a sneak peek...

it's not a clear pic, but i couldn't wait.

can you see that these are absolute fat shots of pure joy? i hope you can...

coming soon to the shoppe. like, tomorrow.

a smidge about halloween...

i don't have much time. the girlies three are still home for some odd reason.

i'm sure other mothers know why school's been closed for the past two days, but you and i both know how details like that bore me to tears. i'm much more interested in knowing that they'll be able to go perfume shopping with me.

i need more tom ford.

when i was a little, i never trick or treated. of course you didn't, karey. you're probably saying right now. you grew up on a farm. and even though you were allergic to the outside, your parents still bought you a goat as a pet.

please. let's not go into the whole pack of dobermans eating heidi story. it's still too soon.

but my non trick or treating histoire has less to do with growing up in the middle of nowhere and way more to do with the fact that i was always sick.

of course you were always sick, karey. you're probably saying right now. you were surely surrounded by loads of people with moles. plus the ones that burrowed in your grandmother's garden.

please. let's not go into the whole finding out at the ripe old age of thirty that it was molds that prompted those weekly allergy shots. it's still too raw.

but i do enjoy how we know all these peccadilloes about each other, don't you?

anyway. my point is that uncle sugar really makes halloween special for our girlies three. that boy knows holidays.

he carves profesh pumpkins, finds two pumpkin seeds molded together in a heart-shape and gives it to me, hides behind corners and scares the bejesus out of all of us, goes on two-hour hikes through the woods and listens to all my chattering nonsense, and bakes and cooks up a total storm.

last night, just after he took the cookies from the oven and just before he turned them into ice-cream sammies, he said the nicest. thing. ever.

something about wanting tons of money so he could spend every day wandering through the woods with me, listening to all my chattering nonsense.

that's a very nice thing. ever.

in other snippets, i am all geeked up that my girlies still don't dress like hoochies for halloween. and i apologize for not throwing up beautiful design-ish photos on this post, but non-hooched girlies three are the most beautiful designs to me. i hope you had a really really excellent halloween! if you want to tell me any stories about yours, i'd smile to read them! xoxo.

delayed reaction...

i can't tell you this story. not the juicy bits.

but i will tell you this: i got a phone call yesterday from a mother. and i don't mean a mother trucker, which was uncle sugar's favorite swear to call adults when he was a little uncle sugar. i mean another mom.

i told you that to tell you this: my initial reaction is always always i'm wrong. you're right. i'll fix. you sit tight. no worries no worries no worries.

that philosophy served me well when we lived overseas. those places never belonged to me, so i always deferred. always. does that make sense?

i guess i continued acquiescing even when we moved home. i still don't feel like this place belongs to me, but i'm working on that. i am.

anyway. this phone call. of course, this woman is all passive aggro. which is fine. whatever. but when i pushed back a little? her response was a vehement no no no! that does NOT sound like MY daughter! i don't believe you.

{i just edited a really juicy bit.}

{and another. maybe three more after that.}

my point, if you're expecting one, is this: know. your. kid.

i was raving to my mary ruffle last night about this - and if you want all the juicy bits, you may ask her to tell you. i don't mind. - and she said something like that part of being a parent is exactly what scares people away from wanting babies: crazy other parents.

but i told her that would be a bad decision. because after phone calls like this one, you and your partner will look at this little person you've made together. in that baby who will always be your baby, you'll see exaggerated versions of your best and, more often than that, your worst. you'll understand exactly what that mother trucker meant when she called to complain, and then you'll giggle. especially when your uncle sugar says something like i know how she is because she's exactly like me...except more like the devil. and then he'll shrug off your worries. remind you that we're making strong girlies three who will never be dependent on other girlies' bad moods or behind-the-scenes mean. and then tell you that you've got to break a few eggs to make an omelet.

