What is Home

Easter Sunday Shenanigans, at home.

I remember while living in Salt Lake City this feeling that never left me. Anson and I owned a home, a beautiful thing. Plenty of space, remodeled with a gorgeous kitchen and a jacuzzi tub in our bathroom. Our backyard was landscaped and Anson built a sweet wrap-around porch out front to sit on and take in the pretty city sights.

But I always felt uneasy.

There was never a time where I would sit in my home and feel comfortable. I needed to plan, to get out, to walk around, to meet up with people. And while I was aware of it, I couldn’t exactly pinpoint why. After a vacation at my mother’s home for Christmas, I realized what it was. When I was in my mother’s home, it felt like a home. It felt warm and easy. And when I returned to my house, it felt uneasy. It wasn’t my home. If anyone visited, I felt stressed out. If I had to spend time there alone, I couldn’t fully relax. It just wasn’t right.

Years later, after our family moved to Brooklyn, that feeling is gone. I’ve realized that it has nothing to do with the actual house, though. I am still Honeymoon-Happy with the apartment we live in. But it’s not the structure. It’s the place. It’s the location and the people around me and it’s the place I am in my own life. I am at home here in Brooklyn. This is the first place I have lived where I feel settled, at ease, and calm. I know I am home. When I lock our doors at night it isn’t to keep people out, it feels like a gesture of locking our family together at this point in time. In this comfort. In this home.

For the first time in my life, I love having people visit me. I love to show off my friend New York City, but I also love welcoming them into my home. I don’t mind that it’s not the biggest nicest fanciest place I’ve ever lived. I just love the feeling it has, which is simple and warm.

This past week, Anson’s brother Devon and his family came and visited us. Our entire family couldn’t wait to have these cousins around to play with, and cool Uncle Devon and Auntie Michelle all to ourselves.


In a matter of four days, we toured Dumbo, rode Jane’s Carousel, ate Nathan’s hotdogs on the beach, rode every ride worth riding in Luna Park, went to Times Square, walked up Fifth Avenue (ok ok ok I skipped that day because the babies! Had mandatory nap-make-up duties.), had a meaty BBQ in the backyard with friends, tasted the goods at Farmacy, and hosted an Easter Egg hunt. There were sleepovers and restaurants, Lucali pizza, and too too too much chocolate.

Post-Farmacy Sundae Binge

We had five lifetimes of fun in four days.

Cousins on Jane's Carousel

Uncle Dentist making sure he has a future client in Shep

Before the hotdogs and never-ending rides

And now they’re gone and Roan has not gotten off the couch all day. I have given him an all-day couch pass because he has a post-cousin-rocking-great-time fever and sore throat. The babes are making up for lost sleep by sleeping extra, and I am making no attempts at keeping this home visitor-ready. While that may sound relaxing it is a little bit sad. It’s so nice to have family in town who are excited to spend time with us, and as impressed with all of New York’s shiny awesomeness as we are. I love so much being able to share my family with my family. I love the feeling of welcoming people into my home.

Fan-Girl Mother in Brooklyn Forces Son Into Circus Act

A few days ago, as I was playing with all my boys at the park after picking Roan up from school, I (shockingly!) was outnumbered and suddenly outwitted by my mischievous imp, Smitty. He had climbed up the plastic red slide, lost his footing, and was free-falling onto the ground. I saw it happening, but had no hope of fixing the inevitable conclusion.

And then, a hero.

Some guy swooped in and not only righted Smith back onto the slide, he caught the boy who Smith was knocking off the slide. It was superhero style, and I was impressed. And I was grateful. And I was….wha??? Hang on, hold the phone, step back, and shut the front door….could that hero be….why yes it was. It was him!

I have an uncanny knack for recognizing faces. Not everyone’s face, mind you. No no no I keep it as superficial as possible and somehow am able to catalogue the face of celebrities and performers. I match them up with names with my mighty brain power, and presto! I’m the funnest to walk around NYC with because I recognize every would-be star and every actual star. I don’t know why I can do this, but can not remember the names of my own children sometimes. (I accidentally called Smith “Mecha” today, which was a dog I had years ago. Hmmmmmm.) But it does amuse me and usually whomever is with me. Hey…there’s Al Franken! Hey….there’s Jon Stewart. Hey…there’s Gavin MacLeod (Hi Captain Stubing!) On and on and on.

