CURRENTLY INSPIRED BY

+ New Orleans, and all of its turquoise, mystery, and nonchalant coolness. 

+ the completely mundane journal entries in David Sedaris's new book (after all, it was his journals that led to his, what, twelve best-sellers?)

+ ...and the fact that Pamela Paul wrote a (wonderful!) book about her journal, which is literally just a list of books she's read.

+ the interior of Rise, a new lady-owned bagel shop in Minneapolis (oh and the delicious bagels)

+ how Claire Underwood never, ever slouches. Not even when she's sleeping. 

+ Arlee Park, a store in my neighborhood that has somehow convinced me this week that I need mom-jorts, a tiny wicker chair, and duck salt and pepper shakers

+ literally everything Pollen does, but today, this Philando Castile tribute. 

+ the actors in the current production of Rent, which I saw a few weekends ago. I think this tweet sums it up fairly well:

My favorite part of the Tony Awards is when I'm on my fourth glass of wine yelling "THAT SHOULD BE ME UP THERE" at the TV.

— Gary Janetti (@GaryJanetti) June 11, 2017

+ speaking of which, the countless hilarious people of Twitter, who come up with the funniest responses to breaking news in a matter of seconds. I pretty much use my Twitter solely to retweet funny/poignant things. 

naptime

I have nothing interesting to say. 

A cursor blinks. A bus passes by. My Twitter feed updates.

I peaked in third grade, when I wrote, illustrated, and self published (read: laminated) my own book. It was called "Different Families," about a girl who finds a new family to live with after her mother makes her eat —gasp—yogurt.

I already peaked. Why do I even try?

It's like I'm on the first episode of American Idol. “But my friends say I’m a great writer,” I protest to Simon Cowell as he laughs in my face. 

I was never a good writer.

And then the coffee kicks in. 

My fingers find their rhythm on the keyboard.

The tabs spill across my screen; essay submission guidelines and a google search how to write a novel. Inspirational essays from writers I love. A bathing suit from J. Crew. 

I have so much to say.

The world needs to hear my take on the election. On Janelle Monae’s Oscar gown. On the bomb threats at the JCC. 

It’s time to revitalize my blog. I’ll change the focus, write more about politics. Or lipstick. Or music. 

(First let me buy the bathing suit so I can get rid of that tab.)

Should I write about bathing suits? A roundup of cute ones, the woes of buying one after having a baby? It’s not really my niche. What is my niche?

New tab: how to find your niche. 

A blank page fills, line by line. It’s bad, but it’s something. I’ll polish it later.

Then, like a pin in the balloon of creativity, a wail.

Mama. Open the door!  

The creative part of my brain packs up. See you when I see you, it whispers, slipping out. 

I have nothing interesting to say. 

The Summer 2016 Digest

MILESTONE: my birthday

Y has a surprise for me. “Get dressed up,” he says. “Drop Rue off at daycare, and I’ll pick you up there.”

He pulls into the parking lot in a bright red vintage convertible which is perfect because I hate being the center of attention and a bright red convertible fits right in at a daycare center.

Y has set up a photo shoot downtown, and afterward we drive to charming Stillwater for a milkshake, get lost, get stuck in the rain, and then get stuck in traffic. Best birthday yet.

DIY MOM WIN: stickers

These Matisse-inspired vinyl window clings keep Rue occupied for MINUTES at a time. I enjoy a cup of tea without reheating it (rare these days).

HABIT: working out

Thanks to an army of alarm clock apps, I start waking up at 5:00 am three times a week to go to the gym. Six months later, I think I can safely call it a habit. 

TRIP: carol convention

In Houston we cry at Soul Cycle, chug wine in a parked car outside of an Escape Room, fail at said Escape Room, pump together, eat all of the tacos, and laugh harder than we have all year.

PHOTO: patio season

Our favorites: Wiseacre and Tiny Diner. One morning, we try to eat somewhere else, but a drain burst and the restaurant is closed. On the curb, we consider our options with a family from Pittsburgh. "Colossal Cafe is amazing," we tell them, "but it's really small. Tiny Diner is great too, and much bigger." 

They laugh, and it takes us a moment to realize the unintentional joke we just made. But it's true—Tiny Diner is not, in fact, tiny—and Colossal Cafe is. 