{i just deleted a few more juicy bits. plus some swears. that uncle sugar is naughty, did you know? yes, you probably did. calling adults mother truckers when he was seven? i think you've got his number.}

and then, all will be well.

unless you're me.

i hate my initial reaction. i should've pushed back more forcefully. i should've told that woman...i don't know what i could've told a woman like that, but i wish i'd told her...i don't know. i really don't know. and that makes me so mad at myself.

uncle sugar thinks i should've smiled sweetly like i always do - and did - and tell her oh, i know what you're saying! our daughter doesn't suffer fools gladly, but we've been working on this with her!

i like that uncle sugar. very much.

ok. on a different note. i've been raving obsessed about this jamie flannigan who left me a comment or two. her. tumblr. is. insane. check it here. dying. just dying over it. enjoy! and xoxo. thanks for listening to my nonsense. i feel better now.

i'm sorry i've been ignoring you. i've been spending more time with people i could pat on a shoulder or kiss or just brush away a stray sushi bit, if i so desired.

no offense to all my imaginary friends out there, but you and i? we can't really move forward in our relationship until we can pat each other on the shoulder at whim.

we should work on this.

i snuck out for sushi the other night with one of my favorites, and we spent the evening laughing our heads away. just the thought of her makes me want to grab you by the shoulders and look you smack in your sweet browns or clear blues or gorgeous greens and tell you to make sure you have good girlfriends who are more like sisters with every year that passes.

it's a really necessary item for your life. trust.

two shortie stories i wanted to tell you because i want you to giggle like i did:

her husband, who is one of the loveliest men ever made but not exactly the guy who makes a lovely dinner...made dinner. no sides. just the meaty part.

my friend didn't even care. he turned twice as handsome as he already is just by putting that bird in the oven. maybe it was the overnight marinating. either way, she loved it.

so she wasn't going to let the fact that it exploded into tiny black crisps ruin the moment. so they all chewed and chewed with smiles on their faces.

this is really good, she told her husband. she was surprisingly honest.

it's not that bad, her husband agreed. he was honestly surprised.

their four-year old son, though, looked at both of them like they'd lost their minds and declared...

IT! TASTES! LIKE! FIRE!

who says that?! probably the same little guy who looks wistfully at photos of his mom when she was pregnant with his little sister, sighs at the memory of it all, and says...

aww. remember when you ate laila?

oh, you. i hope your day tastes like fire. or just lights up all around you. that'd be a good thing. catch you later. and really. let's work on that sushi date thing. it'd be nice to pat you on your shoulder. xoxo. oh! and in honor of my extra long run this morning, i give you leg inspiration. via just smoke your troubles away.

while my mom was here...

esmé learned how to skip.

nothing earth-shattering, especially for her little age. surely she's years late on this one. but she's lean and lanky and elegant in other moves and i've long left behind those stressed-out milestone and developmental charts. i sort of feel that we all grow up at exactly the right speed.

plus i've never met a thirty-year old who couldn't skip. i have, however, met way too many adults who couldn't hold a conversation - or my interest - like mémé. it's wearing me out.

i thought it beyond lovely that she learned to skip at nordstrom while shopping with my mom. i skip when she's around, too. i may also skip at nordstrom.

freckles and lashes brought to you by malicious mallory. beautiful blog, really. oh! and remind me to tell you about the sweeterie. tomorrow or the next day, ok?

this quote is killing me today...

feeling a little melancholy today. only one more day with my mom and i'm quite the baby.

i wish she could stay forever.

see you in a few days, ok? ok, then. xoxo.

scatterbrained deadlines...

i think this post's title says all i really need to tell you.

i'm smack in the midst of a few assignments, but i wanted to pop in and spill a few words.

my mom is coming to visit us tomorrow and we are crazy-excited. i've painted my toenails indigo. i've eaten very very red meat for the past three days...i think in anticipation of the chill, don't you? i've got to find a minute to tell you about the sweeterie and t.ruffle girls, but i can't find the minute just yet. esmé sings all the time now. mostly, she sings songs about her dolls and how they're going to taser each other. and then she unexpectedly pokes us in the belly. this makes uncle sugar so mad that he starts yelling about THERE'S NO TASERING ALLOWED IN MY HOUSE and when he's really upset HOUDINI DIED BECAUSE SOMEONE TASERED HIM! i don't think that last part is true, nor is the first part, either, because there is definitely tasering happening in his house, still. i bought the sexiest dress, like, ever sold at zara. and it's not black. and someone gave me the sweetest compliment yesterday when she told me you always look so comfortable. so easy. she wondered if it was because i exclusively wore jersey in varying shades of black. i replied that it would certainly explain the comfortable part, but that the easy part was a little too personal. seeing as how we'd only recently met and all.