So. My hero – after saving the babies, I looked at his face, did the math, and realized he was one of the stars of “Traces“, a show I saw early in January and wrote about here. This show is insane and if I try to describe it I will not do it justice – so, just check out their promo clip here:

Right? So the hero – ok, his “real” name is Mason – poor Mason, is now recognized by cuckoo Brooklyn mom (me!) and I’m all….”You’re that guy! From that show! Traces!” And Mason? Could not have been a nicer dude. He agreed that yes, he was that guy! From that show! Traces! And his girlfriend, who was babysitting the playmate of Smith + Sheppard graciously allowed me to be the dumbest Fan-Girl for the next little bit. With me using the word “Amazing” probably no less than one-thousand times in the rest of our conversation, and stars burning holes in my eyes, I finally asked Mason if I could get a picture of him. Holding the babes. You know, to show my sisters. And duh, you! Readers! To show you!

Sheppard possibly has a future in the circus.

Mason offered to throw Sheppard around instead. And in the entire world, there is not another person I would say “Yes please!” to on that, but “Yes please!” it was. I mean, this is what he does. He throws people and catches people. Usually the people are adult size so I’m guessing he could actually throw both babies around but I didn’t actually suggest that. Had he suggested it….I probably would have said….yes….

Did I mention I’m a little Fan-Girl-ish?

Embarrassing but true. I’m pretty sure this is my favorite New York story thus far. It’s a teeny tiny world I live in here – we’re all so close to each other that it’s inevitable that we’ll bump into our heroes at some point. I didn’t know he was my hero during the show, though I’ll admit Mason’s likeness to Anson did make me sort of crush on him the littlest bit. So here’s Mason Ames, superstar hero, Anson doppelgänger, and performer in a show I couldn’t recommend any higher to all my friends and family (go see it! Really!!), throwing a hysterical and happy Sheppard in the air.

Tea Clothing Giveaway!

If I could be all be honest here, I would just admit that in my wee little-girl heart I’d have appreciated the opportunity to create a baby girl for one pure reason. Girl’s clothes are much much much more fun then boy’s clothes. The bows and ruffles, combined with the occasional tank-girl spike or skeleton or biker boot or off-the-rails cute pattern? I mean. Come on. And the boys get….

a football

or a baseball

or a funny-face rhino/lion/other cartoonishly masculine-type animal.


There are exceptions. As luck would have it, the boys I have invented are living in a time where Garanimals are not our only option. For every ten amazing lines that specialize in girl’s clothing, there is one amazing line that gets the boy’s right.  And lucky me, I know who they are. In my ongoing quest to assist my most fashionable and style-conscious  son Roan in his mission to keep the world cool, I want you  to know about the clothing line called Tea.

Full on truth: Tea has been one of my favorite lines to dress my boys in for years. The shirts are stupid soft, and I mean that in the smartest way possible. The pants fit like a dream and have thus far withstood rigorous crawling, falling and rolling. And my little-Jodi-girl heart is satiated because these are pieces that get my “awwwww….so cute…..” going. The girl’s clothes are equally adorable. Maybe even more adorable. But let’s speak more of boys, yes?

From the colors Tea uses, to the basic cool stripe patterns, I’m pretty sure everyone would dig this line. The details kill me. I cannot even begin to describe how cute the pin-stripe pants are on little Smitty – he looks like such a gentleman. And the reinforced knee area is just what Sheppard  (a.k.a. “Tank”) needs while perfecting his swagger. I would guess that you could choose any piece from any collection, wrap it and give it to your pickiest friend-with-a-baby and emerge a hero gift giver.

