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My Denim Dress

I purchased this Cloth & Stone’s Chambray Maxi Dress from Anthropologie as a popback in October. It was 68% off. It is so comfortable and soft. It is one of my favorite dresses in my closet.

It is strapless! Gulp!

This means I can only wear it in the fall and the winter. I have to wear a cardigan with it.

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I first styled it with my little Angel of the North Pointelle Wisp Cardigan in olive that I bought for 74% off around the same time.

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And recently I styled it with my Anthropologie Pooch Posse Cardigan I bought in the summertime when it hit sale. It has a bulldog on it! How could I resist?

I wore this to The Lazy Dog Cafe. ‘Cause I could. I cannot resist a theme.

How do you style a denim dress or skirt? So far, I have been boring with this dress and have only have paired it with cardigans. Any other ideas on how to style it without revealing that the dress is strapless?

* P.S. I shared this on The Pleated Poppy!

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It’s The Little Things: A Funny Spider Story

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I had a post about a product half-written for my Littlest Things weekly post. I kept trying to sit down and finish it, but after yesterday’s post, my heart just felt sad. And whenever that happens, all I want to do is laugh. And the best way I can think of laughing is to poke fun at myself. So I am going to toss all logic out the window and just share a funny thing that happened to me a couple of weeks ago.

First, you might need the backstory if you are new here. The short version is, I don’t kill Daddy Long Leg Spiders in my house. It is a craziness tradition passed down from my grandmother to my mother to me (although she recently told me she has begun to clear them out. Traitor). My husband goes along with it. In fact, he is the wrangler of the spiders. He moves them from spot to spot. With his barehands. Yep, he is a regular old enabler CowSpiderboy.

Second, my husband and I take baths together. This is the part where my children run through the house screaming and crying over too much sharing. But we do. In a completely platonic way. It is the best time to unwind and talk over our day. And we are guaranteed that we will not be interrupted.

Okay. Now that both of those disturbing and freaky facts are out of the way, we can finally begin:

My husband and I were taking a bath. We were conversing. And everything seemed to be going smoothly.

But halfway through the bath, my husband looked at me and a horrified expression broke out across his face. He was staring at the top of my head. There obviously was something on it.

I knew.

I knew that I was going to die.

“WHAT IS IT?!” I immediately screamed. Because panicking is what I do best.

Instead of answering my question, my husband gave me these instructions, “Don’t. Move.”

So, what would you do?

Would you sit there calmly not knowing what was on your head? Would you wait for an explanation?

Or would you do what I did and lose your mind?

I shrieked, “IS IT A BLACK WIDOW?!”

You are probably wondering why I would immediately jump to Black Widow. And I am going to have to answer, I have no flipping idea. No, we do not have an infestation of Black Widows… At our house. Yes, we do have an infestation of crazy… In our minds.

No reply.

“IS. IT. A. BLACK. WIDOW???!!!

Still no reply.

So, at this point I know. I know I have a black widow on my head and it is going to bite me. And I am going to die. My head all bloated and disfigured in the bathtub. My naked body wrinkled and cold waiting for the coroner to come.

I began to thrash and scream. I was trying to drown the black widow in the bathtub. If I was going to be humiliated, I was taking the little sucker down with me.

My husband quickly jumped out of the bathtub. He calmly told me to stop moving around.

“AM I DEAD?! DID IT BITE ME?!” I managed to scream in between dunking my head over and over into the water. Water was sloshing everywhere. My head was getting banged against the faucet. I am a treat. A downright gift to marriage.

All of a sudden my husband grabbed my legs from outside the bathtub. Then he dragged me feet first and yanked me onto the cold tile floor.

First, can I tell you how much that hurt? My back will never be the same.

I was sobbing.

And let’s pause for a moment and reflect on the fact that this scenario is happening in the buff.

You’re welcome.

I couldn’t feel where I had been injected, but I knew my head must be the size of a watermelon. “WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE? CALL 9-1-1! MAYBE THEY CAN GIVE ME AN ANTIDOTE!”

My husband was stoically quiet.

“WHY AREN’T YOU HELPING ME? I’M DEAD! CALL 9-1-1!”

Still ignoring me. Still quiet. He was staring into the churning water that had just moments before been a peaceful sanctuary.

“Is it dead?” I managed to mutter in-between rocking myself on the hard floor.

I wiped my eyes and peered into the bathtub. I couldn’t find the Black Widow.

I didn’t see anything.

“Where is it?”

Then another horrifying thought occurred to me and I lurched to my wobbly feet. “IS IT STILL ON ME? OH MY GOD! GET IT!”

