in. I love the raw hem and the light wash — I’ve never owned a wash so light and I feel like a new woman.
+These Gucci flats, which totally make an outfit. I wore them with my black J. Brand jeans and a black crewneck sweater and my trench coat (mine is from Banana a few years ago, but I think this is the same coat, just without the striped lining!, and this one is also very similar, and similarly priced!).
+A Gucci handbag I inherited from my grandmother that I’ve just resurfaced. Can you believe that for YEARS I shunned it to the depths of my closet because I thought the shape was too old-fashioned and that the Gucci logo was passe? Now Gucci is having such a major moment and it’s like having a brand-new handbag. A vote in favor of hanging onto things, which is an inconvenient discovery given our current petite living situation…This one has a similar vibe, though mine is a smaller, more ladylike shape.
This is a small sample set of how I dress right now: casual and movement-friendly when I’m running after mini or Tilly, but with a statement accessory or shoe to make myself feel relevant and chic.
P.S. — I am SO TIRED OF THIS WINTER and SO READY to wear dresses and skirts, which I wear nearly every day of the summer.
Q+A.
Q: Do you have a system for keeping track of things you like or are considering buying online? Is it just bookmarking? I budget by only allowing myself to shop every 3rd month but I have a hard time keeping track of the things that I’ve liked along the way.
A: Yes! I use Polyvore for blogging and personal shopping purposes, and the key ingredient there is installing the “clipper” widget into your browser bar so when you’re visiting a site like Ann Taylor or Bloomingdales or whatever, you can tap the clipper in your browser bar and it will snap the item so that it will show up in your Polyvore account. However, a simpler solution would probably be Pinterest, as I’m willing to bet you already have an account? — just create a private board and make sure you have the “Pin It” widget in your browser bar. Then, any time you see something you like, you can pin it to your private board. And you could have a bunch of private boards, too: “Summer Shopping,” “Kids’ Vacation Gear,” etc.
Q: I’m traveling to Europe for four weeks this summer with my three children, one of which will still be nursing. My goal is to pack VERY LITTLE–a capsule wardrobe if you will. Any ideas for this? Have you ever packed SUPER light for a trip?
A: So funny you mention this; Mr. Magpie and I were just saying that if we travel abroad to visit my sister in London, we’re going to aim to bring the absolute minimum for ourselves and mini. One thing you probably already know is to only pack enough diapers and wipes for the trip, and to stop by a grocery as soon as you arrive at your destination, but beyond that — I’ve never traveled light with mini in tow, so I’d call in the experts:
+The blogger Naomi of Love Taza travels with her brood of small children all the time and has a bunch of posts on this topic, like this one, which may be helpful.
+My mom is a very good packer, and her strategy is to identify a color palette and pack all interchangeable pieces, i.e., navy and pink, or red and denim, or black and white, and have layers and pieces that all play nicely together so you can create new looks with the same five or six articles of clothing.
+The one key travel piece I never leave home without is a lightweight anorak-type jacket — they’re perfect because they fold up, they’re lightweight, they double as a raincoat, and they layer well. (They also often have lots of pockets, which comes in handy.) I love this one.
+Finally, I can’t blab enough about how packing cubes changed my life when traveling with mini (I have these and these). It is SO helpful to have all her tiny little things in transparent pouches that I can easily reach for in a suitcase; I keep all her clothes are in one cube, all her shoes/accessories in another, all my undergarments in one, my exercise clothes in another, etc, etc. I think this could be really helpful for you; you might just have one cube per child? Also, be sure to pack a collapsible tote, if only to serve as a portable laundry basket for schlepping clothes to the laundromat! (I really like this one.)
Q: We’re in the early stages of planning a trip to Hawaii to celebrate our ten-year wedding anniversary. I found an amazing photographer and wanted to do an intimate vow renewal during our shoot. I am struggling to find a dress to wear. Looking for something not too beachy, not too bridal, not too boho. Something similar to this would be so amazing if it were in white.
A: Love your plan for vow renewals — how romantic. I just spent the better part of minimagpie’s morning nap daydreaming about what I would wear. My first thought, when you sent me that saucy red two-piece situation, was the brand Miguelina, which does a lot of gauze-y/lace-y gorgeous two-pieces. I’m dying because I’m pretty sure this or this would be perfect for you, but they seem to be sold out — but maybe you can troll eBay for something like this and a coordinating top? Alternately, this frothy dress is super pretty. At any rate, dig around the internet for that label — I think it’s right in the lane you’re looking for.
Next up: I’m guessing this may be too informal for you, but I am OBSESSED with the brand Saloni. This dress is so pretty, and her dresses generally fit slender frames really well. Also, I’m not sure why the dress looks knee-length in that picture because everywhere else it looks more midi.
I’ve had lovely luck with Zimmermann for many formal events, and this dress is on sale and SO stunning. Not sure how comf you are with the neckline, but I’m obsessed! The quality of these dresses are insane.
Is this too boho/un-fitted for you? So pretty! Love the neckline.
Pricier, but this Self-Portrait takes my breath away. And this is just SO fun, but maybe too much for what you’re going for? Finally, this one is elegant.
Two other finds that seem similar in ethos to the FP two-piece you sent: this and this. I can’t tell with the latter what’s going on with the waist-line — does it have a sort of belt/hem in the middle? Odd.
Q: I moved to the Midwest a few years ago from the city and now feel like a frumpy mom, completely out of the loop with regard to trends. I wear a large, lightweight scarf to work nearly every day (adds to my typically black or grey outfit and keeps me warm), and I really need at least one new one. Any recommendations? I have looked at Gucci (sans logos) and Louis Vuitton’s classic leopard one; I feel like allover logos are a bit too showy for work.
A: My initial thought was — have you looked at Hermes? They are La Creme de la Creme when it comes to scarf-wear. They offer all different colors and patterns, some more muted than others; a chic but dramatic black and white one would look amazing against a black/gray wardrobe! (You can also occasionally score wonderful gently-used styles at Real Real; I’ve purchased a number of items from them and felt very good about saving some money for something that looks good-as-new!)
Another option: Virginia Johnson’s gorgeous painterly styles. These are more shawl than scarf (possibly more appropriate for the Midwest?!), but I’ve long loved her styles. She’s sold out right now but will be restocked on April 1.
You might consider a solid-colored cashmere style from Loro Piana; my mom absolutely flips over the quality of this brand. That light gray color would look EPIC in a monochromatic shades-of-gray situation, layered on top of your gray suit!
