Tuesday, January 30, 2018

H&M: Mommy and me shopping

Has your child ever projectile vomited in the car?

If you said, "Yaaaaaassssss, sister, testify, it is straight traumatizing, almost as bad as birthin' that baby!" then you know I was in zero rush to get V in the car after a big eggslut of a breakfast.

(Background: Ever since we turned Mini Diabolina's car seat forward, she has developed motion sickness. So now I live in fear of defcon 5 vomit in every nook and cranny of her person, her car seat and my back seat.)

Instead of our planned meteorite exhibit (lord help us, she's a space camp nerd), I convinced Ms. VV that we could find an outfit for her to match her new Boo doll (from Monsters Inc. for the Pixar uninitiated). And she agreed because fashion, duh.


As soon as she saw the new Beverly Center lounges, she was in heaven.  "Let's just hang here, mama!" I let her roll around on everything as if she was rolling at a 90s rave. Again, it's lovely, Bev Cen, but really all the disruption for this?


Eventually we moved on but were stopped dead in our tracks by the siren call of Dolce & Gabbana.


The color!


The mixed prints!


The styling.

Vivian begged to go in the store. Who is this kid???  MY kid, that's who.  It must be in our Italian blood, man, this love of the playful, the ornate, the overtly feminine.

But I wasn't in the mood to paw beautiful things that remind me of a former life; one when I had fabulous occasion to wear fabulous things. Plus the only thing worse than your child throwing up in your car, would be your child farting in Dolce & Gabbana. And I had a sense she was itching to let one rip after all that OJ at eggslut.

Crestfallen, she asked what store we could go in. I made her read me the name on the window: H&M.  It's become a go-to for Vivian's closet, especially summer dresses and winter sweaters. Lately, I will occasionally score a $10 sweatshirt there that makes me feel athleisure chic. Plus, I won't mind if it gets ruined with slime or paint or general kid-ness. Such is my sartorial life now. Sigh.


I was struck with how much color was in store post-holidays. Also bold winter florals galore. Very D&G.



A dash of Diane Von Furstenberg




Crossed with Gucci garish.



The darker florals were probably the most work wearable.



I don't normally photograph clothing in stores anymore.


So Vivian was confused and started jumping into shots.


Ah to be narcissistically young again. 


Suddenly, we were pointing out our favorite pieces to each other - she is all about "LOOK AT ME COLOR" - and having the cutest time browsing, like real girlfriends, not master (her) and servant (me). Yay for 3.5!!!


 I found her this Monster's Inc coat. Tres Sully.


She spotted the ideal Jack Skellington pants. "We HAVE to tell, Uncle Jason!" That's Sable Crow who loves The Nightmare Before Christmas just like her, btw.  


We both squealed when we saw this coat. Elmo realness, anyone???


But my favorite prints were these Valentine's Day dreams.


I love the idea of pajama dressing...since 2011, remember??



It never quite works on me (too thick waisted? too short? too not white?). But boy do I fantasize about being a turbaned mom that DGAF and looks bedroom chic at the library, Target and dance class.


Ideally with THOSE Gucci slides


And a Clare V pouch (Side note: How is it that some toddler mothers don't need to carry huge bags? Why am I the only sherpa whose purse has turned into a dumpster full of shit for my kid?)


Headed over to the kids section to stave off the impulse pajama buy I felt brewing.  


Not as many florals as I'd expected but some real cuties





Not that she needs clothes right now. So I focused on accessories. Saw this adorable V day headband. Not five minutes later, Vivian spotted it and said, "I need this AND I want it." Me: I'm so proud of you.


This child is literally me. She looks exactly like I me at that age (minus Daddy's big lips). We have the same taste in food and fashion.  She wears cool clothes with such ease. She knows exactly what she likes. She is hilarious.


I let her go cray in the sale section cuz HER FACE. Also she is chic on a budget.

Faux fur snood: $3
Pom pom clips: $.50
Headband: $4
Purse: $3


The handbag she chose was giving me Cult Gaia vibes. Obsessed. Want. Don't need. But need.

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Clearly Vivian is the heir apparent to Da Fashionista title. Maybe some V-logging until she learns to type? Will definitely need this little number.



Saturday, January 27, 2018

egglsut at Beverly Center

I've always been one to keep it real. And for realz: motherhood has sucked the foodie and fashion fun out of my life. 100%.

To back up, I've been a stay at home mom now for over TWO years. Words I never imagined typing, much less living. I've been doing some consulting during that time. But, for all intents and purposes, I've been focused on raising my toddler, magical brilliant gorgeous unicorn that she is.


As any new-ish mama can tell you, it's been the best of times, it's been the worst of times. I've obviously adored getting to know my daughter, being there for every single milestone, growing into motherhood.


