Apparently my mother didn’t think it was very funny that I posted that I turned 34. I’m 37! And let me be clear: I’m damn proud of it. To celebrate, Macaroon will be on vacation for the next ten days. Ciao!
Today was my birthday and I met it with mixed reviews. I wish I were someone that could be proud of aging but a facial peel that “makes you look ten years older before you look ten years younger” coupled with heavy news regarding someone’s health just kind of made the day a bit of a bummer. Dinner at Matsuhisa and a maxi dress from Trico Field (for me, actually – and only twenty dollars more than the same style for a five year old!) certainly livened my mood. So would this red paper pouf chandelier – a perfect party decoration for any occasion. But mainly I just hate turning 34. Yup, I said it.
You could say that my three and a half year old has the hair of a hockey player. It’s basically a wavy bob with a handful of straight strands that wind themselves into a long rat’s tail. We’ve been wanting to just chop it all off but my nanny begs us not to: “She likes to feel like she has long hair.” Well, last night that all changed. We had a family haircut session (Gemma covered her eyes and proclaimed that she couldn’t watch) and all I could think about while shearing my child’s tresses in slow motion was 16 Candles. Would that make me Jamie Gertz in the scenario? It felt sinister – like I was betraying her. And then! When she turned around and it was like a gorgeous new child, I knew I had done right by her. Below, a celabratory Lieschen Mueller headband – what my little angel should be wearing atop her new, all one-length wavy bob. Time to party! (Jake Ryan not included.)
As a mom, it’s important to have non-mom friends who keep you in check. When I thought I wanted star and heart wrist tattoos (a sweet sentiment between Gemma and I,) my friend Irene kyboshed it. Her exact words were, “do not get a star and heart tattoo, are you serious?” Honesty appreciated. And then I asked my friend Aimee if, as a mom of three, I could pull off a five finger ring and she said that I am still “badass enough” to wear it. It’s being shipped. Here, from Eddie Borgo, my non-mom-approved purchase and yes, I plan to channel 50 Cent while I wear it.
I often fantasize about becoming a Spin instructor. What would my play list look like? What kind of halter top would I cut my shirt into? What would my spin name be? (As inspiration, Jon informed me that his DJ name would be “Cacao.”) Well aside from ability, body and overall personality, my hair is what is holding me back from achieving my dream. It would just be a constant rat’s nest from sweat and heat. There’s not enough dry shampoo in the world. But for the few days per week that I go? A great hair powder does the trick. I once interviewed Brit stylist Annabel Tollman and she raved about the Batiste brand and I got hooked. Plus, it gives me a great idea for my spin name: Batiste (pronounced Ba-tee-stay!)
My daughters went ape shit when they saw me flipping through a Met Gala slideshow on the Huffington Post. It was if they were in the presence of 113 real life princesses. Oh wait! That’s only Lauren Santo Domingo. Was that Belle? No just Hilary Rhoda. This post is an ode to the fashion fest that is blowing up in my home town because sitting in the pouring LA rain, I couldn’t feel farther away. I imagine that these Visionaire designer toys would sit nicely on the bookshelf, next to all our Fancy Nancies.
On our trek to the Urs Fischer exhibit at MOCA (a must-see if you have children here in LA,) we noticed a thriving skate culture Downtown. It’s far from the groovy Hugh Holland Laguna Beach era, but it’s today’s urban LA at its best. This Isabel Marant board – sold at her boutiques – is certainly Melrose Place at its best. Put your little guy on it and let him cruise down the gritty streets of Bev Hills. Later, skater.
Last month I bought Gwyneth’s new cook book and immediately, I felt like I needed to: a) buy a french farm table b) start wearing more American brands and c) run to Heath ceramics to purchase all new serving pieces. Since “c” is the most doable (mainly due to a Regency style home and a commitment to Marni,) I feel as if these Alabama Chanin designed pieces are just what GP ordered. And while I initially bought the book to be inspired for kid’s meals, (and I was – our hits included Japanese Chicken Meatballs, Gluten-Free Fish Fingers and Honey Carrot Sticks,) I’ve actually been cooking from it every night. So I am officially hitting the “Like Button.” And with some new ceramic tableware, oh you know I’ll like it that much more.
It’s almost here: the annual recital for my daughter’s dance school. Every class gets a different song-related catalogue costume (can you see it in your head?) and then the girls stroke and cherish it all year as I stare in disbelief. This year Gemma has some off-the-shoulder corset situation (it could almost be an inappropriate beer commercial) but, Rafi’s class was apparently The Chosen One and will be doing their routine to Flashdance. My gay dad pal and I re-joiced and fought over who would make a better side pony. Below, my dream costume for any dance recital, made by the beautiful Australian brand Tutu du Monde. And I’ll leave you with this: Take your passion! And make it happen! Pictures come alive – you can dance right through your liiiffe!
I spied my stylish friend Leanne’s daughter wearing a floral maxi dress at a recent Baby2Baby event – which, has become a full blown Met Gala for the under eight set. I texted her to find out the retail source and as suspected, it was “that store on Santa Monica – I can’t remember it’s name!” Trico Field, people. Well if I were at all well-versed in photo shop, I would have an arrow pointing to the dress on the far left (though the rest of the get ups are kind of giving it a run for it’s money.) And with Trico Field, you know it’s money - yes, double entendre intended.