If you haven’t seen or heard of Robeez shoes, then I’m surprised you even have an internet connection. My daughter lived in them from near day one, like so many other children who get a pair for their first shoes. The designs are adorable, and I love the success story — the company was created by mom Sandra Wilson after losing her airline job to downsizing.
While we’re big fans of the rock n roll around these parts, we also have a soft spot for the country classics. And no, that doesn’t mean Achy-Breaky Heart. Bite your tongue.
One of the hardest wardrobe staples to let go of is definitely the concert tee. Filled with the memories (and aromas) of youthful indiscretion and unfortunate hairstyles, it’s as if tossing the battered old thing is tossing the memories.
As a mama-to-be once again, I am suddenly remembering how absolutely every concern about childbirth and beyond is magnified by sixteen million. It’s not inconceivable that you experience as much anxiety over picking the right pacifier as you do picking the right pediatrician.
I am the great procrastinator. So much so in fact, that it’s a wonder I’m even writing about the December holidays a full calendar month beforehand.
One of the downsides of our charming New York apartment – our toys outnumber our square footage. I fear any holiday gift for the kiddo bigger than a breadbox is going to have trouble finding a permanent home here–except for maybe a breadbox itself. Then at least we could store other toys in it.
When I first had my baby, I spared no expense at procuring the fanciest, most expensive, la-di-da baby lotions and creams from Europe. And then, I promptly gave them away. The smell! Oh my goodness, the smell–so sweet, I felt my insulin levels soar as soon as the cap came off.
It’s no secret that I have a thing for bags. Certainly not to anyone who’s ever opened my closet only to have dozens of them tumbling down on her head. But, as most women know: There’s always room for one more.
Shopping during the first trimester of pregnancy is a nightmare. Not big enough for the materni-tents, but too bloated for my current crop of fitted tees, I resigned myself to being doomed to fashion purgatory for a while.
As I am just beginning to realize, there is no end to the fears we have as parents. Just as our kids outgrow the SIDS risk, we’re worried about mercury in water. When they’re done with the finger in the electric socket phase, we’re reading up on what’s in those plastic Halloween masks.
I spent an entire day wracking my brain, trying to determine why we did not own a proper winter jacket for our baby last winter. Then the all-knowing daddy came to the rescue: "Because we had a Popover." D’oh!