in other news, i heard the saddest story about little girls who were with their father when he died. the very final minutes. and it brought me straight back to when my own dad died. i remember my very first thought was but who will love me forever now? it was beyond a lonely time, and my stomach still clenches when i revisit it.

anyway. i remember talking to one of my English professors, who was also a priest. long story a little shorter, i can still see myself shaking my head and trying not to cry and asking why those final moments are so...violent. i can't think of another word. i'm sorry.

think about it, he said calmly. the body and the soul have been in love with each other for their entire lifetime. they can't live without each other, but they know they have to part. and it's painful to say goodbye.

ugh. still breaks my heart and pieces it back together all at once. isn't it a reassuring explanation? i thought so, too.

have a sweet day, you. xoxo. photo from capture the castle. i bet people tell her she looks comfortable and easy, too. hee.

housemaids...

we had a sitter called meow last night.

that name made me wish i had one more mackin girlie to name.

she was sweetheart thai, and reminded the girlies three of a housemaid they had somewhere along the way. instant love.

when we first moved back to the states, grae thought and thought about our new life. one day, after a month or two of watching, she decided that having a housemaid was not a good thing. that people should be responsible for themselves and their messes.

of course, you know that lillie and i looked at her like she'd lost her ever-loving mind.

when uncle sugar and i left last night, i saw grae gather up her dolly medical kit and announce to meow, ok. you're dying. i'm going to be your doctor. open up.

people should be responsible for themselves and their messes, but it's also a treat to have someone every once in a while who's fully committed to saying yes to every one of your questionable whims.

i would probably say yes more to questionable whims if i were paid meow's wages, wouldn't you?

do you yay!everyday? that first pic looks like the girlies three when we came home last night. and the second just sends me to the moon with its elegance, yes? love it.

costume {or just plain old bad} idea...

i am all about the esmé dahlia these days, aren't i? my apologies. that girlie is all-consuming to me.

she's experiencing a mean blend of allergies and cold symptoms plus one aggro cough. the little area under her nose has suffered the most.

i told her she looks like she has a moustache, and she just giggled, waved me off, and said well, at least i don't have a beard!

very true. thankful she did not inherit her father's ability to grow a respectable beard in less than ten minutes.

speaking of uncle sugar, he thinks we can color it in black and she can dress up as hitler for halloween.

{crickets.}

there's nothing else to tell you except happy weekend! and that this necklace makes me happy, even though i do not like necklaces. they choke the life out of me. but they look like dahlias, don't they? spotted first on my crack-site {pinterest} but originally on greedy girl and design mom...two more of my crack-sites. i'm sure they'll be pleased to know this. ugh.

this little piggie...

i think esmé is rather sensitive.

this shocks me to no end, because i don't know where the heck she found this trait. although...uncle sugar does get a little weepy when he watches undercover boss. hmmm.

the other day, she asked me how pigs die. i replied that i wasn't exactly sure of the hows. i am, however, all about the whys: bacon is delicious.

she raised her little arms and shouted thank you, piggies, for turning yourselves into great bacon! but i could see through her glee that it really bothered her, especially when she thought about it in terms of mommy pigs and their babes.

just before she turned five, she started crying one night before bed because she never got to give my sister lin a hug before she died. i said but you did! you did! she was the first one to hold you, even!

not a four-year old hug, she protested through her sobs. she would've really liked that.

yes. she would've really liked that. for as wild and as devil-may-care as she was, my sister's heart broke pretty much every seven seconds. it's why she never had babies. she couldn't bear the thought of someone someday being mean or cruel or even just a tad thoughtless with her child. or, for that matter, mine or yours. the very thought of it made her cry a little.

huh. and so now i guess i've finally realized where esmé found this trait.

teaching literacy. ever since she was a little girl, words have danced through her head and in her heart. just one of the things i'm trying to do over here with these girlies three. have a sweet day, you.

click...

hi, you sweetheart little shimmer.

where's an add to shopping basket option when i desperately need one? darn you, pinterest.