Really. I mean it. And so:

Happy Holidays Readers! Tea has agreed to give a $100 gift card to one of you. They have something amazing for your little guys – baby through big kid (up to size 12), and also have a women’s line if you want to keep it for yourself (or give it to your special lady friend). Ok ok ok I give in – they also have the most amazing girl’s clothes. So let’s keep this easy. I love the idea of someone winning this who really wants to win. So you can enter  daily for the next two weeks, in a bunch of ways. If that’s your style – get to it. If you wanna roll the dice only once, baby that’s cool and get to it this one time. (I’m using this new sweepstakes format below. Seems cool. Tell me if you hate it.)

(I am not being paid for this review – but Tea was most excellent enough to send outfits for the boys! Like what you see? Check out their site and find some for you + yours!)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Bragging Rights. Please Bear With Me.

Just to be clear, because this all could be taken the wrong way, I am entirely enamored with my sons because of their sweet funny smells, the goofy light in their eyes, the unending list of ways they need me, and the way their arms fit exactly perfectly on my body in a hugging situation.

Their looks, regardless of if you think they’re beautiful or just plain funny looking, are of little concern to me.


There is something that makes me smile when I see them in a catalogue or on a retail chain wall. It’s just so crazy to see my ragtag crew out in the public forum. So. Unapologetically (sort of…did that kind of smack of being apologetic…?) I’m sharing Smitty’s latest and greatest conquest, Dwell Studio Catalogue. First: I love this line, and have for years. Second: Smith had the time of his life being shot for this. He was in a giggling mood, and they caught that silly kid. I received this in the mail yesterday and just couldn’t love it more (Smitty scored the back cover, as well as a smattering of inside shots – I’m dying):

Dwell Studio Catalogue

I'm pretty sure Roan taught him this pose

And not to be outdone, the Roan + Sheppard photo shoot for H&M is still rolling, as are the sightings. I received this email from Jesse in Denmark (the land of my people!) last night. I LOVE GETTING THESE. Roan digs it the most when he gets emails from around the world. It’s like a dream come true for a kid. So thank you to everyone who has sent me sightings – and keep them coming. You’re bringing many smiles to this family.

Hi there,

I love reading your blog (It’s real!) so I thought I would send this along.  I saw your post about your son’s modeling for H&M and the subsequent find in Tokyo.  Thought he’d be excited to see that he is also sprucing up the walls at the H&M in Copenhagen, Denmark!



Sheppard + Roan in Denmark.

Raising City Kids Pros vs. Cons

I love getting email from people who read Pistols. Usually the feedback I get is of the sweet + kind variety, from a person who wants to share a story or experience that is in line with something I’ve written. Sometimes I get emails of the heartbreaking variety, from someone who is going through hard times, maybe similar to the ones I’ve been through. But lots of the emails I get ask about parenting in NYC. I love answering the emails – I am a very good pen pal. But I thought maybe I could dedicate one post to the questions about parenting. What is it like to be a parent in NYC? Is it hard? Aren’t you worried about the safety of your children? How do you think it’s different than having kids in the suburbs?


There’s good and bad, obviously. Just as obvious, I happen to believe there is more good than bad with raising kids in a metropolitan area otherwise I’d be long gone. But I believe it entirely depends on if you can enjoy it or not. If you cannot, then duh. Go raise your kids where you’re happy. If you can enjoy it – there’s some huge perks to growing up in NYC. For instance…

On set for Goatmilk shoot


Once Roan decided he was interested in modeling, it fell right into his lap. Being in New York obviously puts Roan in a great position to be cast for national campaigns, as well as cool indie labels. He loves doing it, and it’s all happening in his backyard, so to speak. His two twin brothers have had the good luck to be cast as well, though I think they’d pretty much do anything for goldfish crackers which is the currency they’ve been paid. I don’t know if they love it, but how cool will it be to show them when they’re older catalogues and pictures which are professionally and beautifully taken? Last week Sheppard did a photo shoot for Goatmilk, and the pictures that came from it? I should have been paying them. They are gorgeous. I’ll post them when I get them. And Roan got an email from a reader in Tokyo, who stealthily got this picture for him. He could not be any more excited to know his mug is hanging around in Japan.