WEEKEND RITUAL: bike. sugar. caffeine. slide.

We pack up Rue in the bike trailer, and take the city trails to the corner of 42nd and 28th. Y heads into Baker's Wife for the best donuts in the city (sprinkles, please), and I take Rue into Angry Catfish, a combination bike store and coffeeshop for coffee. We either eat our donuts on the patio, or get back on our bikes for a short ride to the playground overlooking Lake Hiawatha.

TWINNING: father daughter sandals

MOMENT: butterflies at the state fair

One of my oldest friends, Leila, comes to visit and we pay three dollars to enter the butterfly exhibit at the Minnesota State Fair. There must be thousands of butterflies in this room, covering plants and people, the walls and the ceiling. Leila and I sit down with tiny, sugar-dipped q-tips for five minutes. People are so covered in butterflies you can’t even see them. Not a single butterfly lands on us. 

“If I had known this would be like seventh grade all over again, I would never have walked in here,” says Leila glumly. 

Maybe it’s our shared memory of middle school, maybe it’s the breakfast wine slushie clouding our judgment, but this is suddenly a popularity contest—and we are losing.

(Meanwhile, Rue is in my lap screaming "MAMA! BEE!" frantically overtime a butterfly gets near us.) 

OUTFIT: this zara jumpsuit.  

MOMENT: glasses

Coincidentally, I buy Y sunglasses for Father's Day... the day after Rue learns to say the word "glasses." As we walk into the store, she screams in delight, then runs back and forth across the store screaming GATHETH! GATHETH! 

MILESTONE: our fourth family fair photo

The Spring 2016 Digest

A recap of spring 2016 in moments, stories, and photos. (Winter 2016 is right over here.)

TRIP: birmingham, alabama

Standing alone at a bat mitzvah. If Rue’s adolescence is anything like mine, this is a classic example of foreshadowing. 

MEAL: marilyn’s in shreveport, louisiana

A great trip to Louisiana turns epic when we stumble upon an Easter brunch buffet at our favorite Shreveport restaurant. Red beans and rice. Biscuits and gravy. Beignets. This is the Louisiana we miss.

MOMENT: stitches

You know how they always tell you trust your mama instincts? What if your instinct tells you not to worry about your baby falling onto a brick fireplace? What if your instinct is like, “what’s the worst that can happen? A scrape? We’ve got bandaids!"

That’s how it happens that one minute, four of us are sitting two feet away from toddling Rue, watching as she teeters near the edge of—then faceplates into— the fireplace. 

The next minute, four of us are in the emergency department. (One of us has a shoulder covered in blood — that’s me) 

The next minute, two of us are singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star directly into a tiny ear, shushing screams as a surgeon and a needle do their work.  

Thanks, instincts.

TRIP: a hotel in dallas

At a conference in Dallas, I never leave the hotel. But, as you can see, I learn a lot.

MOMENT: prince

Coincidentally, we are downtown the night of Prince’s death, swallowed in a crowd of mourners. At an empty Italian restaurant, Purple Rain plays on repeat as the entire city murmurs in hushed tones. More thoughts here. 

THERE IS NO SUBHEAD WORTHY OF: BEYONCE. 

Worth the two hour lightning delay. 

OUTING: lisa congdon

My friend H and I are super inspired by the artist Lisa Congdon at Creative Mornings. H turns her inspiration into action and actually makes more art. I buy a lot of watercolor pens and find a nice place for them under my bed. Someday, maybe, I’ll use them. 

OUTFIT: pink overalls

Rue wears the Osh Kosh b’gosh overalls I wore as a wee toddler

SMELL: spring flowers

the winter 2016 digest

I tried to write a quick 2016 recap, but it turns out I'm wordy. For now, here are moments and more from winter 2016-- stay tuned for the rest of the year (I know you're on the edge of your seat.)

MOMENT: celebrity encounter

“Oops, sorry,” I say to the person I’ve just backed my chair into. It’s lunchtime, it’s crowded, my coat weighs 600 pounds, and I’m trying to squeeze out of a tiny restaurant in downtown Minneapolis. 

“No problem,” she says, and I realize I went to college with her in Louisiana. 

Wait, that’s not quite right.

