Happy Weekend!

Friday, April 30, 2010

Hope you have a lovely, relatively dry weekend!


Date Night

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Whatever it is

I think

I see

becomes a hipstamatic photo op for me!

p.s. Thank you, Dead Weather, for bringing the sexy. Thank you, Hailey, and wine in a box for making it all possible.

The Greens

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

After a Saturday that suggested somebody had seriously pissed off the god of rain and thunder, Sunday emerged as sunny, a tad breezy, but beautiful. The Greens met me downtown for a morning of exploring, strolling and trolley riding. I had an afternoon and evening of trying to talk my ovaries out of going rogue and making
a baby








Pop Tarts

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

pop tart

Some of my clearest high school memories focus not on the actual school but in the predawn hours when it seemed perfectly sane to wake up before sunrise to style my hair before class. After the ritualized showering and gelling and blowdrying and curling and teasing my bangs into some approximation of an origami bird's nest, I'd chill out at the breakfast table with a pop tart and a glass of milk, the kitchen dark and all to myself until my sister would join me for our mandatory 6 AM viewing of those original pop tarts - Jem and the Holograms.

It makes me want to weep at the thought of all those precious lost hours of sleep.

Anyhoo. It should come as no surprise that fewer recipes have made me more crazed than last month's Bon Appetit home made pop tarts. I showed the recipe's photo to Harlow who immediately agreed we needed to drop everything until we were making and eating our own. Incorporating some strawberry jam and fresh strawberries from Jones Orchard, we rolled and floured and froze and baked and finally, sitting at the dinner table, we bit into our powdered sugared pop tarts. They were good. And then Caleb had the idea to place a square of dark chocolate on top, and they were truly outrageous.

Truly truly truly

Green Sneak Peek!

Sunday, April 25, 2010

I can't wait to show more of Evan and the sweet Green family. We had planning snafus and delays and other acts of God, but baby Evan buh-raht - it!


Grave Matters

Friday, April 23, 2010

One of the things I enjoy best about lunches with my friend Michael is that I never know in which direction they will lead. I mean, the conversations will most definitely be morbid, but if they cover ghosts or murderers or cemeteries or famous bank robbers or vanished historic gems is up for grabs. I'm currently reading The Poisoner's Handbook: The Birth of Forensic Medicine in Jazz Age New York by Deborah Blum, so talk of poison (fun fact! arsenic was known by the French as "inheritance powder" because it was used so often to knock off wealthy relatives) naturally led to talk of funeral homes. This led to an eye opening chat about the upselling employed by funeral directors to part the bereaved with their savings.

Because I am fortunate to never have had to plan a loved one's funeral, I've never been exposed to the process. Also because talking about death is one our last taboos. Just typing the words give me a little superstitious twinge. So I was stunned to learn that the average funeral costs $10,000.


I know.

After the casket selection (steel and concrete to "protect loved ones from the elements" - they are being BURIED, correct? - and digging fees and putting the dirt back fees and fees for renting pallbearers and candles and flowers and $80 guestbooks - it's no wonder the funeral business has become an all out racket.

All of this was news to me. What I have long believed is that I don't want to be preserved like a mummy or put out on display, and this news just strengthened those convictions. I am grateful to have a husband who enjoys digging into the morbid just as much as I do, so Caleb and I have indulged in elaborate discussions about our funerals. Well, more precisely, his funeral that will entail a jumpsuit, a motorcycle, a ramp, a ring of fire and a swan dive into the Pacific.

But all the joking aside, I really don't know what he wants. I don't know what I want, except that I would like to make it as cost effective and gentle - for family and the earth - as possible.

This way of thinking - the green burial - has caught on in popularity. Coincidentally Lindsey Melvin just published a story about this very topic in the Commercial Appeal, noting that death is no longer recession proof. Wanting to know more, I picked up yet another light bedside read, Grave Matters: A Journey Through the Modern Funeral Industry to a Natural Way of Burial by Mark Harris It's not for the faint of heart, but I suppose that's the point. In the first chapter, the author takes you on a tour of the funeral parlor by way of two grieving parents and lays out all the ways the director adds and pads various fees.

And you know what I learned?

The next time you go buy those bulk paper towels and the frozen blackberries and a discounted hardback at Costco, you can totally pick up your own casket. Unclear as to whether you can buy those in bulk as well.

Happy weekend :)

The winner!


Congrats, Theogeo! Email me your contact info at medusahead@mac.com and I'll pop a much prettier photo in the mail. I think we all need a palate cleanser after that one.

These boots are made for OMGing

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Normally, Urban Outfitters, I would be put out with you for sending me the wrong order in the mail.

I now have to go back to the post office, deal with crabby postal workers, and pay for your mix up. I understand that with the economy the way it is, you've had to make hard decisions and let go additional hipsters who otherwise would have ironically yet correctly packed my order.

Normally, this would be annoying.

But it is not everyday that you get the gift of what might possibly be


They are so ugly that I am tempted to keep them. Use them as a cautionary tale. Threaten to wear them to teacher conference night when my daughter reaches puberty. Shadowbox frame them. Submit them for a 2050 time capsule. Moonwalk in them. Weed my garden and see if I blend in.

They are so ugly that they are not even on the Urban Outfitters website.

Lest you think I am making this up, here is proof. But click here only if you are ready to witness.

Then come back here and tell me what you would do in them. The one that makes me laugh the hardest wins a prize!