With Love from Tokyo

It’s not just modeling. Is your kid into sewing, sports, trapeze, reading, community outreach, video games, etc.? Everything is here, quite literally. There are experts who want to share their ability with your kids in pretty much any area. I love that. It makes me so happy to know that whatever my boys are into, they can learn about it and do it here.

Iconic Stuff.

Let’s face it, NYC is full of recognizable neighborhoods, buildings and people. Everywhere we go, literally, we can see something that other people would have to use their vacation money and time to get to. Last Sunday Roan, his friend Sachin, Smith, Sheppard, Anson and I all went to Santaland to see Mr. Claus. Santaland itself is relevant as David Sedaris’ career as a writer was launched by his book about his experiences being an elf there. Not to mention it’s housed in Macy’s, home of a giant parade, and setting for “Miracle on 34th Street” (34th Street also is well-known for its rather famous skyscraper called The Empire State Building.) We went there on a Sunday afternoon, just for fun, no big deal. The boys loved it and took in all the iconic stuff as just everyday cool things. Of course, there’s the obligatory great/awful Santa pics:

First Santa experience. No tears this year.

Also no tears. Totally succesful.

If the weekend is slow, or we’re feeling ambitious, there’s a Statue of Liberty we can go see, endless museums, a gigantic park in the center of the city, old-time neighborhoods, a little town resembling China, and every single type of food available. That is something special.

Saying hello to our neighbor, Ms. Liberty.

Cool Graffiti/Art.

Street Art is coming into its own as a practical art form. I suppose because of this, there is an explosion of excellent art on building walls, street corners, sidewalks, manhole covers, garage doors – everywhere. It’s fun to talk about what we see, what it could mean, and if it’s appealing to us individually. Here are two plaques surreptitiously placed on the footbridge I cross every day on my way home. Do I like them? I guess. Mostly because they’re there, they’re funny, and they get Roan and me talking about art.

Footbridge Street Art


But of course, it’s not all fun + games being a mama in NYC. I do get stuck. Because I have twin infants/toddlers, no car, a limited amount of times I can ask friends to carry a baby, and endless insurmountable-by-stoller staircases. Riding the subway is a challenge with a stroller. Particularly a double stroller and I don’t even dare do it anywhere near rush hour. I’m just fortunate that I like my neighborhood because I spend a lot of time here.

Not actually as fun as it looks.

The Obligatory Mention of Disgusting Things.

Hand-in-hand with all the beauty of NYC is the undercurrent that everything, literally is pretty dirty. Even if it looks clean, there are way too many people around for it to be anywhere near clean. The subway is shiny with its smooth surfaces and dirt-hiding colors. But you know. At least I know. And I’m telling you, so you also know. Sidewalks are disgusting with dog pee and let’s be honest, human pee. I get very freaked out if Anson walks on the sidewalk barefoot (which he did this morning and I am still very “UGH!” about it) because even if you can’t see the pee, the pee is there! Everywhere! And he’s collecting it on his giant feet and bringing it inside and the babies are going to lick it off the floor and I’m falling down a big giant black germ spiral of anxiety….Ummm…ok I sound a little maniacal. Let’s move on.

Roan using his purple claw to defend against germs and criminals on the subway.

There’s also the ever-present threat of lice. Roan’s school and particularly his class are essentially a friendly lice-hosting environment. I cannot fight it so I just try to ward it off. Every Sunday I do a one-hour comb-out of Roan’s hair, to make sure there are no egg-laying blood-sucking buggies in it. Disgusting, right? I mean, why would I live in such a disgusting place?? Adaptation. I’ve been able to just categorize lice in my brain right next to mosquitoes. Annoying. Not harmful. Manageable. So I do what I can and it works to keep up my own little lice-free world at home. The rest of NYC I cannot control.

Filthy Gotham.

Filthy lovely amazing sweet home.

It’s not for everyone, but it is undoubtedly the place for me.

Baby Roan standing behind the Statue. Funny perspective, no?