But I know I recognize her from college. She reminds me of watching TV in my best friend’s apartment.

OH. She was ON the TV in my best friend’s apartment. 

I'm across the room by the time I connect the dots. It’s January, so I recently probably made some resolution like “DON’T BE SHY” or “DO THE UNEXPECTED” or “INTERRUPT A CELEBRITY HAVING LUNCH” so, I walk back to her table and say hi. She is super nice. I am super sweaty.  I haven’t seen any celebrities at the bachelor farmer since. 

PURCHASE: my new favorite coat

OUTING: drag brunch

I’m determined not to let having a toddler keep me from doing fun things, so naturally my 11 month-old accompanies me to a Sister Act themed drag brunch on a rooftop. In my diaper bag I pack diapers, maracas, and noise canceling headphones.  

PURCHASE: xylophone

On a cold night in January, Y picks up Rue from daycare. He can barely drag her away from a xylophone, so he drives her straight from daycare to a toy store to buy her one of her very own. As they step out of the heated parking garage to walk to the toy store, he remembers Rue doesn't have a coat on. This will not stop his mission—SHE MUST HAVE A XYLOPHONE. He tucks her into his jacket, and they come home, sure enough,  xylophone  in tow (also a tambourine, which Ike promptly eats.)

MILESTONE: rue turns one

(thanks Bri for the photos!)

For weeks beforehand, I eat tub after tub of Noosa (OH THE SACRIFICE) so that I can give Rue the creme de la creme of presents: a set of empty yogurt containers. Ten months later, she's still playing with them. Moral of the story: trash makes a great gift. (I also made her this)

MOMENT: our first art project

On “special person” day at daycare, I’m invited to make an art project with Rue. She’s very advanced at art, her teacher tells me, because she doesn’t try to put the feathers in her mouth. 

MILESTONE: i start writing for twin cities moms blog

I even get a headshot. My articles:

So Your Kid Has a Weird Name

OMG! I Never Saw Your Text!

5 Non-Parenting Books for New Parents

Parenting and the Art of Pimple Popping

Breakfast with Toddlers: Our Minneapolis Favorites

Baby's First Playlist

The Twin Cities Love List | November 2016

I am That Friend—the one who will text you on a random Saturday because she saw a tweet about an obscure craft market. That Friend who subscribes to the e-mail list for all of her favorite restaurants and concert venues…. and NEVER UNSUBSCRIBES. I am the Friend who will convince you to join her for butter churning aerobics.

You either love me or hate me. (Y hates me. He would like to sit inside and play video games all November, please.)

Regardless, here’s what’s on my radar in the Twin Cities in November. Friends, consider this your text. Future friends, consider this our meet-cute. What are we getting into this month? 

NORTHERN GRADE | November 5-6

I love this market full of American Made goods that seems to have leaped straight off the Instagram screen. This year, I’m excited to see Louise Gray’s quilts in person and try on a pair of the new women’s Red Wing boots. 

Midtown Global Market Chili cook off | November 12

Three years ago, on a snowy February day, I happened to be checking twitter when I saw that the Midtown Global Market was having a soup cook-off. I was there in ten minutes. I haven’t been to the chili version, but it sounds about the same: for a $5 donation, you can try global versions of chili and vote for your favorite. IF you haven’t been to the Midtown Global Market, you absolutely should - this indoor market features pretty much every ethnic food you can think of, including Somali, Vietnamese, Indian, Middle Eastern. The market helps immigrants set up businesses, and plenty of the MGM stalls have gone on to open actual restaurants (including one of my favorites, Sonora.)

Augustine's Bar and Bakery

I read an article about a bakery/bar concept in Brooklyn the other day and thought THIS IS MY DREAM LOCATION. The very next day, I saw a tweet that Augustine's - a bar and bakery in St. Paul from the owners of The Happy Gnome - had just opened for business. FATE. 

Pumphouse Creamery cinnamon ice cream

Because I am broken, cold weather makes me crave ice cream. Sometime in the past few years, cinnamon has moved into my top flavor spot. Pumphouse currently has three different types of cinnamon ice cream and I’m thinking a cinnamon ice cream flight is in order. 