guilt...

there's a strange thing going on with me. i'm not craving my espressos anymore.

that's not the strange thing, really. it's more that i feel guilty about no longer being hella enamored with my delonghi and my beans and my gorgeous silsal. they used to be my sun and moon and stars and every dream in between. nightmare, too, if i was out of beans.

i. know. when things are somehow going better-than-well for me, i find guilt in the silliest things. it's such an insane luxury.

do you ever feel like this? supremely undeserving of all the wonderful and totally all well...i brought that on myself, didn't i? when things go south?

a very good reminder for me this morning. thanks for listening. xoxo.

anthony burrill prints found at dirty blonde first. oh! and a friend just suggested i was pregnant, which i am not. but that reminds me of something uncle sugar's mom once told me. "i always knew i was pregnant because for the first three months i couldn't bear to smoke my cigarettes and the taste of my gin tonics nearly made me sick." once this morning sickness subsided, she was apparently good to go! isn't that hilariously old school? i love that story.

well, isn't this the sweetest thing...

imagine it.

lovers affixing locks on some public, somehow agreed-upon and pre-determined space to whisper to the world that the two of them? oh, yes. locked in.

tickled by this more than my heart can tell you. i'm in love with love, aren't you?

have a beautiful weekend, you. special thanks to la flaneuse for finding the above beauty and so much more. xoxo.

and the last september girlie...

i've officially had an esmé for five years today.

i spent all of yesterday stealing kisses and hugs from my littlest because, as i told her repeatedly, this would be my last day with a four-year old esmé.

i didn't realize how this would break her little heart. she actually teared up right before she fell asleep and promised me she'd be just as esmé in the morning.

ugh.

on a lighter note. have i ever told you what a petite gourmande our grae-rose is? her palate is quite exceptional. she seasons and experiments with gusto. watching her in the kitchen is like watching an episode of chopped champions. someday, you'll have to come to a taping of her weekend cooking show with uncle sugar. it's called COOKING! IN! THE! MORNING! with your hosts, gracie and mike.

uncle sugar thinks mike is a good host name.

anyway. she's beyond annoyed that her school lunchroom no longer offers salt. she was storming on and on about this to lill, who couldn't care less about salt but who might be persuaded to start a rally to bring back paprika.

not because she uses it. just because a rally could potentially get her out of P.E.

do you still have salt at your school? grae asked.

yeah, lill answered in a no, duh! sort of a tone. it's at the condoms table.

awesome. and here i just broke them of using the british term for erasers.

not the most appropriate photo for a fifth birthday, but there seems to be very little appropriate in my life this morning! and i do enjoy a deliciously inappropriate kiss, don't you? i knew it. xoxo. {wait! forgot to add the link to this genius blog first found by toby's mom. it's called kissssing. give or take an s. enjoy it!}

brighter...

i'm pleased to report that my previous post was a smidge incorrect.

i was not in a mood. i was sickish. dizzyish. feverish. all of which combined to make me crabbyish.

phrew. because there's nothing i dislike more than a girl in a mood.

on another note altogether, i made a grocery list for, like, the first time ever. {i told you i was ill!} i just looked at that list of nonsense and saw that my esmé had added the word LOVE to it.

i believe i will find it near the jell-o.

not feeling nearly as lucky about the EOM and FOAF she also apparently wants me to buy.

do you read heist? i can't get enough of that darn site. found this brilliant rainbow by helmut smits there. i've seen it before, but it's still so awesome.

stinkbugs...

i am in a mood, i'm afraid.

i think i just bought a very bad hairchop. i can't be sure of this until i find some brave to look in the mirror. but i do know that i whimpered at the salon. admittedly this petite sob escaped while my stylist was using a round brush, but still. and p.s. who. still. uses. a. round. brush.

my espressos aren't working. all eight of them. and i ate two strawberry chobanis lickety-split too-fast to enjoy either one of them.

i just got off the phone with uncle sugar. i imitated an individual we saw on an episode of hoarders so well that it made him guffaw. i like making that boy laugh when he least expects it, so that's a good.

but i'm going to have to leave the house again in a few minutes. and there are about thirty-four stinkbugs poised to attack as soon as i open the door. i am not a fan of bugs that crunch when you kill them.