My Boyfriend’s Back

Anson made it home. And just in time, too. I’m not saying that we were falling apart without him, but I am going to go ahead and admit that we were having some sad times. To his credit, Anson is really really really missed by his eldest son when he is gone. Roan has come to really depend on his pops to fill in the gaps that I cannot get to. I love that about their relationship. It is totally their own, highly mischievous, and utterly sweet. While Roan did his best to step up and be ok with his dad’s absence, there were a few days where he just couldn’t undo his sad feeling. And at first, I think he was confused about what he was feeling. So he got a little sassy and saucy, acting slightly horrible because he was feeling mightily horrible. But after we put it together, figuring out that actually he was just feeling sad, then real tears came on occasion and out of the blue. All I could do was just hug that giant big kid and tell him about how Anson was missing him too. Which actually didn’t help. But some things aren’t mine to fix.

But like I said, Anson is home now. And Roan literally lit up, became fluorescent with his dad’s arrival. We stayed up late after Anson got home, and those two guys took off at 10:30 pm to go to a place called The Chocolate Room. With their bellies full of hot chocolate fudge sundaes, and the clock saying it was dangerously close to midnight, we set up camp in our living room, all of us sleeping together. (OK, not all of us. Smith + Sheppard remained in their cribs totally unaware that they were missing a party). We put on an episode of Mythbusters, and all fell asleep within the first 10 minutes of the show. Happy.

The rest of our Thanksgiving long weekend was basically spent celebrating that we were all together. I celebrated that fact by leaving the house all by myself basically as much as possible. While I love my children and husband with all of my dark heart, there is a tipping point of over-saturation, and three weeks with no break from my little lovelies is about it. I ran errands to the grocery store. I made a couple of trips to return things. I went to the post office. And….I….went….to….H&M.

Where I saw this:

My Little Lovelies

Sheesh. I mean, I was excited when they got cast for this gig – but actually seeing my little dudes up in the Herald Square H&M? Pretty cool. I wanted to flag down all the shoppers and let them know…you know….these are MY SONS! But I was cooler than that and just started taking pictures with my iPhone. That’s right, I’m supercool, always.

I let Roan know that he was up there, and he was pretty laid back about it. But this morning, I got this comment from a reader:

Guess who I met today.
I went to H&M in Futakotamagawa/Tokyo with my daughter. There, from up on the wall, Roan and Sheppard(I think) smiled at us. In all their beauty. !I know them!, I yelled, and daughter was worried about my state of mind.
I just needed to tell you ^-^ .
Kind regards from a regular reader/lurker.
Well. Tokyo? Really? I read this comment to Roan over breakfast and finally the kid showed some enthusiasm. I suppose NYC is his hometown and so it doesn’t seem big-time to him. But Tokyo? Japan?? There’s something to giddyup about! So Monika K., thank you for letting me know!
The only downside with having my home back in harmony what with all the pieces being in place is that I now am going to have to find time to secretly watch my new favorite show. In Anson’s absence, I really and truly became hooked on The Vampire Diaries. Still, hiding that new obsession is probably do-able. But not today. On this day, I will be un-destroying my home from a 4-day Welcome Home Dad party. This home is alive with new Samurai Swords, Nerf Gun Bullets, Poker Chips, Banana Bread Crumbs, and S’mores ingredients (did I mention we built a fire in the back yard one night just because Roan wanted to? That kid.) This mess. So awesome to have my family back together.

Relax. It’s Only Bed Bugs and/or Lice.

Children are filthy beasts. I unfilth-ify them to the best of my ability each night but for the love of Loretta Swit I cannot keep it together entirely. I am just one woman. I am just one woman living in New York City. And there are just way too many people living here in this fair city which has created a pesky pesty situation. Along with all the exciting things offered to us as citizens of Gotham, is the opportunity to have all manner of bugs and insects and rodents and crawly parasitic things surrounding us. And, uh…on us.

It’s kind of just better to not think about it. Usually I try not to perseverate on such unpleasantness. I cannot control it so really, it’s just a much better life to ignore it. I’m a huge proponent of denial and ignorance being potent healthy coping mechanisms.