Lillian sneak peek!

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

I had the honor of taking photos of Miss Lillian was she was just days old. She is now well into her teen...months, and her mama is lucky I didn't just eat her up on the spot. More adorableness to come!



The Regatta

Monday, April 19, 2010

Who knew that a school fundraiser would make me fall head over heels for my hometown?










Boudoir teaser

Thursday, April 15, 2010

A little teaser from an excellent boudoir session, complete with the sweetest kimono robe...



Monday, April 12, 2010


Three is an important number.

It's the signal at which we say "cheese!" (or jump off the cliff to avoid the cavalry, knock back the shots, play rochambeau...)

It's a holy trinity, not quadrupledy.

Celebrities tend to die in threes.

3 AM is the witching hour.

Its usually the crappy one in the movie trilogy (see Back to the Future, Rocky, The Godfather)

but awesome in the book version (Return of the King - and I'm not counting the Hobbit here, so back off Tolkien purists)

It is because of this importance that a grave oversight has occurred, one that needs to be corrected.

There is no such thing as the Terrible Twos.

However, the shitstorm that is Three has long gone unheralded, and it's time to put things right.

Terrible Threes
The Year that Must Not be Named
The reason they invented preschool
The reason preschoolers have spring break
Why Mommy needs a frequent shopper card at the Corkscrew


Whatever you want to call it, it is real. I am here to tell you that you are not alone. You are not crazy. However, your child IS and there's pretty much nothing you can do but send YOUR parents flowers and love letters and write hymns praising them for not dumping your three year-old ass at the nearest bus stop when they had the chance. (Come to think of it, the current debate on why parents in the 70s didn't mind letting their children roam the streets unsupervised and driving them around in piles in the back of the station wagon is, for me, taking on a fascinating new bent...)

To be honest, the signs were there at 2. The whining was on full bore. The hilarious 7 AM MOMMEEEEEE I WANT CHOCOLATE MILK - IN THAT CUP - NO THE PINK CUP - NO THAT PINK CUP - NO YOU DIDN'T POUR IT RIGHT - HOLD ME WHILE YOU POUR IT - I DIDN'T WANT (SOB SOB) THAT PINK CUP - I DON'T WANT CHOCOLATE MILK!! was already familiar.

Suddenly it was all mommy, ALL the time, just like when she was an infant, but now a thirty pounder with extra sass. Is that my leg? No, my good sir, that would be my daughter. She just likes to hang out here, attached to my body, doing a very clever Harlow-shaped appendage impression. This becomes especially tricky when 1) eating breakfast 2) using the restroom 3) sleeping 4)working 5) thinking

When not on me, she does a spot on impression of her mother, hands on hips, bottom lip jutted, and a howl that I fear will inspire our apartment neighbors to leave dead birds and voodoo mess on our welcome mat. Add in a princess dress, eye shadow on her lips and a duct-taped tiara, and she is truly the most adorably deranged baby beast your reassuring pediatrician ever saw.

Of course she's not like this 24-7. Three year olds are too clever to be categorized so simply. It's a big, scary world, and they are just now starting to get a taste of it. Of course they need the reassurance. But so does a freaked out parent.

The consistent advice I've received says to cherish this time while you fight over the Ariel underwear vs. Hello Kitty, the wearing pajamas with mary janes, because one day your kid will want nothing to do with you while you yearn to rake your fingers through the curls you used to struggle to put into princess Belle ponytails. It doesn't make being yelled at by a creature completely incapable of reason fun, but it helps in those moments, pre-coffee, when a child begs to huddle on your lap while you're responding to a completely separate call of nature. I will try to remember that I am mom. I am safe haven, and that I am the absolute best thing she knows.

Who else is going to think that of you while you are on the potty?

Music Monday

Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Janelle Monae.

I am Love

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Oh my how I am (in) Love with this trailer. The font. The music. The art direction. The Tilda!

I am Love

Scenes from a weekend

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Mine was filled with puppies and bubbles and princesses and babies. Hope yours was a lovely one!

My creation

Alex Prager

It hurts me just how badly I want to own one of Alex Prager's prints. Especially this one from her Big Valley series 2008 titled "Susie and Friends":

Single Ladies

Saturday, April 3, 2010

I didn't think it would even be remotely possible to wring more humor out of people singing/dancing to Single Ladies, but I'm so happy to be proven wrong:

My head hurts

Friday, April 2, 2010

Once upon a time, there was a girl who liked to take pictures. She started taking so many that she liked to share them online, but as soon as she learned how to post one, they kept changing the rules on her, and so she started using photoshop and floundering around like an ignoramus, not understanding the technical jargon even though the tutorials had "rad" "rock and roll" music designed to make her feel like she was cool in spite of the fact she was ignoring her kid and forgetting to go play outside and she found herself wasting money on actions that promised to make things even easier but resulted in a depressed, un-cool, extremely-behind-deadline mommy who wondered how all these other photographers were blessed with the brains of graphic designers and did THEIR kids angrily snap crayons and go on a hunger strike unless they were sitting on your lap and deface your apartment walls and apologize by saying I WUB you, mommy, and then do it again? AND show a disturbing amount of interest in littering?

So I'm going to go outside now.

But before I do, I'm gonna leave you with one unsized, unstomped, unphotoshopped, unradded picture that might explain why my kid's head just hasn't been quite right since we left Disney.