Like a shorn sheep...

...all fragile and skinny, timid - being led back from its (annual?) shearing. Was MonkeyBoy, my petit bebe, sadly, bebe no more. I always feel that baby's first hair cut is almost akin to a 'mini-manhood' ritual. In some cultures they wrap their prepubescent young men in a sheepskin and feed them with a bottle for a day or so (no kidding). The boys in turn communicate with grunts and squeaks just like a baby, right before they circumcise them. I know, ouch. But thank God MB's was just a haircut. But I still got that choked up feeling and I still took pictures and grabbed a fistful of his kinky crop to remember. you know the good old days, when he was not such a 'mini boy'. Sheesh! Mama getting old, yo!

In closing, there is nothing like a pair of sunglasses to get you feeling dapper again. Very 'Nicole Richie', darling...

mother of li'l men, pp

All Grown...

We are all grown up. Numero Uno turned three last weekend, Monkey boy turned 9 months that same week and I, mother of these two am well, maturing. Finally. I stuck to my guns and had a luau themed low-key production at our gym with just ten invited guests. I completely ignored the list of 18 (yes 18) kids that his teacher proffered and invited (discreetly) just his closest pals. Bad momma, I know. Nothing personal, but there is a recession, you know? And I did those parents a favor. Because who really wants to drag their child at the most inconvenient time (nap time) to yet another 3 year old bash? Exactly. Plus it was raining and hailing outside. My just styled hair went limp immediately and I did not even have a minute to apply lip gloss or change my shirt before the event. I arrived there 5 minutes after my first guests (darn those super-punctual parents) and the guest of honor arrived at least ten minutes after with his Daddy and Monkey boy. Half of our balloon arrangements got missing (it's a long story), the 'party coordinators' (Ha!) acted like they had never thrown a party for anyone before and it was each parent for themselves and their children. Hey, don't look at me lady, I paid to just show up, so there. It was a chaotic mix of scooter riding, bowling pin throwing, duckduckgoose playing three year old mess. My dear husband acted like the last place he wanted to be was at his son's party because -get this - he was tired. Well, bite me. The cake was pushed on its face by Numero Uno son and he blew out his candle before we even started singing happy birthday. But guess what? I did not freak out. I was not suicidal. I will even throw a big birthday party for Monkey Boys first. A really big, tacky, over the top one, with face painting and entertainers. See, we are all 'growed' up. :)

Like fine wine, pp

The Other side of Thirty

This is so like my favorite topic. Because I live it, think about - am it. The thirty somethingish woman of today has quite the challenge on her hands, finding the delicate balance remaining fashionable without being 'trendy', youthful without trying to be too young. no mean feat indeed, in this day when two year olds wear low rise, boot cut jeans. Ha!

What this means is that your taste must - albeit reluctantly change. You can no longer get away with buying those camisoles from forever twenty one, urban outfitters, Bebe. those are for your children. Fictional or otherwise. You are still allowed in Banana Republic fortunately, and embrace staples from Brooks brothers, Ann Taylor and the White House, Black Market store. I personally will never stop getting stuff from Anthropologie. So sue me. but I have come to terms with the fact that I probably will never wear nine West shoes again, and not just because all the teenagers in church go there. The shoes are getting crappier and crappier and I am a bit of a shoe snob/label whore. I just know that the right pair of shoes can never be a bad thing. And it's the first thing the people that matter look at. And judge you by. Shallow, but oh-so true.

So I am more into the understated chic look. The accessories and or the 'interesting camisole, patent leather belt, SHOES are my passion now instead of the big statement bag. Not that I have anything against those, but I'm just in a 'keep em guessing' phase. more long Champ 'Le pliage' bag for work than Fendi B-buckle bag. More Kate Spade/Tory Burch flats than Gucci loafers. More age, more subtlety, I guess. Or maybe like I said, it's a phase...

peace, pp

Buh-Bye...