Anthropologie Book Club | November 16

Let me take you on a little journey: In June, one of my favorite authors, Sloane Crosley, came to town for a reading and conversation with The Riveter magazine (a wonderful local magazine focusing on writing by women.)

At the event, I got a little flyer for a Riveter bookclub at Anthropologie. After a bakery and a bar, this is my second dream combo.

I’ve been able to attend just two of the book club meetings, but I’ve loved them. Aside from some of the best book conversations I’ve had in real life, the Anthro team creates outfit inspiration based on the book’s characters—and even that adds some really interesting elements to the conversation. 

Gingerbread Wonderland | Starting November 22

I saw a postcard for this tacked to a bulletin board next to the bathroom at a coffeeshop. A gingerbread Twin Cities! Why not?

Hip Hop Nutcracker | November 22-23

INTRIGUED. 

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime | November 29 - December 4

A friend of mine entered the Hamilton lottery, didn’t win, saw this play instead, loved it, and never even complained about not seeing Hamilton. I can’t think of higher praise. 

(RANDOM SIDE NOTE: Y and I listened to the audiobook of The Curious Incident on a cross country road trip, and my iPod (remember those?) kept accidentally skipping to a chapter that started “And there were three little poos” so that phrase is all I can think of when I hear about this play. 

MCAD Art Sale | November 17-19

Every year the Minnesota College of Art and Design holds a big sale of student work— all kinds! It’s such a fun experience and a great opportunity to purchase some unique art. One of my favorite parts last year was a room of comic artists creating art on the spot for less than $5, and a photographer taking tintype portraits.  

the actual easiest Halloween costume: Rosie the Riveter

I'm sure you've seen your fair share of Rosie the Riveters this Halloween, and I just want to be clear that I (and I alone) started this trend last year.

And then this year, because I am actually the laziest human you will ever meet, I pulled the red bandanas out of the closet, and of course we had new chambray shirts for fall 2016 because what are we, farmers? (it probably makes more sense for a farmer to have a chambray shirt than it does a toddler, tbh)

And just like that, out of sheer laziness and a smattering of nasty woman pride, a tradition was born. Any guess as to how long she'll let me keep this up?

Here's a how-to: buy a red bandana (mine are from Target). Buy a chambray shirt (from literally anywhere.) Find the largest image of Rosie the Riveter you can (this will do) print it, cut it, and tape it to a popsicle stick. 

Bonus to this costume: in the off-season, Rue's room gets a feminist robot:

Sunday book club: the hopefuls + other election escapes

In case you missed it, there's an election going on here in the United States. It's all very civil and entertaining and not scary in the least!  

How are you coping? I'm escaping with fiction, and The Hopefuls by Jennifer Close was my way of escaping our current political dumpster fire while still staying grounded in the reality of election season. 

The first time I visited DC was in 2008. As I sat on the metro during morning rush hour, I felt like I was missing out on something. I needed to live in DC.

Instead, we settled down in equally FOMO-inducing Shreveport, Louisiana for four years.

Eight years later, I realize the "something" I was feeling in the DC metro may have been a fierce competitiveness that I am WAY too lazy for. 

The Hopefuls  is told from the perspective of Beth, who leaves New York for DC when her husband joins the Obama campaign, chases his own political ambitions, and gets caught up in the fierce competitiveness I sensed. Beth watches it all as a disgruntled outsider missing New York.

I enjoyed the peek into this world, and I plowed through it in two days. But y'all, I wanted to hit Beth's husband, Matthew, over the head with a frying pan. I sat at a coffeeshop reading this book, seething, while Y was at an emergency dentist appointment. When he walked up, smiling to show me his new gold filling, I glared at him. My anger at the husband in the book had spilled over to my own husband.

Is that the sign of a good story? Let's go with yes. 

BONUS NONFICTION

Big Girls Don't Cry: The Election that Changed Everything for American Women dissects the role women played in the 2008 election, how voters viewed them, and how the media portrayed them. Two elections later, the book can definitely be applied to the gender issues at play in today's campaign.

BONUS BUBBLY

WHO DOESN'T NEED A DRINK RIGHT NOW? The Copper Hen in Minneapolis is serving up red, white, and blue bubbly—a classy drink for a classy election cycle. (While you're there, get a loaf of milk & honey bread. Trust.)