when the stinkbugs came out last year? i vacuumed them all up. no crunching involved at all. but then a few days and many unnecessary girlie baths later, i learned why they are called stinkbugs in the first place.

would you believe me if i offered you a wobbly smile and a half-hearted singsong have a sweet weekend, you! yeah. i wouldn't, either. i am being small, aren't i?

ahh well. i'm off to have a moment. and another espresso. catch you later, friends. xoxo.

loving artpixie.

stick 'em up...

birthdays are a complete mess around here.

the girlies three were all born in september. somewhere along the way, i thought it'd be genius to celebrate three times for everyone. like, sharing.

we went on a little adventure for lill's twelfth. i'm not sure what we'll be doing for esmé's fifth, but i'm sort of sure it'll include loads of plastic and sobbing. and for the grae ghost's yesterday, i bought them babies.

this one for lill. this one for grae. and this one for esmé. {yes. that is a baby monkey. and I KNOW. insane.}

uncle sugar was beyond creeped out. he cringed and wrinkled up his face like he'd smelled bad perfume {that guy HATES bad perfume.} and said don't you think you're a little old for babies?

i pulled him aside and hisspered would you like them to act older, patrick?

he knew he shouldn't have said that. so he told them a story of when he was about thirteen. he was playing guns outside with his little brother, who is about eight years younger. {not to worry! they weren't real guns! my boy is not that much of a thug.}

so there they were, ripping 'round the yard, pointing their fingers at each other and hiding behind trees, making their boy bullet sounds...and their dad came home from work.

what are you doing, patrick?

playing guns.

don't you think you're a little old to be playing guns?

uncle sugar still remembers thinking ummm. am i? crap. and his dad must've seen him all-of-a-sudden deflate.

eh. i was just kidding. when i was your age, i played guns, too. and then i went out and robbed a bank.

all images from monkeysalwayslook. i love that blog name. and while she's way more earthy than my usual taste, i'm digging how chill her site is, aren't you?

another reprint for my grae-girl...

it's grae-rose's eleventh. this was written on her ninth. i could read it over and over and over plus once more after that...

when lillie was three months old, i took a home pregnancy test.

thirty seconds later, i blocked uncle sugar's view of the telly, waving my blazing fuchsia results in a grand panic.

what? is? this? i sobbed. WHAT? IS? THIS?

i'll not ever forget his reaction. he was holding lill's hands as she napped on his lap, and he calmly looked at me and back at her and back at me and back at her. and smiled. the loveliest smile i've ever seen that man smile, i think.

and he said, this is great...a new best friend for lillie.

and that was that. because grae? at least in uncle sugar's mind, you were made for lillie.

from the very minute you could, you've been her laugh track. and from the very minute you could, you've protected her. whether she needs it or not. and if she gets hurt - even just a little - you scream at everyone near until they fix her. and then you scream at lillie for being in a fix in the first place. and then, when all is well and only when all is well, you finally crumple and have a bit of a cry. because all is well when your lillie is well.

lill was sick last term and stayed home from school for four days. school tomorrow, lill! i announced as i passed through the living room and found her bouncing from couch to couch. but grae followed me to the kitchen.

one more day, mom. she pleaded. just give me one more day.

give you...what?

just give me one more day at school by myself. one more day that i don't have to follow her around and make sure she's safe and no one's hurting her...

grae! that's not your responsibility! you don't need to take care of lill, honey.

oh, mom. she's a fool.

i kept lill home. because even guardian angels need a holiday.

when your aunt lin was living her last summer, you spent july, august, and september just staring at her. you soaked her in until you were nearly overflowing. this was the summer you learned the greatest lessons about love and life. this was also the summer you found your temper. to this day, when you lose it, my heart races right back to that time. and i almost completely always understand.

lin was never without her plastic thermos of water. this water needed to be just right: the perfect temperature and the perfect amount of ice cubes. her nearly-destroyed taste buds could still discern the correct ratio.

only her husband and her mom could make that water for lin. until one day, lin reached for the thermos, and it wasn't there. neither was her husband. nor her mom. but grae-girl was there, and she'd been watching. without saying one word or asking one question, she made lin's water. perfectly, of course.