If you wind up on the fence on all of these, you might also consider snagging one or two less-expensive styles from Zara. I find that their scarves are a great way to upgrade/update my look, especially towards the end of the long winter season, when I can hardly bear to look at my coats anymore. Suddenly, throwing on a happy new printed scarf from Zara makes me feel like a whole new woman. I like this leopard print with that ice blue trim, this stately glen plaid style (<<glen plaid is SO in right now and would look elegant and appropriate with a black/gray suit situation), and this elegant gray striped style, which I JUST saw in-person a day or two ago — it’s so soft and cozy!
Q: Any suggestions for a baptism outfit (for me) in mid-March? If I pick a dress, I’ll likely need tights; I dress in black 99% of the time but it seems inappropriate on that day; maybe a midi skirt and bodysuit sans tights and pray for warmth? I’m a new mom, I never get to dress up anymore! Help!
A: I’d totally do midi and bodysuit with some pumps — you won’t be outside for much, right? (If I can avoid tights, I will…) Alternately, avoid the separates altogether and wear a pleated midi dress like this in a spring-like color. If you go black, I love the sleeves on this shift (also a good shape for a mom who has recently given birth!) — though I’d probably wear it in white, with these. (March be-damned!) This is also elegant, especially with pointed-toe flats. Personally, though, I love color, and this peony pink dress is EVERYTHING. It feels to me like the perfect mother-of-the-baby dress: elegant, fashionable, and ladylike all at once.
But also — in a perfect world — I would have an entire closet-ful of Saloni dresses, and this one or this one would be just the ticket for a Baptism — so elegant, so old-world, and so chic.
Q: I would lovee to see a post/small feature on cute white jumpsuits/dresses. I love your style so much and having a hard time narrowing down what to wear to my engagement party.
A: Some of the pics from the answer above on a vow renewal would be amazing picks, but I saw this and stopped and stared for a good long while. So darling with those bows on the shoulders! I also am DYING over this statement-making MGSM number. That frill down the side add so much depth and interest to the dress; it looks like it cost about $2000!
This would also be darling for a bachelorette party (or, possibly, an engagement party, depending on the location and crowd!), this is sweet as pie, and I like the length and volume on this.
Q: What baby books would you recommend to a first-time mom?
A: I have said this to about two dozen people recently: you need to do what you need to do in order to feel prepared and empowered as a parent, and I have generally found that people fall into one of two categories: “give me all the information so that I can internalize it, digest it, and feel empowered to make decisions” or “don’t tell me anything so I can feel empowered to follow my own gut, rather than paralyzed by too much information.” I’m the latter. Too much information leaves me overburdened; I tend to overthink and overanalyze and fret over every little detail. As a result, I deliberately did not read any baby books. I instead relied on a couple of close friends and family members for guidance with mini. That said, my mom gave me this now-out-of-print book (which you can still order used!) and assured me that if I couldn’t figure something out on my own, and she was unreachable, the book would have a sound, practical perspective on the issue. I’ve referred to it a number of times, typically when mini isn’t feeling well and I want to know what to do.
While I think my approach has worked thus far, my one regret is that I didn’t take a class or read a book on breastfeeding. There is a lot to know and I am fairly sure that I messed up with mini by not attempting to feed her frequently enough, or long enough, those first two or three days in the hospital, which led to an undersupply, which led to months and months of time-consuming feeding, pumping, supplementing with bottles, and a whole lot of mom guilt.
Q: What recipe did you use for the mini soft pretzels you made for mini’s birthday party?
[I got this question a lot via Instastory!] I used this recipe, and I sprinkled them with Trader Joe’s Everything Bagel seasoning.
P.P.S. People are freaking out over Goop’s new bath soaks/salts. Read my friend Grace’s review of them here. I find that when she recommends something, you can totally trust her — she only features products that actually work and that she actually uses.
By: Jen Shoop
Mini’s new, intense level of activity mixed with a super busy schedule, a first birthday party, a visit from parents-in-law, and a couple of days where the nanny couldn’t come — well, it’s left me a bit frazzled and frayed. My friend Hitha recently shared that she’s been using this self-care checklist to center herself, and, as I looked down the list, I realized I could probably afford to spend a little extra time in the self-grooming/self-maintenance space. I’ve never been particularly good about committing to meditation or journaling (<<well, what is this blog though?? So maybe I am?), but the checklist led me to think about things that make me feel good about myself, and to try to prioritize those things on a daily basis. Here they are, in no meaningful order:
+When I’ve washed my face, applied my basic skincare and makeup regimen, gotten dressed, fed and dressed mini, and made the bed before Mr. Magpie leaves for work at 8:30, as I did in the snap above (wearing an old J. Crew blouse similar to this one, or this sleeveless one; this headband; and this lip treatment in the petal color). I can’t quite put my finger on why this matters, but I suppose it feels like those chores are the preamble to the day, and if I haven’t completed them all by the time Mr. Magpie heads out to the Subway, it feels like I’m getting a late start on things.
+When I exercise. Oh man. To be completely truthful, I haven’t exercised — regularly — since well before I was pregnant with mini, which is now almost two full years ago. I’ve run in fits and spurts, but then I had a weird muscular issue that made me nervous about jogging and I tend to prioritize getting a manicure or reading over exercising when I had a bit of free time to myself anyway. When I was down in Florida, my mother took me to a pilates mat class, and I was hooked. My body was stiff and sore the next day, but in that “hurts so good” kind of way. I recently tested out and then signed up for an unlimited pass to a pilates studio two blocks from my apartment, and I now go to class twice a week. It is everything. I love the way my body feels afterward — somehow both limber and taut — but the indulgence of an hour of phone-free, baby-free, dog-free, interruption-free time focused on myself feels borderline decadent, in the best possible way. One of you wrote asking for workout clothes recs, and I’ll share that I now have my eye on this long-sleeved tee, these heathered leggings in the space gray alpine ice white color, these in the quartz blue, this sports bra, and this long-sleeved tee, too. (I usually layer a long-sleeved tee in a slightly oversized fit over a tank and sports bra — I like the line of trim legs sticking out from underneath a boxy tee.) I also like the boxy look so many sweatshirts have right now — this is cool, I’ve had my eye on this for a year, and — if I were really cool — I’d get one of these super-coveted sweatshirts.
+When I’m asked to weigh in on something fashion or lifestyle-related by a reader or by, ya know, NYMag (!! << scroll down to item #6!) I don’t take it lightly that y’all trust my recommendations.
