Out of respect for other people's eyes, I actually put thought into what I put on in the morning. Like most people, I don't enjoy looking like poo. But my intentions are often lost in my execution, resulting in me leaving the house in kaftans, silk pajama pants, overalls and muumuus. The 30s are a confusing time for me - style-wise. I can't decide who I want to be, so I end up looking "Bohemian Lumberjack Waiter Gone Nautical." Hmm.
My father thinks everyone should adopt a uniform of navy and gray. I took this piece of advice back in college and was mistaken for a sales person while browsing goods at Barneys. My mother thinks one can never go wrong in a twinset. A lovely fashion tip if I were trying to blend in with the senior citizen set. And if the nugget could speak, she'd probably suggest a pink tutu.
As the old saying goes, it's what's on the inside that counts, but fact of the matter is, how I look on the outside affects how I feel on the inside. Lately, my insides have been feeling confused. And so, next week, my always-impeccably-dressed friend Sophie is coming over to help curate my closet over Thai take-out."* Every item that hasn't been worn in the past two years is being donated to Vietnam Veterans of America and Thredup no matter how beautiful the item looks on the rack or how much I remember paying for it. If it looks like shit on, it's gone.**
Clients of mine hire me to renovate and design their homes because I (supposedly) have acceptable taste and good judgment. I offer suggestions regarding what to salvage and what to demolish, and *gasp* they listen. They trust that I have a vision they don't, and their cooperation makes the final outcome that much better. Next Tuesday, I will trust Sophie and her vision. I just hope she doesn't toss my collection of East sider appropriate flannel and hole-covered jeans...
* Yes, I actually used the word "curate" as if to suggest my closet has items worth curating. I think I just "pulled a Paltrow" - as in Gwyneth Paltrow. Don't hate.
** Mantra for the remains of 2013.
I have a new website in the works, and am all sorts of excited to share it with you. It has always been my hope to showcase my illustration work more professionally; however, seeing that my tech savviness can best be compared to that of a great-grandmother, I decided to call for back-up. I sought out the talent and good taste of my friend Aileen Cheng. Because of this brilliant designer, I will soon be able to display my work with pride. Aileen runs her own studio and specializes in branding. Her work can be seen HERE and HERE. It's been a real treat working with her. If you're ever in the market for some design work, give Aileen a ring. You won't be sorry.
Anyhow, I was asked to take a photo of my workspace for the site, and I found myself feeling torn. Should I be honest to all ten readers of this blog and share an image of the space I actually work in? Imagine an uninspiring desk buried deep in discarded paper, eraser shreds, kitschy souvenirs and chupa chup wrappers. Then imagine a makeup-less me in mismatched pajamas squatting behind it all. Yikes. Not a pretty sight.
If you're anything like me, you probably don't surf the web to look at ugly homes filled with real people stuff. Aspirational images. Curated vignettes. That's what peeps are into pinning nowadays, yeah? For the sake of your eyeballs, I present you the minimalist me. The me I wanna be. It really doesn't take much to draw a picture... some minor lifestyle editing, and I just might achieve the dream.
Remember the munchkin room makeover that I began but *AHEM* never finished? That's right. I'm a sucky mama. Since taking the above snapshot, I've had curtains installed and her crib moved in, but I never did get around to hanging artwork or light fixtures up. Lucky for Olive, I've spent these past two weeks swimming in a sea of fixtures and finishes for other projects, and ooh, I came across this lovely being:
Feast your eyes, folks. Isn't this Cord Pendant lovely? Simple, but luxe. My incredibly talented friend, Brendan Ravenhill, designed it, and I think it'd look crazy-sexy-cool hanging in the middle of the nugget's room. Miss Olive has a photo session with THIS too-cool-for-school photographer on Sunday, and I'm hoping I can pull my poop together by then. Miracles happen, you know.
Abstract-expressionist work I'm looking to frame and display by my nugget.
Strolling with pops on the grounds of Cabot Cove in Kennebunkport.
Olive, you're barely a toddler, yet I'm already imagining how exciting it's going to be the day you're of age to attend summer camp. Your aunt Cindy and I attended day camp as kids (nothing fancy, just the YMCA), and the memories we have from our summers together (elaborate friendship bracelets and disgustingly stinky feet) are ones we will treasure forever. Gosh, peanut. If only you can be so lucky. From Iceland to France to England to the East Coast of the United States, this summer you clocked-in some mayjah mileage. Camp Mama made sure your days abroad were packed with activity; and while you probably won't be remembering any of it, I have plenty of photographic evidence proving that you were well-entertained and living life to its very fullest. With the passing of Labor Day, I'm rushing to post snapshots from your final days of summer 2013. You were a little out there. Perhaps too much so? Your grandaunts won't stop pointing out your toasty skin tone, but hey, you're a California girl.
You dislike hats, but seem to like Mama's.
Clam Shack, Kennebunk ME
Last summer, you couldn't get enough of this stuff.
This summer, you only wanted fries.
My little foodie, no more.
Like your mama, you get excited when in the presence of baked goods.
Congdon's Doughtnuts, Wells, ME
Admiring some whoopie whilst clinging on to a donut hole.
You know your priorities.
Congdon's Doughnuts, Wells, ME
You do not share Mama's love for antiquing and thrifting.
You prefer running through parking lots - under the careful watch of daddy.
Like father, like daughter.
Yours was an Icelandic yogurt-filled summer.
You have a favorite word.
All that goes on top of your head, Naked juice caps included, instantaneously become, "Hat."
Gaga doesn't wear pants.
You don't either.
There's so much more to Maine than lobster rolls,
but your father and I don't care.
Lobster Shack, Cape Elizabeth, ME
Why so serious?
Boston Children's Museum, Boston, MA
Family time with your adorable cousin, Paul.
Unintended bubble bath.
Boston Children's Museum, Boston, MA
You made it out to the 'bu.
You soared like a bird with the help of auntie Mai.
Lady & the Tramp. (Mama's the tramp.)
Consuming beach-appropriate food that your daddy would never give you.
All in all, I think it's safe to say that you had a lovely summer.
Now this blog was never supposed to be all about you, rather about mommy's stupid doodles. See blog title? Yes, Mama's a bit of a narcissist. But seeing that you are my greatest source of inspiration, these entries are more relevant than you think.