Push Presents

Oh, the controversial 'push presents'. Why should women be 'compensated' for having a baby? Isn't the 'gift of a baby' enough for her? What does the father get for his contribution? Yada, Yada, Yada.

I speak from experience as one who has been there and is firmly 'pro- push presents'. Make that, "pro, pro, pro.'

Here are my answers:

Ofcourse, women CAN'T be compensated for having a baby, even though I think they should be, most definitely. Why? Talk to me after you've done it - I doubt this conversation will be necessary then, though.

Nothing can compare to the 'gift of a baby'. Absolutely nothing. That new baby scent alone is worth its weight in gold. But I fail to see what is wrong with getting even more gold. You know, like the real kind.

Does Dad get- No. He's gotten enough, if you know what I mean. So sue me.

Although I am a die hard 'Pradist', I do not recommend turning one's nose up at the Cartier trinity rolling ring - especially the 'les must de cartier' collection. White, Rose and Yellow interlocking rings on one's right hand are just so... chic. Plus, they are so much fun to play with - that is, if your fingers are not still too fat from pregnancy. Ah, the joys. And they come in the fun red Cartier box, which frankly, is quite refreshing after the sea of tiffany blue boxes, don't you think?

And yeah, that is/was my push present/ birthday present/ anniversary present ( repping 3 decades and 3 babies - You do know there is a recession, right? Combo gifts are the ONLY way to go, trust me). Mama Like. :)

All blinged out, pp

p.s Smooches to SnowCone, for your sweet comment. you are the reason I came out of my hiatus! :)

Legally Blonde and other things you shouldn't admit to on your blog...

But I went to see it. The musical. The Legally Blonde musical, yes, with Elle Woods and pink and sorority girls and gratuitous 'dumbness' (or is it blondeness?). Yup, that one. And I do not feel any dumber. My I.Q doesn't seemed to have dropped. And it was fun! And I (dare I put this in writing?) actually gave the cast a standing 'o' when they were done. (Ducks out of post, in case irate intellectual throws Starbucks and/or No. 2 pencil at screen. Sneaks back in.) Who am I kidding? No one reads this blog anyway, right? Anyway, it was fun and girly and sweet and I went with my girlfriends and we all (gasp) wore something pink and had champagne and fairly good seats (because that is the one perk of being 'old', you can at least afford good seats, right?) and were not out of place and there were more thirty year olds than tweens there and even straight men (double gasp) so it was all good. But my point is, I don't do this enough - i.e hang with friends and do non-mommy stuff and I should. Point number two- I need a new camera. Exhibit A below was taken on my girl friend's camera phone. If there ever was an 'uglifier' - it's this camera. And I certainly am not that fat. So there. p.s. You should really go see Legally Blonde the musical. It was pretty good!



humming 'omg, omg you guys.." pp

PradaPrincipal, interrupted

I was going to have a glamorous pradalicious weekend. This was ordained, because, you see - I deserve it. My husband deserves it. I mean, with two little ones, let's face it - after a while it's hard to find each time for each other, or indeed, even finding each other becomes an egg hunt of sorts. Because one (or both of you) are in opposite sides of the house, hiding from the kids, or watching your shows, or just having 'me' time. So 'us time' gets lost in the shuffle often. Well, Friday night was going to be a nice adult night to do nice adult things. Like go to a premiere. Yes, it was for a Nollywood* movie, but a premiere by any other name...



It was nice to actually think about what I was going to wear. I asked my hubby what the dress code was, and of course he said "jeans and a shirt", which is manspeak for "dunno, didn't ask." Ah, men. Gotta love 'em, bless their uncomplicated souls. So, the fashion wheels started turning - I had to put together something that would not be too dressy, just in case it was a more casual affair and nothing too ' hithereIjustrolledouttabedtocometothisevent' looking. I decided on a black mini DVF wool dress with 3/4 sleeves, purple over-the-knee cashmere socks, black Maryjane shoes, with three or four silver and oxidized chunky silver bracelets and cuffs. Add hoops and a big, bold purple flower pin and I was good to go. I am currently wearing my hair in a chin length bob, so I was just going to sweep it to the side with a couple of barrettes/ hair pins by good ol' 'Goody'. And Viola! Premiere here we come.



Except life happened. And it was Nanny's week off and she actually had plans - I know, who knew, right? And could not be cajoled - nay, threatened :) into staying Friday night and leaving Saturday morning. So, yeah. I watched 'The Game' (fabulous yet underrated show by the way) upstairs in my jammies and hubby watched {insert some political show here} downstairs. Deja vu? Oui. As well as tres pathetic, while we're being honest.



The next day we all (MB, Numero Uno, PP, hubby) went to the Smithsonian to catch the Jim Henson 'Sesame Street/Muppet exhibit and the 'National Air and Space' Museum. I know, how fabulous are we?

Prada's postscript: To be honest, the sesame street exhibit was a bit of a snooze for me and numero uno son - except where they got to make 'puppet faces' and have their own puppet show. But the NASM rocked. I was all giddy with excitement and so was NU son. It was no premiere, but it was fun!

Living the life, :-) pp



*Nigerian Hollywood = Nollywood

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...

Juicy Butt

In my husband's mind, I am a size zero. I don't know if this is due to some kind of weird body dysmorphia thingy, (that is, if you can have body dysmorphia for other people?) or if because he is a lot bigger than me but he thinks I am (and refers to me on occasion as) a "wee thing."

While extremely flattering, it is also very frustrating, as my closet is now home to all kinds of junior- sized, teeny tiny items of clothing, that my hubby (with the best of intentions) has gone out of his way, mind you, to purchase for me. 'Barbie- doll' clothes I call them, these exquisite yet tiny jeans, dresses that come only up to my hip bone and more recently, this box of 'Juicy couture' underwear.

We will leave the discussion of whether a 30- something- year- old -mother- of- two has any business wearing 'day of the week' panties (or ANYTHING by Juicy for that matter) for another day. Let us focus for a mo', on the fact that the underwear can barely fit over my wrist, much less my bum. Sigh. I got your 'Juicy' right here, babe.

The Bootylicious, pp

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.