+When I tick off every single item on my to-do list for the day and still have time to spare so I can get ahead on writing, or organizing mini’s meals, or — hey! — reading by myself. I use this day planner and jot down all of the to-dos for each day as my week progresses, which truly run the gamut, especially with all of my household management tasks. To give you a sample from today: confirm AMEX refund from wine shop; call Top Digital to reschedule appointment; make eye doctor appointment; plan meals for week and place Instacart order; laundry; mail rent; call Greg; schedule committee meeting for Foundation; finish two blog posts; Pilates class.
+When I make dinner for Mr. Magpie and myself. Mr. Magpie does the lion’s share of the cooking — I’d say he cooks two or three times a week, we order out once a week, and then I cook once a week (we almost always cook enough to have leftovers a second night unless it’s something like fish that’s better eaten on the first night). He’s far better in the kitchen than I am, and I trust he’s not secretly harboring angst about it because he seems to genuinely enjoy it. (It’s also logistically easier when he cooks, as I always bathe and put mini to sleep, and it’s so convenient to be parallel-tracking dinner while that’s going on!) It’s funny how a baby can change even your preferences on recipe styles — I now vastly prefer recipes that involve multiple stages of cooking that I can spread out over a day, so I can handle the mise en place while mini is playing quietly in her crib or her activity center for a stretch of 20-30 minutes, and then can handle the hands-on part in the afternoon and leave it to simmer for a few hours so that it’s ready to go once I’ve bathed and put mini to sleep. Recently, I’ve made chicken enchiladas (<<not going to link the recipe because I thought it was unimpressive given the amount of work it took! I was basically cooking all day and it was just so-so); bolognese from our go-to pasta book; and a delicious Latin braised beef recipe from this cookbook, which I paired with saffron rice from the same book. I love the experience of casually cooking throughout the day, and then having it all come together easily around 7:30 or 8 in the evening. I feel so accomplished!
+When I get into bed at 8:30 or 9 and read for an hour.
+When I make mini her meals ahead of time rather than leaning on easy standbys like pasta, fish sticks, quesadillas, peanut butter toast, etc.
+When I say prayers and intentions with mini just before bed. We do this every single night, and it always makes the entire day feel anchored in and dotted through with faith.
+When Mr. Magpie thanks me for what I’ve been up to at home. I’ve never taken stock in the “love languages” framework — or any of those pseudo-psychological frameworks, to be fair, Myers-Briggs included! — but I do so dearly value verbal acknowledgment, and the fact that he knows this about me and indulges it means the world to me. I’ve been emailing with one of my lovely Magpies recently, and she had the following oh-so-true words to say about being a stay-at-home mom: “I admittedly have a bit of a hang up with the (real or imagined) look of “so, what do you DO all day?” I would never think to ask that question in that way of someone with a traditional job, and yet, I often feel as though I have to account for my time, regardless of how boring that accounting can be!” I related so fully, so deeply to her sentiment; it explained me. It made me realize why I appreciate Mr. Magpie’s acknowledgment, which makes me feel seen, legitimized, absolved of any of the self-questioning and guilt I feel if I take time a little pocket of time to myself during the day, while mini is preoccupied and Tilly is quiet. Why this self-reproach, when I used to routinely check personal email during the day at work, or steal away for a lunch date with Mr. Magpie midday, or take a few minutes to scan Instagram during a slow afternoon?
+When I blow-dry and/or curl my hair. I hate how frequently I pull my hair back in a bun, or spritz texturizing spray over my waves to make it “look intentional”; no matter how much I love the products I’m using, I know the truth: I’ve half-assed my hair. For that matter — when I get a blowout. I haven’t had one in ages, and it’s my absolute favorite luxury.
+When I use a peel (<<the best the best the best) or scrub (<<the best the best the best) before bed.
+When I take Tilly for a long walk through Central Park, preferably while tuning into a podcast, or reminiscing over nostalgic songs, or listening to nothing at all. I’ve listened to dozens of podcasts from the What It Takes series, but I’m now planning to tune into this series called The History Chicks, after my mother in law raved about it. Any other podcast recommendations?
+When I have a fresh manicure.
+When I update my beauty regimen. I shared some recent discoveries here, but I also just picked up this hair mask (also available in a small size here) as my hair is feeling very drab and dry, and basically have Tata Harper’s entire line in my Sephora shopping cart at the moment. (I especially want this and this!)
+When I get a soy milk latte in the middle of the afternoon.
+When I drink a lot of water. I’m usually so bad about drinking water and always look on enviously slash roll my eyes when models and Gwyneth Paltrow types talk about how they drink 23 liters of water a day. How though?? I have tried all kinds of mnemonics and tricks — having a carafe of water by my side all day, pouring a fresh glass of water with every meal, etc, etc — but cannot seem to get myself to guzzle as much water as I should. UNTIL. The blogger Liz of Sequins + Stripes recently shared a trick that has actually worked for me: she tells herself to drink a full glass of water before indulging in anything — so, before she has a glass of wine, or an afternoon coffee, or a cupcake, or a snack. It’s a lot easier for me to remember to drink a glass of water (and quickly!) when the promise of a reward is right around the corner.
+When I have a glass of wine with Mr. Magpie at the end of the day. Sometimes we’re so thrilled with ourselves for having gotten through a long day with our sweet but very busy one-year-old daughter and sweet but very busy two-year-old puppy that we will high-five one another, hug, and then immediately pour ourselves tall glasses of wine as we mull over the day’s happenings.
+When I catch up with my siblings via Facetime or the phone.
What makes you feel good about yourself?
Post-Script.
A few purchases that would make me feel pretty good, too…
+This flattering dress, which has sold out several times, is now re-stocked in white.
+PSA: these are the best oven mitts. Ever. They are so much better than those flimsy Williams-Sonoma ones we used forever — you can actually hold a hot-from-the-oven pan with these badboys without feeling a thing for several consecutive minutes. But they’re still pliable — I’ve used a few with silicon trim and they feel too stiff; you almost can’t bend them. These are perfection.
+I recently mentioned that Mr. Magpie and I have about one piece of tupperware to our name. I have been sticking to my bowls-and-saran-wrap solution thanks to being so short on space, but have heard wonderful things about this brand and may be losing my resolve.
+A reader raved about these eye tints; the lilac color is in my cart right now!
+I had a bunch of people email me asking me about mini’s one-year birthday hat — here it is!
A couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to attend a lovely lunch celebrating the launch of Scout’s spring bag collection, and I was completely awestruck by the founder, Deb Waterman Johns, when she stood to address the room of well-heeled ladies eating avocado toast. She struck me as dynamic, confident, smart, and stylish, speaking eloquently and unrehearsedly about her line of eye-catching bags, which are designed to balance function with fashion above all else. Deb conceived of her line when she spotted a plaid tote at the Helmut Lang boutique in Milan and remembered selling a similarly-styled — though far less expensive — carryall during a recent run of her pop-up shop, Fifi. Deb saw an opportunity to create high function bags in high fashion prints for the woman on the go–and off she went, building the business that would become Scout.
Deb is a veteran in the fashion industry, having started her career as an assistant fabric editor with Vogue; worked as an expert color and trend forecaster in the fascinatingly arcane “color prediction consulting” space for notable fashion designers; and launched three different fashion-related businesses. She also has four children (!) and three dogs (!) — so, as you can see, she’s an under-achiever. (Ha.)
During the luncheon, though, I was particularly taken by her obvious comfort in her own skin — her ease in speaking extemporaneously, compellingly about her own line; her self-possession in her distinctive all-black outfit, including, if memory serves, a black belt bag and a padded headband (which I’m sure she’s worn for years with great panache, but which is currently enjoying a fashion moment, hennyyyy). I love a woman walking confidently in her own lane, and Deb is one of those. I was — and still am — wonderstruck by her achievements, her poise, her drive.
I’m also a huge fan of their practical, eye-catching bags — I now never travel without one of these; use this or this for mini’s on-the-go lunches; and this for touch-up makeup when I leave the house for the day. Meanwhile, this cleverly-titled “Four Boys” tote is the perfect road trip/family excursion bag (shhh, I’m planning to buy it for my sister, who is mother to TWO boys), and I heard another new mom mentioning that she likes their insulated bags for storing breastmilk, pumping gear, etc while traveling!
I like women who are authentic, “team players,” philanthropic, original, spirited, strong, punctual, quick witted, and empathetic. To borrow a phrase: “be yourself; everyone else is taken.”
Your favorite heroine.
Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird. As a child, she possessed unadulterated, heartfelt judgment and emotion. She was unfiltered and the essence of a true person who wants to help another person. She didn’t see color, differences, or any reason why someone might not help someone else. She was also the most amazing tomboy on the planet; she embodies “tomboy” for me. She had style at the age of 10!
Your main fault.
Lacking patience. I have patience for people who shouldn’t know. I have less patience for people who should. Then again, I have two speeds — fast and off — so I do not have a capacity for slow-moving patience.
Your greatest strength.
Authenticity. I don’t have the energy or the interest to pretend to be anyone else. I have never worried what anyone else thinks; I’ve always had a sense of how and what I want to be.
Your idea of happiness.
Time spent with family and friends. Also — any sort of creative stimulus or creative outlet. I don’t think there is any value too great to put on what family and good friends mean in your life. That being said, dogs are humans, and are definitely included in the mix. On the other side, I know that unless I can be around a creative stimulus and put out work that embodies creativity, then I suffer–then I’m not my real self.
Your idea of misery.
Too much free time or sitting in the front row. Too much free time: I’m not a zen-yogi-quiet-time-meditation-candle-light-dark-room kind of person. I’m a bright-lights-lots-of-noise-visual-assault type of person. Also, I would be miserable in the front row — I slept through all my college classes (but managed to keep my scholarship and work my way through school!), so the front row was never a place I wanted to be.
Currently at the top of your shopping lust list.
The perfect season-less black jacket. You can’t put a price on what a well-cut, multi-season black jacket can do for a wardrobe. In today’s more casual world, putting on a black jacket that fits well and feels right– it’s potent. It simplifies the equation. Jackets continue to be important in a wardrobe: they mean “finished,” “complete,” “pulled-together.” And it would have to be black, of course (!), because it goes with anything.
Your desert island beauty product.
I don’t own or wear any makeup, so for me, it would be Sun Bum sunscreen. Sun Bum is the perfect thing to wear in the sun because it offers great protection and a great smell.
The last thing you bought.
Black ankle-length legging jeans from AG Jeans. Like the black jacket, the black color dresses up a basic jean so that it can move from day into evening. The skinnier leg works well with a less fitted top, and I love to layer on top!
I feel most empowered wearing…
Black. Back in my Vogue days, I watched the editors walk the halls looking very streamlined and pulled together in black. It’s also a casual-to-dressed-up look; it’s ageless; and it honestly says that you have a point of view–not to mention that it’s slimming.
Your favorite Magpie Post.
Can I Pull Off a Backpack, and Other Mom Musings. Babies and backpacks — I get that. I had four kids in six years and I can relate to these moments of “is my baby my friend?” Lol. Just remember, lower your expectations; if you get them fed and cleaned, you’ve had a great day. If you can’t get the Instagram moment, it’s okay. The backpack thing takes a minute to get used to because it goes outside the parameters of what most women have carried over time. The backpack redefines how women of all ages can carry things handsfree with confidence. And honestly, traveling with it is amazing. The bag does things that more traditional bags simply don’t do. I’ve been carrying a Prada backpack for 25 years – and now I carry a SCOUT backpack. It’s a high level of efficiency, and frankly — these days it’s pretty cute.
Channel Deb.
Below, a couple of Deb-inspired picks. Hint: all black errythang. Click on images to be taken directly to details!
P.P.S. In case you missed out during the Shopbop sale, this well-priced midi dress sold out VERY QUICKLY in all colorways, but I found it restocked here, and in select colors here!
Well, not a full-fledged one — I’ll need to be able to rattle off subway stations with ease, navigate Fairway without bordering on tears, own a predominantly black and gray wardrobe, and pronounce the word “very” as “vah-ry” to claim true New Yorker status — but I’m certainly on my way, because today, for the very first time, I stood my ground. Literally.
You see, New York is short on space but big on attitude, and you will be trampled or nudged if you stand in one place for long enough–and by long enough, I mean standing still for over ten consecutive seconds. I get that. I’ve understood that principle since before we arrived in the city: if you need to stop and look at your phone, pull over to the side, out of the fracas, to avoid the stampede.
But what I do not get is how, without fail, if two people are walking towards one another on a crowded sidewalk, there will always be one person who moves out of the way of the other, and that one person is invariably me. I would “get it” if I felt compelled to move out of the way 50% of the time. I might even “get it” if I moved out of the way 75% of the time, because I consider myself more aware and alert than the average passerby, and I err on the side of politeness. But 100% of the time!? Meaning out of 100 possible encounters with a stranger, I am 100% always the weaker link who must move herself out of the way? Do New Yorkers smell my politesse? Do they sense I’m not from around these parts? Was no one else raised by a mother who taught good manners?