And yet it's been disorienting and isolating in ways I didn't expect. Your child's schedule becomes your schedule. Her friends' parents become your friends by default. Your life isn't your own anymore. You're always tired and never well-groomed.

Plus, I actually miss work; the identity intertwined with it, being part of a team, contributing financially to our family. Most of all, I miss writing. For nearly 15 years, I was gainfully employed as a writer. What a goddamn lucky bitch.

So, despite the true gift that this time with my child has been, I've felt lost, not myself, unsure. I don't know if it's the new year, or the fact that she turned 3 and a half last week (to much fanfare!), but I've been feeling change in the air. Like a piece of myself that's been missing is about to make a return.

And on Friday, I realized what it might be: this blog, writing, chronicling things that are meaningful to ME, no matter how small.

V and I had one of those perfect meandering agenda-free mornings. I was really present. And as I snapped dozens of photos per usual, I saw this blog post in my mind's eye. Just like I did when I used to blog daily.


Back then, I used to find the "hook" or "story" of the day, every day, and actually SEE the blog post in my head before I wrote it and laid it out. It was second nature to me back in the day. But I hadn't had that creative process happen in my head in a loooooong time so it felt amazing. I felt like me again. That felt good.

So here goes. Just a little flexing of an old muscle starring the new piggie fashionista in town, MY BABY. I hope I can keep "seeing" the story of our days together.

Eggsluts R Us

Embarrassing confession: until Friday, I was an egg slut that had never been to eggslut.

In my defense, when it opened in 2011, I wasn't going downtown during the day often. Plus I didn't "do lines" (read: I thought/think I'm famous.)

When it opened in Glendale a year ago, I sooooo wanted to be a slut for eggs but ugh Vivian. She eats everything EXCEPT sandwiches. FML. No point dealing with a two year old at a restaurant where she very vocally denounces the house specialty.

Fast forward to last week, when I saw eggslut was opening at the Beverly Center. So close to us, so no excuse. I decided I was going on opening day, tiny human in tow, dammit.

But Friday came and my tiny overlord woke up WOKE, uninterested in trying anything new.  Ugh to toddlers who think their mothers are trying to poison them, amirite? I convinced her that bacon, her ride or die in life, would be available and she begrudgingly relented.

We got to the Beverly Center and OMYGOD the parking was an ordeal with the construction! Was there a few months ago and it wasn't so bad. I immediately regretted my decision to do me and started spiraling into plans b, c and d while making the problem into fun (wheeeeee, this circling is like a ride at Disneyland!!!).  Like any MacGyver mother can.

After a good 10 minutes, we finally found a spot. Pro tip: Look for the elevators on the 5th floor since most of the La Cienega escalators are inoperable and if you're like me, creepy parking garage stairs are a NOPE. Even better pro tip: walk or park on the street until all the construction is over.

Said elevators did have a new infinity room at the Broad vibe. Cool. I don't know if it's hundreds-of-millions-of-dollars-for-the-remodel-cool but it makes for a cute pic. Thanks, Bev Cen.


Inside eggslut, it was that sleek woodsy trendy coffee shop in San Francisco vibe. You know the one, where everyone is in on the joke except you vibe? Where the millennial employee out of central casting acts fairly exasperated if it's your first time there and you have to look at a menu?  Like Philz Coffee?

Anyway, there was only a slight line in front of us (purr-fect!) but had to wait for one of the only three normal tables to open up (hello, anxiety and plans b, c, and d again). Otherwise my tiny person would have for sure free-fallen off the dozens of high stools available (#nobueno and #parentproblems).

Her order:

For mama:


Verdict: My slutty sandwich was perfection.

The soft eggs with chives were all kids of delicate and creamy. The spice was slight, not overwhelming; my mini me even had some.  However, it was VERY rich with the brioche. Might opt for the arugula instead of the bun next time. Who am I? An over 40 mother looking to lose 15 pounds that's who.

Hers was basic bitch i.e. perfect for a toddler. She hovered it, one element at a time, never as a sandwich, god forbid. She is a carboholic and the bun was even a bit much for her. Coffee and OJ were better than expected, btw.

Ideal grab and go place, very NYC. ( p.s. God do I miss New York.) Perfect for the Cedars crowd just across the street. Wish I had had that option after giving birth to this 8 lb 12 oz beauty - it would have hit the spot in my broken, bloated body.


At one point, she said dreamily, "Let's come here every day, mama." Egg slut success story right there!


As we were leaving, I plotted our next stop on the new Beverly Center pigging train:
Michael Mina's Cal Mare.


Won't be a hard sell. She loves her some "pancy pish."


Shopping at H&M, dreaming of Dolce & Gabbana



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