I am still going to offer my thoughts on Fall 2011 NYFW here, but it will be a slow trickle. My only excuse is, ‘My kids ate my homework’.

Let me just assure you, this image via Sartorialist NOT a representation of how I personally feel about all things winter. But I do love the enthusiasm. I grew up in Northern Vermont where things like waist high snow and below zero temperatures are part of winter’s everyday reality. When I see giant drifts of snow I don’t want to run and jump into them. I want to run and jump into bed. Or run and jump onto a plane heading South.

So on Wednesday when they announced that NYC public schools would not be closed, believe me, I was right there with my son in expressing my indignity. Luckily it’s only Pre-K so I thumbed my nose at the system and kept the boy home. In the end the storm wasn’t all that bad and I was stuck at home with a bored, wired four year old. It was enough to drive me outside for some peace of mind (or at the very least a break from playing Angry Birds on the ipad). While walking through the park I saw a bunch of kids joyfully rolling in the snow, cheeks all rosy and glowing and I thought, “Huh, what the heck is wrong with my kid?! Why doesn’t he want to be doing that?!” And then I realized…

Oh.

That’s what they mean when parenting involves taking all focus off yourself and thinking instead about what is best for your kids.
So next time it snows (shudder), I’ll muster every ounce of happy mommy-ness and head out to enjoy it with my son.

Lovely Polar Bears and five shades of white (snowball white, polar white, frost white, igloo white, and Arctic white) to color with. Now just imagine the fun of explaining the concept of color variations to a four year old who’d rather be crashing things into walls!

Available online at Toronto Zoo.

Editors Note(s): For the kid who has everything? A Hermes coloring book of course! Puts a whole new level of mommy-neuroticism into play when little Dick or Jane wants to express themselves by coloring outside the lines in this $130 scribble pad!

And for your budding fashionista? The Kate Moss coloring book!

image via the sartorialist

I am attempting to sit for five consecutive minutes, baby asleep and swinging in that weird contraption designed to rock your baby when you would like to do something other than sway back and forth for hours on end. Although, to be honest, I still feel like I’m swaying back and forth. Could possibly be the tequila I drank last night, or could be mother’s version of getting my “land legs” back. My vote is for the tequila. But more on that later. Other boy is contentedly building NYC out of Legos. Convinced he’s going to be an architect, city planner, engineer or some such thing. Probably will end up selling fake drugs to tourists in Tompkins Square Park.

Five minutes spent describing my attempt to steal five minutes. Now I’m really playing with fire. Baby still swinging, boy still building.

So, I suppose it’s worth mentioning that I turned forty. This should also help explain my recent tequila sunrise so to speak. I feel pretty ambiguous about the whole thing. When I turned 39 I had a lofty list of things to accomplish before my fortieth birthday. I found out I was pregnant in December and had a baby instead. I guess now I have to take another look at my list and see what I can accomplish before I turn forty-one. I figure I’ve got this covered since I plan on turning 41 the next of never. I work well when the deadline can be manipulated, ignored and bended to suit myself. Yep. I think I could really make it happen this year folks! I’ll let you know what “it” is just as soon as I figure it out. Feel free to offer up any suggestions you may have.

Confession. I have broken the six weeks, no strenuous activity until your nether regions regain their composure, post pregnancy rule multiple times.

First, I watched the Tracy Andrews post pregnancy workout and then, unable to watch her cute, perky butt for a moment longer while my own rather rotund bottom sat on the couch, actually attempted to do the ab workout. May have been more painful than giving birth itself.

Second, strapped baby into wonderful hands free contraption for many walks because I could not watch one more hour of HGTV or Real Housewives of you name it.

Third, hauled every September issue fashion magazine back to apartment along with baby in aforementioned hands free contraption. Great bicep workout especially when one divides heft of glossies into two bags and swings arms like a speedwalk champion circa 1988 Kathy Smith workout video.

And finally, dusted off wii fit and amazed/horrified myself with the fact that I still remember all the step aerobics moves that I last put into practice when women actually wore thongs to the gym (on the OUTSIDE of their clothes mind you).

With this flurry of physical activity I am sad to report I am still carrying an extra thirty-five pounds. I may be mistaken, but I seem to remember the baby weight from my first pregnancy disappearing effortlessly. This time it looks like I’m going to actually have to work at it which terrifies me to no end. There have certainly been periods of my life where I’ve logged in endless hours at the gym. Endless. Obsessive. Hours. But frankly, I’m pretty lazy and the whole prospect of mandatory exercise and (shudder) diet makes me want to cry. Then again, the alternative, never fitting into my clothes again, makes me want to cry even harder. So, it is facing this sad realization and desperately hoping for an easier alternative, that I sampled a few postpartum reshaping apparatuses. Let’s face it, these things are girdles, and I’d venture to guess, they are about as comfortable as the old school versions. The thing about squeezing your body into sausage casings constructed of elastic and velcro (my torture garments of choice were named the Belly Band and HipShrinx), is that whatever gets squeezed in needs someplace to escape. See image below for visual representation…needless to say, there is no easy way out. The gym it is.

Oh happiness! We’re no longer just two people with a kid. Now we’re a family. Two kids, a dog, and a couch that is far too white and small for such a hairy, sweaty, stinky, pukey, poopy assortment of folk…most of whom are, I must add, male in gender.

*NOTE: In case anyone is interested, or cares, Listen to the Lion is a song from Van Morrison’s Saint Dominic’s Preview , fitting as the latest addition is both a Leo and named Van…

Being a mom opens up a whole new door in jewelry gifting land. The “push present”? Never heard of it until I was preparing to, well, PUSH. And once I got wind that such a thing existed, you better believe I wanted one. A BIG one. Take it from me, no matter what the gift, it doesn’t come close to being enough of a thank you for all the joys of being preggo and then the extra special experience of getting that damn kid out. Hello THREE DAYS of labor. There are those that will say the gift is your heavenly little child.True. But there is nothing wrong with some bling to go along with the bundle of joy.I love this necklace. It’s subtle and doesn’t scream – having a baby has stolen all my sense of style (i.e. pastel and diamond baby booty hanging around neck? Puleez.)