I’m not sure if it’s because a technician was an hour and half late for his scheduled visit to my apartment this morning, or because my doctor was an hour late to my appointment this afternoon, but as I prepared to step off the downtown C train at 59th street, a gentleman (gentleman is too generous — but we’ll deal with that later) started stepping straight onto the train, directly into my personal space, as if I were invisible.
The Usual Jen would have ducked to the left. She might even have instinctively muttered “sorry” under her breath–an utterance she’d letter scoff at with frustration. (Why does “sorry” roll off my tongue with such ease?)
The New Jen stood still. The man ran right into me, grumbled something, and then moved out of the way.
It was unpleasant. I did not enjoy the experience of a stranger’s stinky black overcoat brushing up against my recently-dry-cleaned trench coat.
But afterwards, I was elated: not only had I had been in the right (everyone knows that there’s an understood Subway protocol that permits those on the train to de-train before passengers board), but I had actually taken up space in this bustling city that can often make you feel sub-atomic or downright invisible at times.
Another way not to feel invisible in this city: wear gingham. Any print or pattern will do, actually, against the sea of black that is New York City, but gingham is v. hot RN (see statement look at top of post!) and I’m all aboard the check express. And, to be clear, you will feel visible, even though nothing can phase a true New Yorker!
My TOP pick are these inexpensive slides (under $20!!), which also come in pink or red! They’d look adorable with an LWD, or with a contrasting color gingham dress!
Also love these Paul Andrew heels, but you can get the look for less with these (<<they truly look like a designer shoe!; the heel shape in particular is so elegant!) I’ve featured this pair in the past, too — but I love them so! They’d make an LWD or a pair of white jeans look amazing.
Le Gingham Swimsuit
I love the bows on this steal (shown below; on super sale for under $30!), but I’m also very into the low back on this situation. This retro style is also intriguing to me right now.
I love the way you rest your head on my shoulder when you are tired. Your head nestles into the nook of my neck and it feels as though we were designed to be in this pose together, that we were pre-ordained to be this way: mother and daughter in repose, rocking in the green-and-white glider in your 8×8 nursery looking over a quiet courtyard off Central Park West in New York City, listening to the quiet buzz of city life, or the errant ambulance, or the hush of rain, or the rise and fall of your breath as you drift off to sleep.
I love your satisfied sigh when you turn to a particularly beloved page of one of your many cherished books. You are a bookworm already, and often afford your occasionally tired and harried mother stretches of twenty or thirty minutes to comb her hair or make her bed or clean the kitchen while you quietly, thoughtfully turn the pages of your books in your crib.
I love your squinty-eyed grin when I catch you doing something silly, like playing peek-a-boo or throwing toys over your shoulder or mimicking something your father is doing.
I love the shriek of glee you make when I chase you into the kitchen, where you are inevitably en route to play with Tilly’s food bowl. “Have you ever seen a happier baby?” your grandfather routinely inquires when in your presence. You’ve been this way — peaceful, easy-to-please, adaptable, ready-to-smile — since the day you were born. We waited a long time for you, and it’s as if you entered the world willing to compensate for the many months — years! — of anxiety and yearning leading up to your birth.
I love the curious, high-pitched “thith?” sound you make, eyebrows raised, when you are trying to point out or ask for something, gesturing with your stubby pointer finger — “this, please?” To your doting, proud-as-a-peacock mother, your inquisitiveness bears the marks of your father’s engineer mind: you routinely print blank copies of paper by depressing buttons on the copier beneath my desk; you long ago learned how to elicit music from your Baby Einstein music set and the sound books in your library; you turn toys over and over in your hands, feeling the nuts and bolts, pointing out screws to us, unbuckling whatever can be unbuckled; you seem always curious to figure out how to take things apart or put them back together. One of the rare things that makes you truly angry — besides having your hands cleaned after dinner — is when I put your babydoll’s clothes back on her. You much prefer the ritual of removing her clothes and then straining to jam her body back in them, but you haven’t yet figured out how to achieve this feat on your own. My help, however, is abhorrent to you: you are determined to figure it out on your own.
I love your confidence around strangers — the way you wave at the doormen, blow kisses at passersby, and coo when you see dogs in front of us in Central Park. You happily sit on the laps of friends and family members you only rarely see, and when the doorbell rings, you immediately drop what you’re doing and crawl with remarkable speed to the door to great our guests.
I love the way you mirror our actions, rocking your babydoll back and forth; attempting to throw Tilly’s toys to her; playing peek-a-boo; saying “boom!” when you move, rockily and unsteadily, from a standing position to a sitting one, after hearing us say the same many times over.
I love that you are thoroughly you, and that you is perfect for us. Just a day or two after you were born, the nurses in the hospital wheeled you off to a nursery for an hour or two so that I could rest. “Would I recognize her if I saw her in a whole row of babies in the nursery?” I asked your dad, my stomach lurching, suddenly fretful and worried I’d not fully taken you in, not admired you in your entirety, not identified all your beautiful features in the 24 hours I’d known you.
“I’d know her anywhere,” your Dad nodded confidently. “And so would you.”
He was right to assuage my concerns, my urgent query a thinly veiled confession of my self-doubt in my new role as your mom. I wanted to be the perfect mother to you, to model the grace and empathy of my own mother, to not only attend to but anticipate your every unique wish and need in the way only moms can–and I want that now, too. I’ve made significant strides, I think; I know the difference between your teething cry and your tired cry. I know when you’re tired. I know when you are in the mood for a belly laugh, and I know when you’re in a state of mind to sit and read books by yourself. I even have a good sense for which books will interest you, and which will be better saved for another month. I know you like the back of my hand — better, probably, as I’ve spent hours and hours over 12 months taking you in.
But he was also right that we’d have known you anywhere. You were you since you were born — a peaceful, curious baby who came into this world with more of a hushed, concerned, rhythmic wail than a scream. You are affectionate, curious, calm, adventurous, observant, silly, and all-around easy-to-love.
You have made our lives full, laughter-riddled, and joyous.
You have made me a stronger woman — someone unafraid to advocate for herself or her daughter — and a kinder one, too, as I tend to cut people slack more frequently owing to the now-seen complexities of parenthood.
You have made me whole.