My husband was in a quiet ponder. He just pointed to a tiny shape in the bathtub. It looked like a small wadded up ball of string.

“It’s right there.”

“That’s the Black Widow?!”

It sure didn’t look like one.

My husband sighed. “There was no Black Widow. It was just a Daddy Long Legs.”

If one month ago, you felt the Earth tilt on its orbit, shudder, and then keep on spinning, please know that that was just my emotions catching up with my brain. Or maybe the following syllable being screeched. “WHAT?!”

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“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY THAT? You know I’m not scared of Daddy Long Legs!” I paused. “And why didn’t you tell me it wasn’t a black widow?”

My husband looked resigned as he scooped the tragic fellow of my tale from the tub. “You didn’t give me a chance. You just started freaking out.”

“Well, you made me freak out when you wouldn’t answer me.”

It was at this point my back that had been dragged across the side of the bathtub began to throb. “And my back! Why did you drag me out of the bathtub?”

“I thought you were going to drown yourself. You should have seen it. You were flailing. You were going to get hurt.”

I rubbed my back, “Yea. Well. Next time, just say it’s a Daddy Long Legs. Then none of this would have happened.”

I said, “next time,” because it’s us. There will always be a next time.

I mean with as many Daddy Long Legs I keep in my house, it was only a matter of time before one made it into a fashion post. Poor fellow. All he wanted to be was a hat. I prefer them much better when they are just pretending to be art on the wall.

I’m quite terrified some of them are going to gather together and make me a necklace.

Hey! I’m just like Cinderella.

Only without a fairy godmother.

Or a glass slipper.

Although, I do have plenty of chores to do. And creatures at my beck-in-call.

Let’s just hope I never get invited to a ball.

I shudder to think what those spiders will come up with as a dress.

Besides, I don’t think my poor prince husband or my back can take any more fashion assistance from our eight-legged guests.

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It’s the little things: a funny story coming from terror. Or learning something new about yourself.

Have you had a similar thing happen to you? Do you kill the spiders in your home? Did you learn any life lessons this week?

My husband has. He has definitely learned some valuable lessons from all of this.

1. He married a crazy person.

2. That crazy person wants to keep spiders all over the house.

3. When one of those spiders crawls onto her she will immediately freak out and attempt a drowning suicide.

4. Relaxing baths should just be called baths around here.

5. He should have been a cowboy.

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“Where Oh Where Oh Where Is…

Shadow?” Anyone? Oh, please disregard my wandering thoughts. I am completely losing it over here.

Where did the time go? Seriously, I have approximately 5% done that I need to have done right now. But instead of doing those things I am writing a post. Funny how I always choose the more fun thing to do.

And I forgot to remove the darn garland again! For every single picture. On each and every day. You think I could remember one time. I did remember yesterday and today, so there is that advantage. Yep, that word (ho) appears in almost every single outfit photo in this post. Is the universe trying to tell me something? Well… ho, ho, ho! I’m jolly!

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I purchased the Anthropologie Petalblush Dress on sale in a size small during the additional 20% off sale dresses promotion. I am very glad I did, but I am almost wishing I would have kept the medium and not the small. The small might be a little…too small.

I paired it with a grey scarf and mustard cable knit tights from H & M.

I wore this on a day I knew was going to be really tough. I figured the bright colors would be cheerful. They were. The day ended up not being as draining as I feared.

And the muppet fringe? Well, I gotta tell you, it actually made me happy. It is nice to have a little extra support even if it is in the form of a dissected puppet. Comforting.

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This photo was taken the next day. I look as tired as I felt. It was really a beautiful day in Southern California, though. It was nice to wear short sleeves and bare legs. I wore my mustard Circle The Globe skirt that I bought off of eBay last year. It had previously been too big, but I recently had the waist taken in. Gotta love a good tailor.

The hedgehog shirt (Creature Feature Top ) is one of my favorites. I previously wore it here. The necklace is the Corallina Necklace from Anthropologie now missing a link. And the shoes are Anthropologie’s Ruffled Shooties (I purchased my usual 8 during the Black Friday sale. Probably could have sized down one, but they were all sold out).

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I paired my Anthroplogie Ruffled Sweater Vest (previously worn here and here) with my Free People Miles Of Henley Dress in charcoal. I have said it before, but this vest is my favorite purchase of the year. Yes, year. I find myself wearing it at least twice a week. There is another mom at school with one. I hope we do not show up on the same day wearing it.

The earrings are Lucky Brand. The boots are vintage.