...thirty-two, hello, thirty three! I'm not an 'ageist' - I know what it really means, but it's also my term for someone obsessed with their age or with being eternally young. On the contrary, I actually do revel in each year, because I truly believe that I do get better and more fab with time. But. Yes, there is a 'but'. Thirty-three just seems. So. Darned. Middle-aged. I mean, come on! I just embraced 'Thirty' it seems and now, all of a sudden, I'm in my 'mid-thirties'. Already???? Well, tell you what - we'll make it the most fabulous mid-thirties it could ever be. So 'Happy birthday to me!' and all that jazz. And bring on the 'middle agedness'...

(Last day of) Thirty Two...

(First day of) Thirty Three...

not bad, prada, not bad...

I'm not who I was...

I have always blogged. I mean even before we were calling it 'blogging'. Waaay back in the day, I was on the net typing, cutting pasting - it was hardly as high tech and simplified back then as it is now and you did stuff the hard way. Before then, I always kept a diary or journal of some sort. You know, the one with the lock and key and before then any spare book I could lay my hands on and write furiously in when no one was watching, at like 12 midnight. Or in some weird encrypted code, that I made up, just so no one could decipher my steamy secrets. Oooh, steamy secrets at sixteen? Yah. Nada. but it made me feel important like I really had something tor hide, you know? Anyway, what sucked was that I invariably almost always forgot my code and I couldn't read it either. I tell you, my life was so complicated.

So why did I bring this up? I stumbled upon an online blog I used to have way back when (I mean, who knew it still existed? Note to self - watch out for carbon(?) / cyber (?) foot prints)and I fell out laughing! Oh, I crack me up, to say the least. What gets me is this really was me, and people really did read it, but it was SO ... gauche is the only word that comes to mind. And how I could be that way at twenty something is beyond me. But click on the link and enjoy the ride. So there is hope for all mankind, for none was as unfabulous as I. Way back when. But while I love the authenticity and 'journey' that was me then, (for in truth I was still finding out who I was), but I am so glad for maturing and morphing and still maintaining my inner me, while letting 'Prada Principal' emerge. Viola! Hello world - doesn't look like she's going back anytime soon. :-)

The moral of this post is - the good thing about being in your thirties is you are no longer in your twenties. Yay!

ps. This is where I talk about my date with my future hubby. We had NO idea that some seven years later, we'd be married with two bambinos. Scary, huh?

By the Way, love, love this song By Brandon Heath titled, aptly, 'I'm not who I was...'
live fabulously, pp

SATC

Yes 'it's' here. 'It' being SATC. SATC being 'Sex and the City'. 'Sex and The City' being, (for all ye 'under rock inhabitants')apparently, the hottest thing since, well, 'Sex And the City' premiered on T.V. I am excited to watch this movie. This is news because, well, I have never watched one single episode from start to finish before. Like Ever. Shocking I know - in some circles I would be shot at sunrise. I even had a friend who bought me a dvd player as a present before they were de riguer just as an incentive for me to go out and get the box set. Or at least one dvd. I would be hooked, she was sure of it. Uh, well she was wrong. I watched it on HBO a while later and I just couldn't get into it. I couldn't relate. I mean, no one I knew was like any of those characters. Not as fabulous, not as sex starved, certainly not as old. This was in my glorious twenties when thirty was, you know, old. Which is why though I am excited to see the movie, I am kind of saddened that I am. I mean, does the fact that I can finally relate to Carrie mean that I am advancing in 'fabulousity' or that I am simply getting old? Like fine wine, of course, but aged nonetheless. I prefer to look at it as a shoe thing. Or maybe it's the more definitive fashion sense that I have acquired over the years, knowing what works for me and having my own style, which actually doesn't make me look demented in a fashion (no pun intended), just me. And stylishly so, if I do say so myself. That being said, I wouldn't be caught dead in that wedding dress. Or the headpiece for that matter. I'm not quite that fabulous, I'm afraid.

smooches, pp

Twenty No More

In my twenties, I had the looks, the body, the glow of youth, with so little effort that I ofcourse did everything that was bad for my skin, my body and general well being. Sleeping in makeup? Check. Picking my face? Yes Ma'am. Eating badly? Whenever possible.
So here I am, mid 30s in 'fact, face and body' and desperately wishing, wanting to be twenty something again. This time a tad wiser and a much better steward of what I was born with, and what's more, armed with better taste, more finances and ergo a better wardrobe. I'll be good this time God, I promise. Pretty please.