and lin would tell me, over and over and over. this one...my gracie-rose...she was made for me.

mmmm. maybe.

grae is our protector. our caretaker. she once stood up to a teenaged boy on her school bus when he called a little kid a jew. a few months later, she stood up for the same teenaged boy when someone else called him fat.

she lives wherever we choose to live, but if she had her choice, i know exactly where i'd find her. grae's home is where her grammy lives. a house full of her favorite memories and happiest times.

two years ago, santa surprised us on our flight from amman to chicago. one of his reindeer delivered a letter to the pilot, who then gave it to one of the flight attendants, who then delivered it to us. santa was sending us on one more flight...to disney world! can you imagine the girlies' reactions?

they sobbed. and grae became veryveryvery angry. i don't think she's ever forgiven santa for taking four days away from her time at her grammy's.

when a brand-new esmé would cry for her bottle, i'd let grae hold her while i got everything together. in less than a minute, that baby would be asleep. grae, giggling apologetically at my shock, would whisper, i think esmé thought i was her mommy! and i would whisper back, she wishes she was so lucky! both grae and i knew i was mostly telling the truth.

she saves every penny she earns or finds, dreaming of the fancy toy she'll buy on our next trip to the toy store. but then she sees the homeless palestinian kids on the corner. and that is the end of that.

she will love you until the day after the end, but she is a package deal, i'm afraid. for grae to love you, you must love and protect everyone she loves and protects. and this is not as easy as my grae-girl makes it seem.

so i'm thinking it's just not true. grae was not made for lill. she was not made for my sister. not for esmé or even uncle sugar. and it crushes my heart to write this, but she was not made for me, either.

no, grae. i think you were made for the world.

a few t.ruffles for you. that little girlie skipping is melissa's little chooch, and it's seriously one of my forever favorites. i think it should be a mural.

a reprint sort of a week...

i feel a mute button coming on. nothing personal. i promise.

here's something i posted when esmé was nearly three. she's now nearly five, but not-so-much has changed. she strolled into the kitchen a few days ago, waved to all of us, and exclaimed HIYA, CANCER!

she is not an oncologist. she just plays one at recess.

anyhoo. here goes...

esmé's learned a new parlor trick.

let's be honest. developmentally, esmé isn't exactly setting the world on fire.

she's not yet potty-trained. she doesn't wholeheartedly embrace basic societal expectations. like sharing. it certainly wouldn't hurt if she stopped using naughty compound words, either. every number in esmé's world seems to be three, she may be a wee bit color-blind, and her short-term memory is crap.

but this new skill o' hers? i don't mean to brag, but it's fabulously embarrassing.

our story begins like every classic fairy tale. once upon a last week...blahblahblah...swimsuit search...blahblahblah...why is my bum so plump...blahblahblah...transvestite...blahblahblah...and they lived awkwardly ever after.

allow me to fill in the blahs.

so i'm next-door dressing room neighbors with the loveliest transvestite ever. he and i had a mini-conversation that included the words serendipity, karma, my bum, and michael kors. swimsuit after swimsuit. my mom and my girlies three oohing and ahhing at all the wrong moments.

boobies pop out? ooh! bikini bottoms wedgie my bum? ahh!

but the guy in the next room was having much better luck, judging from the squeals. {his.} plus, the saleswoman was beyond attentive to his unique needs.

truthfully, he was a sweetheart. appreciative. effusive. a tad unsure.

which is exactly when my sweetheart of a mom jumped in.

that one looks great! ever-so-encouragingly.

you think? one finger twirling a synthetic strand of his sandy-colored hair, one hand high on his hip. toned legs apart, body angled, head tilted. the perfect supermodel swimsuit pose.

well played, mister lady.

definitely! i'd buy it, if i were you! i looked at her and thought she was insane...albeit refreshingly open-minded and ever-so-oblivious to ever-so-obvious bulges. just lose those heels!

oh, yes! he agreed, with a giggle. the heels are for the dress. flip-flops for the beach!

all this time, esmé was watching. listening. back and forth. just waiting for the completely inappropriate appropriate moment.

what's him's name, grammy?

uncomfortable glances all around, which mémé ignored. and no answer. which mémé did not ignore.