And so, my sweet girl, while a big part of me struggles to hold back tears at the thought of the many firsts and lasts we have shared together this past year, of the unfairly brisk passing of time, of the fact that the days when I can rock you to sleep in that green and white glider in your 8×8 room overlooking that courtyard off Central Park West are numbered —
the other part of me wants you to know that I have loved you fully and wholly just as you are every single day since the day you were born, and that there is no sense in looking backward when I have youas you are right now just in front of me, my sweet, silly, corn-silk-haired one-year-old daughter.
Love,
Mom
~~~~
Post-Script: Some of My Favorite Minimagpie Posts.
+This post so perfectly captures the last few months leading up to mini’s birth. I can’t read it without tears. For those of you anticipating the birth of a child, or reflecting back on it, I think you’ll appreciate the tender-at-the-bone anticipation.
+Slices of joy when mini was three months old. I love looking back on these early posts — you can see in it the trials and tribulations, agonies and joys, self-doubt and and self-congratulation that attend new motherhood.
+My all-time favorite: firsts and lasts, written — and re-read — with a lump in my throat.
Post-Post-Script: What We Bought for Mini’s First Birthday.
+Mini is wearing this dress today, and she wore this dress to her birthday party yesterday, which had a sort of circus/zoo theme.
Mini turns one on Monday (!), and though I already had a dress picked out for her birthday party tomorrow, I ordered this darling corduroy birthday jumper at the last minute for her actual Big Day. How could I not?! The balloon? The party hat? Too much. (More fab spring weather finds for mini!)
You’re Sooooo Popular: The Easy Breezy Midi.
The most popular items on Le Blog this week:
+Can’t get enough of this dress. I want it in every color.
Last week, Mr. Magpie took me on a date to Bep Ga, a hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese spot that specializes in chicken pho. Mr. Magpie is a pho-a-holic (if you’ve never had it, pho is a fragrant, broth-based soup with vermicelli noodles that you top with basil, bean sprouts, cilantro, a squeeze of lime, and — if you’re inclined — slices of hot peppers and sriracha), and we used to trek up to the far North side of Chicago every week or two for a pho fix from an authentic spot, Tank Noodle, where Mr. Magpie would order — without fail — a large pho with slices of brisket and eye of round. He’d eat his bowl and the half of mine that I could never finish, complaining as he did so (“the noodles are expanding in my stomach!”), but always — always — heave a happy sigh at the very end: “That was good.” Bep Ga brought me back to the no-frills satisfaction of Tank Noodle, leaving us very, very happy. (Bonus: it was probably one of the least expensive dinners we’ve had out since moving to New York.)
After, we walked up to The New Museum, which left us very, very disturbed. It’s avant-garde, shock value art: there was one exhibition that featured plastic prosthetics and doll heads with straws sticking out of their ears, or water burbling out of their mouths, and though the curator’s notes suggested that these installations “incisively critique morality, national identity, religion, and power structures in contemporary society,” the effect was completely lost on me. I was mainly concerned with finding the exit; the exhibition itself was dimly-lit and circular, with viewers milling about in every which way, and it gave off the impression of entrapment. I could be generous and offer that the exhibition was designed as such, but I’m feeling uncharitable, so I’ll just say — whether it was intentional or not — it was not for me.
There was one interesting “installation” that featured a hologram of a gentleman moving about in the most unremarkable of patterns: standing, sitting, stretching, turning. Meanwhile, a professionally-trained opera singer walked around the room in civilian clothes, singing “O Mio Babbino Caro,” carefully avoiding eye contact and seemingly off in her own operatic universe. The effect was cleverly de-centering, and made me think critically about the form — the medium — of opera. We’re so accustomed to seeing an opera singer stand on a raised dais, center-stage, in costume, and almost always planted in place. Here, we weren’t sure where to look; it almost felt improper or untoward to stare at this woman wearing lay clothes as she walked calmly around the hologram, tossing Puccini over her shoulder. But then again: she was part of the “installation,” so didn’t we have a “right” to do so?
It left me thinking about form, about viewership, about permission, and about the unquestioned assumptions I hold about all three.
That was the high point, however. My main critique of the museum is this: the curation notes were overly prescriptive and abstruse. One exhibition was dubbed “Songs for Sabotage” and many of the works in it bore lengthy commentary pointing out the various political and social agendas so obviously imbued in the art (eye roll), and in language that could best be described as self-indulgently academic. There were lots of references to “the self” and “presence” and “post-xyz xyz” and UGH, it left me wretchy and brought to mind a conversation I had in a break room with one of my classmates in graduate school, who was co-teaching a freshmen writing course. We were talking about the syllabus he’d helped organize, and he said, with a self-righteous smirk, “And I’ll throw some LeCan and Heidegger in there, for fun.” My stomach still turns at this comment, as LeCan and Heidegger are particularly erudite philosophers whose works are highly abstract and dense and grossly inappropriate for a first-year writing course; his invocation of them was meant to be shorthand for “I’m smart,” but came off as shorthand for “I’m a pompous know-it-all who thinks I’m smart.” I avoided him in the break room from then on.
But anyway. I didn’t care for the curation notes, which forced the viewer to participate in the framing of the art in a very narrow, political narrative that I honestly didn’t fully buy. Mr. Magpie pointed out that nearly all of the art was produced by artists younger than we are (!), and, while I don’t doubt that the youthful genius behind these works hold strong political standpoints and powerful anti-capitalist messaging, I found it almost unethical that so much of this over-intellectualized interpretive work was being foisted upon voices that may not have such razor-sharp intentions.
What was the last exhibit you visited? Thoughts and reactions?
#Shopaholic:
+Do any of you make espresso at home? Mr. Magpie has perfected the pourover and the French press, but recently mentioned he’d like to learn to make espresso. We don’t have the space or inclination for one of those monstrous investment pieces, but I’ve heard very good things about this inexpensive stovetop espresso maker. Reactions? Would be so amazing to make my lattes at home!
+These toddler cups feel oddly chic to me — something about the shape and colors are YAAAS.
+This shape is very right now, if you want to try the trend without breaking the bank. I’d keep the rest simple and sleek — pair with a bodysuit and unfussy slides like these or these.
P.P.S. I recently re-read this post, written on the eve of moving to New York, and it left me with a huge lump in my throat. Not only for the small memories I captured of our life back then — the sounds of our house, the hush of our nanny’s voice upstairs, the Madeleine Peyroux I was playing — but for the glimpse of the wide-eyed, uncertain me I get while reading it. I feel fortunate to have landed, to have settled, and I am sending extra love to those of you who are in the throes of some major transition right now.