Red, white, and blue bubbly flight photo from The Copper Hen's instagram.

Molly on the Range: My review on TCJewfolk.com

I had the opportunity to review Molly on the Range, the new cookbook written by one of my favorite bloggers Molly Yeh, for local blog TC Jewfolk. 

“ I firmly believe that our most Jewish moments can happen anywhere — it doesn’t have to be in a synagogue or a Torah study. Sometimes it happens when you’re 25 and you hear the Black Eyes Peas sing “mazel tov” on the radio for the first time. Sometimes it happens when you accept a new friend on Facebook, realize you have mutual friends across the country, and you realize your new friend is Jewish, too.

And sometimes it happens while you’re flipping through a cookbook penned from a farm in North Dakota.”

Check it out on TC Jewfolk!

mama's cartwheel

We live a few blocks from a park that is essentially a giant field, perfect for playing fetch, flying a kite, and doing a cartwheel. 

"Watch Mama do a cartwheel," I called out to Rue the last time we were there.  This was my moment.

The Olympics had just ended, and Rue had spent several evenings standing inches from the TV watching girls in sparkly leotards fly. Naturally, she was obsessed. Our family spent many hours on the living room rug as Rue directed us in somersaults.

"Mama flip!" 

"Abba flip!"

"Ike flip!"

(Note: a toddler discovering that a dog can't do a flip will always end in tears.)  

So, when faced with a giant field, I thought I would show her that her mama was just as graceful and strong as those Olympic athletes. (a baldfaced lie, but isn't parenting really just a series of lies?)

My cartwheel felt smooth, like I was flying and strong. I landed on my feet and smiled at Rue, who was grinning in amazement.

"That was terrible," called Y, who I should note is a former gymnast and a current snob.

---

I had a flashback to being ten, chubby, and friendless. My sister-in-law, a professional gymnast, was coming over, and I had been counting down the days to her visit. If she could teach me how to "do gymnastics," like I hoped she would, I would finally be pretty, popular, and loved. 

She had barely arrived before I made my first request. "I was thinking you could teach me how to do a back handspring right now."

"Um," she said, "Probably not."

---

At the field with Y and Rue, I  gawked at Y. "Are you kidding?" I asked. I had just been upside down and then right side up again. Without falling. It felt impressive to me. 

He rolled his eyes. "You were piked and you didn't put your hands down correctly."

"Fine," I snapped, feeling ten, chubby, and friendless. "I'll do it again."

Angrily, I launched my cartwheel. I would show him.  I started running. I was graceful. I was strong. I was upside down. Weightless. 

"That wasn't any better," Y called. "You didn't... what's wrong?" 

My face must have given it away: at the peak of my graceful, perfect cartwheel, my hand had landed squarely in dog shit.

I held my hand up, a horrified expression on my face. Y started laughing hysterically. Rue started laughing hysterically. 

We walked home, Y detailing everything that was terrible about my cartwheel. I walked beside him, graceful, strong, my hand wrapped in a plastic doggy poop bag. 

---

(We are so lucky to have such an accomplished  gymnastics coach on hand.) 

Twin Cities Coffeeshops

I hate coffee, but I love coffeeshops. The music, people-watching, and constant activity spark my creativity and help me concentrate (and I enjoy my frequent eavesdropping breaks.) 

Each of my favorite places has a personality, so I recommend you choose your location based on your current project:

Your project: post an aesthetically pleasing photo of a cup of coffee. 

Where to go: Spyhouse | North Loop location. With marble tables and impeccable latte art, the North Loop Spyhouse guarantees at least 37 likes on your Instagram post.  

The vibe: corporate man bun

Favorite treat: the Spygirl, a predictable yet delicious lavender latte

---

Your assignment: dream up your next large scale mural

Where to go: Spyhouse |  Nicollet location. You'll be surrounded by other artists, fresh from a sleepless night in their studio at Minneapolis College of Art and Design down the street.

The vibe: art school grunge

Favorite treat: the Spygirl again, but when you get hungry, you're on Eat Street, so you should probably get pho.

---

Your assignment: an emotional chapter of your memoir. 

Where to go: Quixotic Coffee | Highland Park. Curl up in a dusky booth at the back of the shop and let the warmth of this place hug you like your mother never did.