How are you holding up this week? I am just completely and utterly overwhelmed. I have no idea how I am going to accomplish everything anything. Any suggestions?

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* Oh, and tonight I am going to go see The Nutcracker with my family. I could really use some help. I want to wear a tulle skirt. I was thinking of my Anthropologie Emeline Tulle Skirt from Anthropologie or I have my BCBG tan tulle skirt from last year. With the Emeline I was going to wear the Peony Applique Pullover. With the BCBG I would wear either a tan long sleeved shirt or maybe a lace pullover. The only shoes that I own (I only own about four pairs of heels) that may work are my plain nude pumps or my new ruffled shooties. The other dilemma with that is it is probably going to be freezing. I might need to wear tights. But I don’t think either shoe would look right with them. I did get a pretty pair of dressier boots, but they are currently wrapped under the tree. So, my only boot choices are vintage or black. What should I do? Please help. : )

Thank you!

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UPDATE: I was all set to wear my Emeline skirt, but then my daughter came out of her bedroom in the most beautiful tulle dress. And I knew tulle belonged all to her tonight. She looked so pretty.

So, I ran to my closet and I spotted the Bourgeois Dress with the ballerinas on it. In fact, I recreated the whole outfit the model is wearing, except the necklace. I wore my daughter’s foxhead necklace, because I thought it looked a bit ratlike. I love a theme! Thank you for all of your help. I think I will wear the Emeline Skirt on Christmas Eve. Have a lovely weekend!

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Reading: “The Storyteller”

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For our book club last month, sweet Kathy picked, “The Storyteller” by Jodi Piccoult.

Now, if you have read my book reviews before, you might have picked up on the fact that I have some bitter feelings in regards to Ms. Piccoult’s novels. I stopped reading them a long time ago. I usually do not like how she sucks you in and then kicks you in the heart, leaving you to smear the pages you have witnessed with tears and regret. I will never forgive her for “My Sister’s Keeper.” Never.

And, “The Pact.” There was a line in that book that has stuck with me for almost fifteen years. It describes the mother of a teenage son smelling his breath and trying to recall when it was that he lost the mellow milky smell his breath used to carry in his youth. In doing so, she created an obsession in me to determine the exact moment that this would occur in my own children. So I would know. So I could answer that question. I believe the answer is nine. Nine years old, Ms. Piccoult. Thanks for the memories. And my creepy habit.

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But I had this book. I had purchased it at Costco months before, because a different friend had mentioned she might choose it for her book pick. She didn’t and I would stare at it with resentment when I would walk by it.

The title was so intriguing. “You,” I would think. “So, what story are you going to tell me? How is this one going to end?” I had a vision of me ugly crying, snot pouring down my face and the book being hurled across the room. Only to break a picture frame and in turn break my heart again.

Oh, yes, me and that book were becoming old adversaries.

Because, here is the thing: Jodi Piccoult. Well, she is an amazing writer. The stories she can spin. She is the master of human emotions. That book was a drug. And I needed it, but did not want it.

However, it was chosen. And I had it. So, I read it.

And once again, Jodi Piccoult sucked me in.

The book (yes, we are finally going to discuss it. Excuse my theatrics getting to it) will grip you from the beginning and not let you go.

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It starts with a fictional story and then quickly steps into the present day life of a young baker, Sage, who hides from the world. She thinks the scar on her face shows the world the monster hiding inside of her. It is her story, but also the story of an old man. At 95 years old,”Josef” asks Sage to kill him. And so we enter Josef’s story. And in doing so, we enter the world of the holocaust. And the questions begin: What is forgiveness? How far would each of us take it? What is the true definition of survival? And are all humans merely monsters in disguise?

Of course, I cried. I sobbed:

Page 296 did me in. I finally caved in to the sobbing at the hopelessness of the situation.

And on page 357, I cried again in relief. In anger. Why did it take so long?

I was dreading the ending. I knew there would be a twist, as there always is in her books. And I did not want to take that turn. But I did.

And guess what? I loved it! Oh, it was brilliant. It was genius. And perfect. And dark. Jodi Piccoult won me over with this story of hers. It is one of the best novels I have read in a very long time. My heart hurt, but it was still whole.

I highly recommend it.

Have you read “The Storyteller”? Did you like the ending? Did you agree with Sage’s decision? Try not to leave any spoilers, please. I do not want to ruin anyone’s experience. But you can definitely email me to discuss.

Our next book club pick is “Eleanor & Park” by Rainbow Rowell. Just in case you want to read it and discuss in a month. I ordered my copy, buy have not received it yet.