By: Jen Shoop
I recently switched up my moisturizing game, and, so far, I’m impressed with this Weleda facial lotion. It imparts a fresh glow and smells nice (side tangent: I feel like it’s cool to insist on “fragrance free” products, but I love cosmetics with scents…am I alone? What am I missing?). Caveat: I did not read the label closely and therefore did not realize that this $20 “steal” is actually not such a steal since it’s only 1 oz of product. (Classic Jen oversight.) My only gripe with it is that it has a weird skin-feel after it’s settled in for a few seconds — it almost leaves your skin feeling…not tight, but…covered? I don’t know how to describe it, but I’m not nuts about it. Which brings me to the first item on my beauty wishlist…
Beauty Wishlist No. 1: Dr. Jart Ceramidin Cream
I’m going to test-drive Dr. Jart’s Ceramidin Cream next, especially after so many of you guys raved about its deeply moisturizing properties in these comments. I was also considering Drunk Elephant’s B-Hydra, which is described as “a cool glass of water for your thirsty skin,” but think your effusive comments on Dr. Jart’s formula have pushed me over the edge…
Beauty Wishlist No. 2: Bobbi Brown Instant Full Cover Concealer
I’ve blabbed on and on about my fruitless quest for a perfect concealer, but must admit that I’ve been decently happy with this Bobbi Brown concealer I recently started using. It’s thick and opaque — aka, for women like me with serious dark circles under their eyes — but somehow illuminating? It doesn’t look cakey. I blend it in with my eye cream and it works very well. I’d give this 4.5 stars. Still holding out for a 5 star find, but let’s not let perfect get in the way of good enough!
Beauty Wishlist No. 3: The Glossy Eye Look
I’m not normally super into beauty trends (I’ve never contoured and never will — it feels like so much work! — and, though I’m intrigued, I just can’t bring myself to invest the time or money into figuring out things like microneedling…), but I have to say I’m absolutely obsessed with the glossy nude eye trend I’ve been seeing in ad campaigns, on runways, and on the likes of super Instagram stars:
I’ve been recreating the look with my multi-purpose RMS Beauty Living Luminizer, which I wear nearly every day of the week. It’s not a highlighter — it has no color or pearlescence to it — but it adds the slightest bit of glow. I dab it on my cupid’s bow, the inner corners of my eyes, my cheekbones, and the tip of my nose. It makes me look alive, awake, flushed. I’ve been trying it on my lids recently, too, and while it works, it’s maybe a tiny bit gummy for the lids. I recently came across Milk’s Eye Vinyl in nude and was SOLD. Dying to test drive it!
Beauty Wishlist No. 4: Eye Masks
Speaking of eyes, Hitha has sold me on these Wander eye masks she swears by. They promise to “brighten, hydrate, and reduce the appearance of dark circles.” All things I need…
Beauty Wishlist No. 5: Margiela Perfume
Just before sitting down to write this post, I literally scheduled time to run by the Sephora at Columbus Circle to smell Maison Margiela’s Replica Flower Market scent, which smells of “moist petals and snapped stems.” I’ve heard multiple beauty bloggers go insane over this scent, which is a part of the brand’s Replica scent family, which set out to “capture moments, periods, and locations essential to memories.” I love the premise for this label and may have snuck this discovery trio into my cart. Just read the scent descriptions and I’m sure you’ll feel similarly — for example: “Imagine a lazy memory of soft, sunlit warmth. Lazy Sunday Morning combines notes of lily of the valley, patchouli, iris, and white musk to evoke a familiar but forgotten moment—a sun-drenched morning of relaxation.” What genius crafts this copywriting?! I’ve long been convinced that the copywriters responsible for describing scents and beauty products more generally are among the most talented out there!
Beauty Wishlist No. 6: Dyson Hairdryer
The Dyson hairdryer made quite a splash when it arrived on the scene a few years ago (or maybe just last year?) It’s unique design and the fact that it’s made by DYSON attracted quite a bit of attention. I just now got around to reading some reviews, and people rave about how lightweight it is and how dramatically it shortened their blow-dry time, though a few admitted it’s an adjustment owing to the different shape. So, next time my $35 drugstore pick dies (<<this one is very good for its price, though!!!; read my full review here), I may be convinced to upgrade…
Beauty Wishlist No. 7: Make Face Gloss
Somewhat similar to the eye vinyl situation, this “face gloss” is a colorless formula that can be applied directly to clean skin or as a finishing product over a face of makeup; I’d use it in the latter capacity, to sort of seal and finish my look. Have heard great things about this stuff!
Beauty Wishlist No. 8: The Perfect More-Than-Nude-But-Less-Than-Pink Nail Color
I’d sworn off gel/shellac nails for awhile after they totally destroyed my nails, but recently — owing to a particularly crazy social schedule (I’m sooooo popularrrrr) and vacation, decided to go back to gels for a few weeks to make sure my nails always looked nice without having to run to the manicurist as frequently. I’ve been REALLY into CND’s Romantique color, which comes out the softest, prettiest pink but with a touch more white/opacity to it than most of the other pale pinks. I’m OBSESSED. It looks really pretty, clean, and feminine.
P.P.S. My favorite heeled sandal of all time is on sale in the prettiest pink color!; this dress is an epic sale find in cool chambray; and this henley, in the heathered gray (actually more of an ivory/oatmeal IRL) is one of my favorite under $30 finds in a long time.
You could always make things simple on yourself and buy this darling robin’s egg blue dress with coordinating bonnet ($47). You’d have the chic-est babe in the pew, as ice blue is LA COULEUR du jour (more proof here).
Minimagpie Boy Easter Outfit Picks.
For boys, I like this darling set from Foque or this precious style from Luli + Me. As you can see, I’m more on the traditional side of things, but if those are too frou-frou for your tastes (or your husband’s — I find a lot of men have strong opinions on baby clothes for boys!), this head-to-toe Polo look (seersucker!!!!) is too much!
However, my personal top pick for Easter basket is this monogrammed style — not as pricey as some of the other options and — important for those of us tight on space — fabric/collapsible.
Minimagpie Easter Jammies Picks.
If you want to recreate the precious pic at the top of this post, snag this pair of jammies and pair with this stuffy!
I of course always love the prints TBBC puts out, especially these floral beauties, but I’m a little leery of them because I find their sizing runs SO small and narrow and mini is already outgrowing 12-18M clothes in NORMAL SIZES. So does that mean she’d be an 18/24M? I mean, I’ve purchased her several pairs of jammies from TBBC and the legs are SO skinny/tight on her! And she’s not particularly chunky either. I’m burned because I ordered her a pair of gorgeous monogrammed ones and by the time they arrived a few weeks later, she could barely fit into them.