But then little Mister Smith got a rash. And then Mister Smith got hives. And then Mister Smith got a wildly itchy head. And then Mister Smith got these crazy looking scab/scars. And then Mister Smith got these blisters. And I had five late-night telephone conversations with doctors, three visits with two pediatricians, and two visits with a pediatric dermatologist.

All to come to the conclusion that my boy reacts pretty dramatically to mosquito bites. And the heat. And he might have had a virus. But the path we took to these conclusions included the suggestion that he was being subjected to bed bugs. This sent a frenzied little spark from my soul to my heart to my brain. Not in a good way.

I immediately discounted this suggestion because nobody else in the house was having any bite problems. But even then the doctor off-handedly remarked, “Well it wouldn’t be the first time I saw only one person in a family react to the bugs.” Hey, doc? That’s actually not helpful. I prefer to believe otherwise. Thanks.

So we did a major meticulous sweep of the bed mattresses, bed frames, sheets, carpet surrounding the entire bedroom and found…nothing. Ok, we did find one bug and took a picture of it and sent it to my dad, a world-famous entomologist. He told me to stop it. Stop worrying. It’s not bed bugs. We have common household bugs and maybe I should stop sending him pictures of insects and just relax? Riiiiiiight.

I can think of one-million things I'd rather spend four-hundred dollars on

So one bottle of $400 prescription lotion later (I kid you not. FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS for a bottle of lotion and it’s not even a pretty bottle. It’s an ugly plastic bottle.  Thankfully we have insurance and only had to pay $75 but that’s still way more than I can even believe.) we are trying to get to a zen-like state and believe that bed bugs are not in our lives, for now. Nor are scabies, chiggers, ticks or flesh-eating ants.

And as I am getting into bed, reading the last of my emails for the day….along comes….dun-dun-dun dun! A message that one of Roan’s classmates has lice, and I should probably check him. And just to prove that all things are relative, I just laugh it off, knowing that dealing with lice is in my own personal toolbox, it is known and manageable and about as troublesome as having a cold. Kind of an imposition, but nothing I’m afraid of. After all, Madonna herself  had an infestation of lice in her NYC home. Lice is the new black – anyone can pull off handling it. Bed Bugs are the new more complicated patterns. I don’t know how to deal with them but probably will….one day after being forced to embrace them in my beautiful overcrowded infested Gotham.

Wildly Good and Mildly Bad

I can love him so, and I can want to throw salted lemons into his bare naked eyeballs.

Yes, my husband Anson. I know all marriages have ups and downs and sideways-es and diagonals, but I am somewhat shocked by how within a 24-hour period I can be of two minds. The first mind being: “I am ever-so-very-lucky. He is gorgeous and sweet and-Oh Mercy-look how the baby is hugging him I should just die now from The Happy.” The second mind being: “I am going to throw a salted lemon into his bare naked eyeball, etc.”

On Saturday, we were traipsing around Governor’s Island with Roan, his friend Javier, the babies, my mother, and her husband. It was a beautiful Autumn day, and we were swinging on swings at sunset. The lights of Manhattan were beginning to light up, and the Statue of Liberty was about a stone’s-throw away. I was breastfeeding the little dudes on a bench swing while Javier and Roan ran around like maniacs and Anson played with whichever baby was not attached to me. It was one of those moments. I decided life was truly perfect right then. In love with NYC, in love with these babies, in love with my big boy Ro, and totally in love with my husband.

Who WOULDN'T want to cuddle this baby?


Cut to one night later where I’m emphatically emphasizing, reiterating, stressing, punctuating, accenting and accentuating the danger balloons pose to babies with my eldest. The thing is, balloons scare the holy hell out of me. I once saw a child choking on one, and it was brutal. He lived, he was fine. But you can’t grab a piece of balloon out of a babies throat like a piece of food. It sticks. It’s a perfect design to hurt a little one. And Roan just got a big pack of balloons that he loves playing with, and popping and as luck would have it the twins enjoy putting the pieces of anything and everything at all into their mouths. Particularly brightly colored stretchy balloons.