The vibe: serious writers; family breakfast; one time I saw a Keri Russel lookalike squeal at the top of her lungs "I LOVE lavender in drinks" and stand on top of a stool to get a photo of her coffee. So, whatever that is. It's a mixed bag.

Favorite treat: this place has the best coffeeshop food. I highly recommend the matcha chia pudding. Right now they have an orange clove chai that is perfect. 

---

Your assignment: create a gig poster for an underground band

Where to go: Five Watt Coffee | Kingfield. The hum of conversation is your playlist. The fliers lining the bar are your inspiration. The Sweet Science ice cream pints are your reward. Get to work. 

The vibe: hip, loud, crowded, leave your pc at home.

Favorite treat: Nearly every drink is dressed up with bitters and house made syrups, and you can't go wrong with the Kingfield. on Sunday mornings, there's a delightful toast bar. (formerly an oatmeal bar) 

---

Your assignment: a new post for your style blog

Where to go: Urban Bean | Uptown. You've got an SD card full of outfit shots and 500 words to tap out. This quiet, bright white spot is perfect for your post on your minimalist capsule wardrobe.

The vibe: upscale hipster, inside voice.

Favorite treat: my friend and I had their oatmeal once and it was LUH-GIT but every time we've been back, they haven't had any. 

---

life with Rue (September 2016)

"Pitty nazi," says a tiny voice at my feet.

"I'm sorry, what?" I say

"Pretty nazi," she repeats, gazing up at me, reaching for... my necklace. 

"Necklace?"

"Yeah!" she shouts, nodding, "Mama nazi."

---

These days, I'm a human jukebox; a shitty one with only four songs:

1. MMM MMM (Shake it Off)

2. Whoa Whoa Whoa (Row Row Row Your Boat)

3. Doo doo doo doo (Here Comes the Sun)

4. Appy! (Happy)

Here's how it goes, every time: I ask her what song she wants to sing, she requests one of the above, I sing three words, she says NO and says the name of a different song. Around and around we go.

---

Rue and I listen to a lot of audiobooks on our commute to daycare. Together, we've explored the world of Seinfeld, examined the gender politics of the 2008 election, decided we are lukewarm about Padma Lakshmi, said a giant F you to cancer, and became experts on scientology and instant fans of Lindy West. Most recently, we listened to Amy Schumer's audiobook.

Here's my "I swear I'm a good parent" disclaimer: I was fully prepared to turn the book down at any super racy moments (not that I was expecting any of those from Amy), but I happened to listen to the tamer chapters in the car with Rue. The most scandalous thing we heard was the chapter where Amy examined her teenage shoplifting habit. 

I glanced in the rearview mirror. 

"Don't steal," I called to the back of the car.

Silence.

"Rue, can you say 'don't steal.'"

Silence.

"Rue. Say 'don't steal!"

"STEAL! Steal! steal! steal!"

15 minutes later

"Steal! Steal!"

---

Other things I often hear from the back of the car:

1. Iwasawawa. (Translation: I want some water.) 

2. Mama car. Mama car? Mama car! Mama car. 

3. ALLLLLLL!! DONNNNNNNNE!! CAAAAAAAR!!

4. Outside bee! Oh no! Outside bee! (Every bug is a bee (which, in my head, I just sang to the tune of Every Rose Has its Thorn)). 

3. Outside baby. Outside baby. Outside baby.

She must have said "outside baby" for ten minutes straight one afternoon after I picked her up. "I don't think there are any babies outside," I said, confused. But she persisted. I gave up. "You're right, there is a baby outside."

The next morning I asked her daycare teacher why she might have been saying that. And what do you know, in the afternoons, the baby class plays outside ("outside baby!") near where the toddlers play, and the toddlers run to the gate to watch them like zoo animals.

So. She was trying to tell me about her day. And I dismissed her. But to be fair, she could have given me a tiny bit more context.

Sunday book club: funny lady memoirs

Let's start a book club; the kind where we don't have to read the book but also don't have to go through the "WE READ MORE WINE LABELS THAN BOOKS" trope.

I'm going to post something about books or reading every Sunday, and if it ends up being me and my computer screen, well, that will be less airbrushed shirts to make when my book club goes on a weekend getaway together. 