I also love the Easter styles from Old Navy ($12!) — all three prints are adorable! — and, of course, Kissy Kissy always has sweet prints, like this for boys or this for girls.
+Plastic easter eggs — maybe I’ll fill mine with puffs? Mini actually has a few plastic eggs like these that came from a gift set and she LOVES when I open them up and then she helps me snap them closed. (Taking things a step further, this egg toy would probably be well-loved by mini!)
+Books: not particularly Easter-y except for the bunny on the cover, but this has been one of mini’s favorite books since she was itty bitty. She’s recently gotten very into Llama Llama, Red Pajama (she’ll turn the pages and sort of sing/mumble to herself — I think she’s emulating the rhythm of the words when I read it aloud to her!), so this Llama Llama Easter book seems right up her alley. Karen Katz’s Lift the Flap books also tend to go over very well with her — something about the illustrations and colors grab her attention — so this one could be a winner. Finally, for older kids, nothing beats a classic Peter Rabbit box set!
+Mini adores her Haba frog toy (it sort of rattles, and she likes to hold the rope arms), so this chick style would be a darling Easter gift.
+Finally, this bunny stuffy was the first toy mini ever received — my bestie bought it for her before she was born. It is the softest, cuddliest thing.
P.P.P.P.S. For parents short on space: this petite crib is stylish/modern and could fit a number of awkward spaces (since it’s round, it wouldn’t need to rest up flush against a wall, for example).
By: Jen Shoop
Do you have a song that belongs to you and your significant other?
I was reminded, while blissfully marching down memory lane last week, that “our song” was “I Like the Way You Move” by Outkast, from their Speakerboxxx album, which both Mr. Magpie and I loved. [Ed. note: I am required to here run a correction to the fake news I published in this post that shares one of the all-time most cringe-worthy moments of my life, where I stated that Mr. Magpie’s “all-time favorite album” was Lauryn Hill’s Miseducation of Lauryn Hill. Mr. Magpie came home from work that evening defiant: “That was NOT my favorite album,” he said flatly. For this reason, I won’t state on the record that Speakerboxxx or Aquemini or ATLiens are among Mr. Magpie’s favorite albums, but…I’m pretty sure all three would rank highly.]
The lyrics of this song are FILTHY (<<I just re-read them and my face contorted semi-permanently into the shocked face emoji), but the beat is incredible and it transports me to warm-weather drives in Mr. Magpie’s boxy Jeep (nicknamed “Party Girl“), which he’d — improbably enough, given his Very Preppy sartorial preferences — had outfitted with a subwoofer and high-end speakers. You could hear him coming from down the block:
But I know y’all wanted that 808 Can you feel that b-a-s-s, bass But I know y’all wanted that 808 Can you feel that b-a-s-s, bass
I especially remember an evening not long after we started dating, when he took me to a house party back in Arlington, VA hosted by some of his high school friends. I felt like a fish out of water, not knowing anyone and still so young, tender, halting in my relationship with Mr. Magpie — and then the song came on. We had joked about it being our favorite song for some reason or another just a few days prior. He looked at me from across the room, and it was one of the first moments in our relationship where I felt a thrilling sense of ownership, of intimacy with him: he was mine and I was his, anointed alongside the crass lyrics of Outkast.
So you can imagine that we were back to square one when invited to select a song for our first dance many years later. Seven years later, to be exact. Though who’s counting? [Ed. note: I was. I had wanted to marry Mr. Magpie since my fourth year of college — two years into dating — and would have married him right out of school, had he proposed. But all things happen for a reason: our lengthy courtship meant that I had the opportunity to live with my best girlfriend, playing at adulthood while we were still babies, learning to care for our own apartment and deal with issues like mice and spiders all on our own. It also meant that when we got married, we knew deep down in our souls that we were meant to be together. Seven years of dating, interspersed with long distance, meant that we were playing for keeps.]
“What will be your first dance?” asked the manager representing the soul band we’d selected for our reception. We laughed at the thought of ourselves shocking and disgusting all of our loved ones as we paraded out onto the elegant dancefloor of the crown-molding-heavy fanciness of my family’s country club.
“We’ll have to think on that.”
It didn’t take us long, though: we narrowed it down to Aretha Franklin’s “Baby, Baby, Baby,” which is what Mr. Magpie used to call me back then (nowadays, the peculiar and evolving array of nicknames we have for one another is both nauseating and illogical), and Otis Redding’s “Ton of Joy.” At the end of the day, Otis won, because Mr. Magpie rightly pointed out that it would be easier to dance to its slightly more up-tempo rhythm, and Mr. Magpie was suuuurrrrrious about putting on a performance; we even took lessons. And, in general, if there’s ever a question, just say yes to Otis Redding. (How is it even possible for someone to have that amount of soul in his voice? And he died at age 25!? His voice has a lifetime and a half of heartache and experience in it.)
“Ton of Joy” is saved on my iPhone and it came on while I was shuffling through a playlist the other day, walking Tilly. (FWIW, a recipe for feeling all the feels: turn on a nostalgic-leaning playlist and stroll through Central Park while it rains, as I did last Saturday. As I made the familiar loop around Heckscher Ballfields, rain tapping my parka, the pathway clear ahead of me, and Otis bringing me back to my wedding night, I briefly assumed the emotionality of a pubescent teenager: I was a big heart, teetering around on stick figure legs.) But I thought to myself: OK, setting lyrics aside, which is more “us”: Outkast or Otis? Or, rather, how is it that this unlikely pair of performers form two of the tent-poles holding up the canopy of our story together? The one all quick witted beat, the other slow, balladic soul-wrenching? There’s something symmetric about it, honestly: it’s funny how the (in my opinion) cinematic story of our getting-together now has an appropriate soundtrack coming together…
What’s the story behind your song?
Cc: Mackenzie, who has a v. funny story about a v. unlikely song they played at her v. gorgeous wedding.
+This looks like a much-more-expensive SEA blouse I’ve been eyeing…but is less than $60!!
+Do I need a wine fridge? [She asked to everyone and no one in particular.] Hear me out: I had assumed that a wine fridge would be a major appliance and bear with it a major appliance pricetag, but was surprised to find several well-reviewed ones around $100. Somehow, despite the fact that my family consists of 2.5 humans, our fridge is always stocked to capacity. (We cook A LOT. And there’s always a case or two of LaCroix stored in these, a few six-packs of beer, and an assortment of sparkling and white wine cluttering the shelves.) I feel like removing the wine from the equation would be a huge space-saver…