And possibly I’m going overboard in explaining it to Roan. But I had told him once, twice, and thrice and still found a balloon tucked under the couch right next to where the little tiny tyrants store all of their toys. So I’m speaking in my slow and deliberate voice, with my eyebrows raised, and hands gesticulating meaningfully while getting more and more descriptive about why this is so important when Anson pipes in with this helpful gem:

Ok you two. Let’s wrap this up.

Oh. No. He. Didn’t.

Now. I’m tempted to write about all the ways this statement made me mad, and why it incurred such wrath but I’ll just let you, my readers fill in those blanks. I mean, if it seems harmless to you that’s cool. You can let me hear that in the comments. But. In the interest of facilitating happy marriages world-wide, I would helpfully suggest to any and all husbands out there that whilst your wife is in the middle of imparting great wisdom to your progeny, you not speak to her as if she is one of said progeny and more importantly not suggest she  “wrap it up”.

So – the weekend. Wildly good, and mildly bad. That’s probably the take away lesson of what marriage is. As long as it’s at least balanced, you know? As many (hopefully more) good times as bad times and you’re probably ok. What say you, reader?

My Angry Birds

I’ve written a few times about Roan having the chance to do some modeling. He has an agent and has had some super cool gigs. This one? I die. I am dying. I am now dead forever the end from this shoot.

See, Roan was booked for a Halloween shoot, and when we arrived, they asked if they could also shoot Sheppard, because the infant model who had been booked was being grumpy. Something about green peas being mixed with carrots in his lunch purée. Diva Infants. The new awful fab. Anyway. They shot Sheppard. And Roan. For a Halloween Costume company called Paper Magic. This company sells costumes to everyone. And today when I Googled “Children’s Angry Birds costumes”, guess who’s mugs were all over the images? Guess!

Actually, Sheppard doesn't look all that angry for an Angry Bird

Roan also not so much angry.

So what can I say Pistols People? If you see these costumes with my boys on them in your local Toys R Us, Target, Wal-Mart or wherever, snap a picture and email it to me. I’d love to see where they turn up. Fame. Sometimes you kind of have to create it.

Project Runway, Here We Come!

Watchout for this kid.

A little while ago, I started hustling all the people in my life who are in the “cool kid” circles. I’m not sure how I ended up knowing anyone who is a cool kid, but somehow I do. I am friends with the coolest people on the planet. But this was a directed hustle, very intentional and focused, trying to get my boy Roan and me tickets to the Project Runway Season Finale Fashion Show during Fashion Week.

It was a long shot, but guess what….

We’re going. Tomorrow. And Roan pretty much lost his mind over this development.

See, Roan enjoys watching Project Runway, in the extreme. He somehow remembers all of the contestant names, what designs he likes, who is kind and who is not. He does a wicked Tim Gunn impersonation, and notices when the judges are being snarky. Roan has turned into a giant Michael Kors fiend, and is overjoyed that this summer I splurged and bought a Michael Kors tank top. He compliments me each time I wear it. I wear it waaaaaaay too often, mostly to get compliments from Roan.

And this show has inspired my boy to decide, at age seven, that he would like to attend Parson’s School of Design and work in the fashion world. I believe this calling will stick. At least until he’s nine.

Will take fashion world by storm...

And as an added bonus, Roan has also scored backstage passes and seats to the Elie Tahari show. I have actually never been invited to anything having to do with Fashion Week here in NYC, (most likely due to the fact that I am terribly unfashionable. Terribly. Though I love those who are into it – I just don’t have the resources or bandwidth to indulge. Roan has asserted that will change when he grows up. He will design specifically for me. Good luck with that Ro!) so yeh – never done anything with Fashion Week except look in from the outside. And now? Now! Two events. Two events that are big deal events and all for my guy.

...or any world he chooses.

Thank you to my cool kid friends, Julia Samersova and Robin Marshall. You have made me a hero in my boy’s eyes for this week. And that does feel mighty good.