Weekend 8.10


My boys are driving me nuts. They’re not doing anything wrong, per se, they are just doing their ‘thing’. But I’m trying to get us all to leave the house and they think they are moving in that general direction, but I know better: we will all die here.

I do not understand why it takes us roughly 8374692813 hours to leave the house. My boys are not babies. I do not need to pack diapers, or sippy cups, or baby sunscreen or blankets or 60 changes of clothing. I do not need to pack snacks. I do not need to pack water. I do not need to wrestle them into car seats and lug them into my car, or bump a stroller down several flights of stairs, or strap them to my chest via a complicated wrap technique learned on YouTube. I have already done these things. We have graduated from that school, summited that mountain, waved goodbye graciously from that float in that particular hometown parade.

The crown passes to you, new Mamas!

Getting out of the house with a baby and a toddler is a special sort of hell. Everyone knows this. But it can be done because there is a list, and, at some point, that list has an end. It might be a long list (and god knows mine was), but if you pack all the things and change all the diapers and click them into whatever you click them into….at some point (even hours later) you get to leave.

We, however, are still in this house. 

I had tried to effectively communicate. I was all “eyes on me” and touched their shoulders while staring into their eyes as I told them — very seriously — that it was time to get dressed.  And then Raines was in the bedroom making vague (but ineffective) dressing motions, and Pax was getting water which, OK, is a pre-cursor at best…..yet the second both boys are in the same room together, they lose all sense of purpose.

Instead of doing anything remotely helpful, Pax starts “friendly punching” his brother who retaliates by wrestling him to the ground. There they both are, rolling around on top of the clothes they are supposed to be wearing. I stare down at both of them, dumbfounded. “FOCUS!!!!” I roar, and they both leap up, clothes flying everywhere. “OK Mom!” Pax yells, launching himself sideways onto the bed. He rebounds off the bed, twisting his body into some sort of airborne pose, then hits the floor, rolling. As he rolls, he scoops up his sweatshirt, and whips it at his brother. Raines dives to the floor, peeling off the ONE SOCK he has managed to put on and fires the sock-bomb back at Pax. Pax drops it down his pants with a grin, and now there they are, rolling around on the floor. Again.

I scoop up random bits of clothes and throw them into the bathroom, dragging one boy with me. I do not know which boy (does it matter?) and I stuff him into the bathroom with the pile of clothes. Door closed. There were threats. 

I return to The Room We Will Never Leave and point at the other remaining blond boy. He correctly guesses my mood and immediately starts making more vague (yet ineffective) dressing motions. Must be Raines.

“Don’t worry! We’re almost ready, Mom!!” one of them calls.

But I know better. We’re in this house until we die.

Easy midi. I’ve had my eye on this simple v-neck midi dress for a couple of weeks…and now it’s 40% off.  I couldn’t decide between the black and the stripe, but, knowing me, I’ll probably do black.  

Me, circa 1990.  There’s something about these Everlane link-stitch sweaters that bring me back. They have that texture and slouchy fit….almost like what J.Crew used to do? In any case, the ‘bone’ one feels perfect for right now, and the other two colors would be gorgeous for Fall.

Travelin’ jeans.  I have a pair of high-rise Lolë jeans that I LOVE for travel. They fit perfectly, and are even comfy on a long flight. Well. They just came out with a new wash in gray, and it’s good. The color is exactly how I like my gray jeans — not uniform, more of a faded black. And while you’re there, you might want to pick up some of my very fav pieces on crazy sale: this black dress, this cropped long sleeve (I layer it over the dress), this stay-put bikini (that’s been REALLY well-tested).

No shame in the denim underwear game.  I’ve been jokingly referring to my beloved super-short, cut-offs as “denim underwear” for years. It started after a reader tried to shame me by coining the term (little did she know: I LOVED IT). But as Cam (who is back! Yay!) recently pointed out….there are now pairs of denim underwear that make mine look like a prairie skirt. ps. Cosmo tried them on. You are welcome.

Laura’s nail polish.  If anyone else swooned over the surprisingly sophisticated purple pedi Laura rocked in her recent post on Chacos(!!)…I’ve got the goods. It’s “Angora Cardi” by Essie, and is the most perfect purple-meets-wine color.  

I cannot be silent….but frankly, I don’t know what to say. Gun violence in this country has reached levels that are beyond horrifying. There have been 255 mass shootings in 2019 alone, resulting in 273 fatalities, and 1,067 injured. Can you imagine if, say, we had had 255 terrorist attacks this year? How different our response would be? (And let’s not ignore the fact that these are, in fact, terrorist attacks…but will never be called such because they’ve been carried out by white American men.) And yet…there’s no meaningful change. I want to scream. The ineffective hand waving, the bullshit ‘thoughts and prayers’ and the inevitable trolls that come out of the woodwork to yell about the 2nd amendment and list random statistics intended to distract and divide. I am done with you. Instead, I am going to start funding organizations like Brady United, one of the oldest gun control advocacy agencies (and the organization that seems to be the most recommended). It’s time to speak with our dollars, because the NRA has no qualms about throwing millions around to try and defeat even the most common-sense gun laws (you can get an idea of how much the NRA sends individual members of Congress, here.) Personally, I’m done talking about this. I’ll be funding it instead.

Immigration is complicated. This is not. After a raid in Mississippi that resulted in the arrest of 680 undocumented immigrants…their children were left, abandoned. The children, American citizens, walked home from school to find their houses empty. Toddlers at daycare simply had no one come and pick them up. Immigration can be a tricky subject, but this much is clear: our immigration policies should never tear children from their parents. Period. I know some parents have already been released (with orders to show up at deportation hearings), but I’ll be following along with @together.rising to see what next steps must be taken.