WHAT'S HIM'S MAN'S NAME?

my mom just shook her head at esmé. confused and wondering why in the world her granddaughter thought this lovely woman was a man.

the poor dude-looks-like-a-lady sort of moonwalked out of esmé's scrutiny. sadly, he did not buy the suit.

grae, mortified, walked away and pretended to be not-a-part-of-this-family.

and lill plugged her nose and clamped her mouth closed to keep her giggles from escaping. which resulted in some ill-timed wind.

and esmé realized she'd just told - unbeknown to her - a killer effective joke. one that cleared the room, even.

WHO'S THAT MAN?! she yelled joyfully to no one. over. and. over. and. over.

we usually try to ignore such naughtiness. it's a phase, don't you think? but our girlie is tenacious and observant and loveslovesloves a good joke. at someone else's expense. {insert glare at uncle sugar for this genetic flaw. while you're at it, also insert pleased smirk on uncle sugar's face.}

even-especially when she spies a manly-looking lady, points with her middle finger, and asks, him's a man?

it may soon become necessary to address this situation. perhaps an occasional we don't call out transvestites in this family! will do. fingers crossed.

mémé. our wild little girlie. not-so-much interested in setting the world on fire. but, man, is she lighting up ours.

linzie hunter prints, as introduced by simple lovely...quite simply, the loveliest blog in my little world. {see jos! i adored you even two years ago!}

thursday...

my boots are coming.

awesome timing, since all the leaves in my view are yellowing. and that means that the chill is coming. i'm way more excited about my boots.

a really lovely fellow wanderer once told me that it takes a year - a full year of holidays and anniversaries and brand new firsts and distance from memories - to feel like you're home. no matter where you've landed. no matter how remote or how urban or how maddeningly in-between. even if you're in a place that was supposed to be your home in the first place. it takes a year.

she was right. it's been about a year since we moved back. a year of complete and utter angst for no reason whatsoever. i lost count of truly miserable moments at, like, seventy eleventy. but somehow? at that one year mark? i magically forgot all the transitional aches and sprains and full-on fractures. all the whining and crybaby weepies. {from me...not the girlies three. sad, i know.} a year of honestly feeling cold, no matter the weather outside.

anyway. i think i'm telling you this just in case you're having a spell. a change that's making you non-stop chilly. some sort of anything that's tripping you up. give it a year. you'll find your balance again.

full disclosure? i still miss my maid. i don't think any amount of time is going to heal that wound.

ok. i've seen this babe on a bunch of tumblrs. tracked it down on flickr. i hope she doesn't mind. her stream is killer kickass haunting.

wednesday...

i think i'm just beginning to realize that i've got my girlies three at schools three.

each school seems to have a lot of rules and timings and forms and events. and, of the lot, i'm only really good with events. it's just the timings of said events that bring me down.

there's so much to this making people business that no one told me at orientation. like all these darn details. and that there'd be loads of other children. i am not a fan of details. i am also not a fan of loads of other children. especially thoughtless ones.

this morning, as we were walking one of the three into one of the three, we spotted this shy little thing in a super-cute plaid outfit. she was tugging on it, which was a solid sign to me that it was fresh new. a few of us complimented the plaid effusively. one of us glared.

ya know, suggested esmé, ya really don't know huh.

she is so new york these days, it's killing me.

but i explained that i still remember every compliment ever thrown at me. and how it's nice to have a bunch of those in your pocket when you get the opposite of compliments.

which lillie caught a little while later.

i'll spare all of us the details. but an otherwise sweetheart of a girl told lillie she looked dull. trust me on this one: dull bounces off lillie. even if you threw a big sticky ball of dull at that girl, there's no way she could ever catch it.

we all have limitations. an inability to be dull is not a bad one with which to be cursed, i think.

anyway. i felt like growling. i can't explain it any better than that. growling, karey? ugh. but, i mean, i did not want lillie to begin her day thinking she looked at all dull. it just felt like this would be one of those opposite of compliments she'd remember.

i know her pockets are overflowing. i do. i'm just...annoyed. does this ever happen to you?