If the list of books I've read this year was my Netflix account, this category would be witty memoirs with a strong female lead. It seems like there's been a lot of those this year, don't you think? These are the ones I've read:

The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl

I thought maybe Issa Rae and I could be friends. A lot of her stories of growing up awkward resonated with me, but then I realized she created her own show on HBO and she is way cooler than me (the first episode of the show aired this month and I was very into it). I thought some of Issa's stories landed better than others and there were a few continuity things that annoyed me (it seemed like maybe some stories got moved around at the last minute and threw off the flow), but as a whole I enjoyed the book, which led me to her web series (way late to the game), and then her tv show, and I'm excited to keep following her career. IMPORTANT SIDE NOTE: She has amazing teeth. (3/5 stars: I was a fan, but, a few months later can't remember specifically what I loved about it.)

Shrill: Notes from a Loud Woman

I loved everything about Lindy West's book of essays about her life, rape culture, and fat-shaming—it made me laugh, cry, think, and it may have even made me a slightly better person. Basically, it's all I ever wanted in a book. (5/5 stars: I will be thinking about this book for a long, long time.)

It's Okay to Laugh (Crying is Cool Too)

Nora Purmort is a local celebrity here in Minneapolis—she's basically the new Prince. When her husband was diagnosed with brain cancer, she started a blog called "My Husband's Tumor." He passed away not too long after, and the essays she wrote in the aftermath were unexpectedly funny and charming. This book builds on those. I read half on paper, and listened to the other half, and I think she is at her best performing her stories out loud.

Important sidenote: I met her one time and she immediately told me her eye was twitching, which means maybe she's just as awkward as I am. (3/5 stars: Highly recommended, but I wanted a little bit more from some of the stories)

The Girl with the Lower Back Tattoo

Obviously, I picked up Amy's book because I thought it would be funny—but in the end I preferred her more serious chapters. I love Amy's standup and show but somehow, for me, her humor didn't translate well into her personal stories...which makes no sense since you'd think those two would intertwine naturally. Also, I was annoyed by the essays that were literally lists of facts.  (2/5 stars: I liked it, but I didn't love it.)

You'll Grow Out of It

Jessi Klein was the head writer and producer of Inside Amy Schumer, and their books came out within months of each other, so it's hard not to compare the two. Maybe I could relate to a lot more of Jessi's stories (there's one about Anthropologie that was basically a transcription of my thoughts inside that store), but I recommend this book over Amy's. (4/5 stars: I loved it, but it's not my favorite book of alll time.)

Any funny lady memoirs to recommend? Next on my list: Phoebe Robinson's book, Anna Kendrick's book, Lauren Graham's book, and I just heard about the upcoming One Day We'll All be Dead and None of This Will Matter. (because I'm a sucker for any blurb that starts out "For readers of Mindy Kaling, Jenny Lawson, and Roxane Gay.")

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oh my god, it's back again

While planning my triumphant blog return, I agonized over what to write about. “Hmm,” I thought, tapping my pen against my pumpkin spice latte, “What’s trending right now in the blog world?” 

I took a walk, my boots crunching over leaves in shades of orange. Nothing came to me. 

I sat blankly over a bowl of pumpkin oatmeal studded with honey crisp apple slices. A chill washed over me, and I wrapped my plaid blanket scarf tighter. What was that chill? Was it writer’s block? 

Nothing came to me.

So, I just decided to write about fall.

 + The word of the day is feuillemort: having the color of a dying leaf. Hey Starbucks, Feuillemort Mocha Frappucino has a nice ring to it, yes? (Call me, I'm v good at naming things.)

+ I’m not sure why the blogosphere hasn’t caught on to Sukkot. OPEN YOUR EYES, PEOPLE: there’s an entire holiday centered around building your very own fall hut and throwing parties in it, and this year marks 5,777 years of celebrating it. The Jews are way ahead of you. (Above, I'm in a Moroccan themed Sukkah.)

+  Eleven years ago, in college, my friends and I marked the arrival of cooler weather by making this gooey pumpkin butter cake.  In my eyes, this is the ultimate fall recipe. Nothing says "It's decorative gourd season" like four sticks of butter! 

