If THIS doesn't invoke the holiday spirit...

Dear Santa:

For Christmas this year I would like to have a mom that doesn't neglect me whilst doing last minute Christmas shopping at her favorite boutique Naartje allowing me to roam freely near the sharp-edged baseboards in the store and trip and fall so I have to go to the ER which was quite frankly a hellish nightmare and have 20 stitches and be totally sedated so the plastic surgeon my mom insisted on summoning to the ER could sew a straight line so I wouldn't look like Frankenstein forever like when I start to date in 20 years.

Thanks again,

Sweet Little Charlotte

(All photos snapped on my phone)

(this one even still just makes me want to cry right this second)

Dear Santa,

I would also love it if you could slip a coupla vials of the antidote to incessant/unproductive motherly guilt in my stocking, while you're at it.

Besitos,

Karen

Digging Deep

Jackson: "Mom, what do you want for Christmas?"

Me: "A Bosch." (top of the line mixer for aspiring domestic goddesses such as myself. My friend Carol Fawson is schooling me in the art of bread making).

Jackson: (perplexed, as he should be) "Way to dig deep, mom."

This is the same Big Guy who, as of late, has been sneaking up ever so early on Sunday mornings, (his father and I ignoring the clanks and clatter in the kitchen at 6:30am on the only day we get to sleep in). He's produced a couple of extremely edible breakfasts.

I'm talking waffles, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and bacon (microwavable, but still).

Love you, my nine year old chef.

"Ode to Pumpernickel"

(skirt above courtesy of Aunt Steph)

This chick kills me. The outfits she comes up with. I gave up trying to suggest clothing ensembles (matching is over-rated) and hairstyles (she can do her own ponytails, thanks).

Her non-conformity both inspires and frustrates me.

Everytime she comes downstairs "ready for preschool, mom!" with a little funk in her trunk, so to speak, I just have to smile and tell her "I love your outfit." This gives her joy.

I imagine what a strong/independent woman she will become. This gives me great joy.

Behold, the spunkification of America:

Yo, Mexicans Know How to Party.

Catholic Church in La Jolla (below)


Que viva la raza on this one. Long live Mexican weddings. The Vildosola family is very special to me. Even McTrepidation kept commenting on what a nice family they were by the end of the night. Mariachis galore. Karlita, the bride having a bucket of Diet Coke and McNuggets brought in from McDonalds during the reception. In-N-Out Burgers delivered to the dancing-weary revelers at midnight? You bet your culito. Karlita's personality came through on EVERY detail of this wedding. Thankfully the airport in San Diego opened back up (after being closed to incoming flights due to heavy fog) and we were only an hour late to the two hour Catholic Mass (in spanish). Mr. McNoHablaEspanol was not saddened by this delay.

Classy or Puritan?

Option #3: Found this shirt at J.Crew. Kind of victorian Ralph Lauren combo. I love the necklace. My daughters didn't want to go to bed they were having so much fun doing the photoshoot. They even did my hair...

Need a post, Bekz?

Dilemma du jour:

Black tie wedding this weekend in San Diego.

(Old friends from Mexicali).

I'll mail anybody a $20 bill if they can find me a floor length evening gown that covers my parts.

And doesn't make me look 84 years old. Why the dearth of modest dresses?

Naturally I blame global warming.

{lacy short dress}

{Black cashmere sweater w/"sugarcane" ballskirt. I do so love the raspberry clutch.}

Photos courtesy of my four year old Ellison.

Too-short drapes courtesy of our landlord.

It just occurred to me...

that the photos on my sidebar are officially over one year old. Perhaps I'll update one day.