in other news, esmé was so pleased this morning by her outfit sent from her nona in illinois. mommy! she squealed. my pants rhyme with my dress!

clothes should rhyme, yes?

my friend raved about her pins. consider me raving, too. i can't say that i entirely understand how to pinterest, but it is mad addictive to eat up everyone's boards. inspiration overload with every pin. plus? the guys behind it are really nice. i'm pretty sure i met one of them called ben at alt design summit. that's all i need to tell you today, isn't it? i'm thinking it is. and thank you. i feel better about lill already. that's the sweet thing about having you all listen to my silliness. xoxo.

tuesday...

yesterday, esmé and i fed goldfish to our neighborhood fish. the turtles are partial to cheetos, if you're at all interested. i'm thinking you are not.

barbaric cannibal concerns aside, it's always a really relaxing chatty time for the two of us. until. all of a crazy sudden, this wacko-awkward silvery-gray giant of a stick-legged pointy-beaked bird thing swooped in. it was scowling.

i think i'm not a nature girl. i know, i know...but, karey! you grew up on a farm! yes. but i had allergies. i never went outside.

that's not really my point here, if we're optimistically hoping to reach one anytime soon. my point is that down and dirty back-to-my-roots is not my bag. i prefer high-end outdoor experiences. think four seasons forest.

and that disappoints me a little.

also. i'd like not to be the only one in my family who didn't know that mad bird was a heron. or a harry, as mémé calls 'em. as uninterested as i am in those sorts of details, a part of me would like to be that girl in fall fryes and an offhanded burberry, pointing upwards and saying something like look! a ruby-throated hummingbird in that red osier dogwood! oh, where's my camera?!

as it stands now, though, i'm the one traipsing through our woods counting crows and asking my almost-five esmé does this look like poison ivy?

ask me anything about resin bangles. i've got that down. you should remind me to show you the one uncle sugar bought me. i wear it every weekend, whether appropriate or not. cara croninger is cool, isn't she? xo.

monday...

lillie woke up an impossibly sleepy esmé surprisingly swift. she simply told her it was her fifth birthday.

it is not her fifth birthday.

uncle sugar called on his way in to work and asked does the coffee taste funny to you? like, sudsy?

why, no. not to me. in related news, it is apparently flawed science that strong coffee will overpower and magically negate all else. like, say...two squirts of soap and a half-arsed rinse. by me.

i've been giggling all morning. this is life, isn't it? these goofy little moments? nonsense, really, if you think about it. but today they've felt like little kisses.

ok, you. have a sweet monday. i'm off to bake a fake birthday cake for the mémé.

check that. no cake for her. because i just followed a fresh trail of shaving cream from the bath to the linen closet. where at least eight fat white towels are covered in blue gel. esmé claims to know nothing about this. in a strange twist, she now smells like tough beard mint.

not a fan of overalls or necklaces. imogene + willie makes me rethink that statement, yes? scroll through their lookbook to that willie's motorcycle white thermal tee. love? me, too. i'd like to snag it for a fall layer.

black eyes and butch...

uncle sugar and i were chatting last night about the sort of restaurant he'd love to open. one seating a night with the menu based on his groceries and garden yield every morning.

i love it when solid people have sky-scraper dreams.

for two days in a row, i've seen littles head out of school, take one look at the never-ending line of buses, and burst into tears. a sweet blondie all in red plopped down near me yesterday while we waited for lill. her cheeks matched her outfit and she was breathing so damn hard, trying to keep it together even though she knew she'd already lost it.

let me help you, i said.

no. no. no. no. she was full-on panic. i'm done. i'm done. i'm done. i'm done.

exactly. i mean, how many times have you found yourself somewhere you did not want to be, forced to do something you do not want to do.

but there you are.

so anyway. pat was telling me about all these women at work with black eyes. what is the deal? he asked me. have you ever seen more than one person with a black eye? because yesterday, i saw three! and they were all old ladies!

i suggested they might all be in fight club.

i'm way late with butch bakery, but mad in love with the concept. here's the badass manifesto: our objective is simple. we're men. men who like cupcakes. not the frilly pink-frosted sprinkles-and-unicorns kind of cupcakes. we make manly cupcakes. for manly men.