+  "There isn't something mystical about dead leaves tumbling down on your head, it's just the emotions you assign to things like that." -MTV | I've been wondering why we're all so obsessed with fall, and there's clearly a lack of research about this— Google returned my search mostly empty-handed, with offerings from MTV, the always reliable PsychicsUniverse.com, a story from NPR that's so old it could go to kindergarten next year, and, finally, these two articles I did think answered my question: 1 & 2 (spoiler alert: the Industrial Revolution, reactance theory, and social conformity are at play here.)

+ Do you know about The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows? The creator invents surprisingly beautiful words for human emotions that have no name. One of his inspirations for starting the project was the lack of word for "the wistful foreboding of the first sign of autumn."

rue's dictionary | volume 1

AH-DA

definition:

hat

usage:

When anyone wears a hat, point to it and say “ah-dah!"

suspected etymology: 

When Rue was about six months old, I discovered that I could make her laugh by putting something on my head, then pretending to sneeze so it fell off. Soon, she started trying it, too—except that she couldn’t say “ah-choo,” only “ah-da.” Now, anything that goes on a head is an “ah-da."

vaguely related:

1. Hats are a popular topic in our household—not only does Rue delight in talking about them, but Ike is actually terrified of them, and has been since he was a puppy. If we want him to leave us alone, asking "do you want a hat?" usually does the trick.

2. In preparation for her first bike ride, I've been following Rue around with a helmet for the past week telling her it's her "special hat" and clapping every time it touches her head. 

lately | early June 2016

LAUGHING, still, at this photo from a few weeks ago. You can't see it, but Rue is screaming at the creepy hand in front of her. I don't actually blame her. (That photo was taken at the fabulous Art-A-Whirl, where artists in Northeast Minneapolis open their studios to the public/dream up insane homages to fallen musical heroes.) 

READING a real, live book - with paper and everything. I'm all about the e-reader for all kinds of reasons, but sometimes I just want to turn the pages of a physical book. The book is It's Okay to Laugh (Crying is Cool, too) by current local hero/celebrity Nora McInerney Purmort. I laughed out loud for the first time on page six and have been ever since. 

WATCHING Fixer Upper and Veep, both of which are predictable in all the best ways. I laugh every time Buster offers to make Selina a cup of tea, and every time Jo announces she'll be putting an island in a kitchen.

WAKING up a little earlier every morning with the help of my army of alarm clock apps. Have you seen Ruggie? I need it, I think. 

CHASING a toddler who would prefer not to sit down for too long, thanks.

LISTENING to Beyonce, riding the high from her concert a few weeks ago. 

BUYING flare jeans from American Eagle and feeling like it’s 2000.  

FEELING like an elderly person on Snapchat, which I am treating like my own personal lip sync battle. Is that frowned upon? (username: werejustdandy)

DRAWING with my new art supplies in an old book about racquetball. Does that need an explanation? Probably. I saw the artist Lisa Congdon speak at Creative Mornings Minneapolis and immediately started following her on every social channel and bought all of the art supplies she recommended. One of the things she does is practice doodling in an old book so she does’t waste valuable sketchbook paper. Hence.

WAGGING my finger at Rue, apparently, because now every time I scold her she wags her finger at me.

hello again

When people ask me why I stopped blogging, I’m always surprised for a second. “But I am still blogging,” I think.

This is because anytime anything happens to me—a conversation, an observation, a life-changing event—I think to myself, I can’t wait to write about this. Often I actually start writing in my head.

In my mental internet, I blog three days a week with a hefty list of links on Sundays. I went viral a few times. I got picked up by the Huffington Post. How dare you ask me why I stopped blogging? 

But when I have the opportunity to sit in front of a blank screen or an open notebook for a luxurious, blog-writing amount of time, nothing comes out.

One day I hope to figure it out. But as I'm writing this, I’ve got an entire afternoon, a hipster coffeeshop (Which is playing, naturally, a surfer punk version of hava nagila), and no one to take care of.  

A day like this happens about four times a year: I'm off work, for a holiday I don't necessarily celebrate, but D still has daycare. I'm free, and I only let myself feel guilty about it for three minutes. This is the hardest thing about parenting, I think: succumbing to the fact that I might have five days to myself, tops, for an entire year. 

I guess it's worth it, though.