Dressing The Beast This Weekend

The third trimester is catching up to me and my wardrobe.

I just got back from visiting friends in Saint Louis where they have things like ice and clouds and temperatures around freezing.

Generally speaking, baby bumps are useful for those sorts of climates, but apparently sweaters come in handy, too.













Most of this stuff is old, because I'm frightened of maternity clothes, but truthfully, I'm just happy anything fit. Aston spent the entire weekend trying to kick his way out of it all, anyway. Maybe he's not a fan of stripes?

Pulling Back The Curtain

I booked a flight out of town for Friday, but this weekend all I wanted to do was spend time with Andrew, the dogs, and that turtle inside of my belly. We went shopping and played basketball and ate ice cream and took long walks. Followed by even longer naps.

Before I take off for a few days, I'm going to try to do a post answering some of your questions about The Nursery Before + After. (And possibly the new house purchase, since I've gotten a few emails about that? Is there enough interest?) If you'd like to know anything that you haven't yet asked, feel free to leave it in the comments below.

Until then, here's a round up of some of the pieces I'm digging for the kiddo's closet.


Rugby Striped Storage Bin


Eames Hang It All


Children's Shirt


East Village Poster


Tin Pendant

Such Things As Coexisting

For the last several weeks, when I look downward all I see is belly.

I haven't embraced it in the way that I thought I would, and find myself wondering on an hourly basis who this unrecognizable body belongs to and what strangers think of it and will I be able to tie my shoes in the morning?

Still, as the days go by I'm growing further and further in awe of this entire process, how my muscles and bones and hormones have taken over in a total and utter dictatorship, against all of my protests, directing my body to care for Aston in exactly the way that it should, in the way that every mother and doctor and midwife and textbook advises.

Yet my feelings towards it remain paradoxical. There is the intense respect I've developed for it, on an entirely new level, but it's coupled with a refusal to fully own it, to attach an identity to it, to redefine myself in any sort of physical way (though it's pretty hard to deny the pity looks I get when I'm running).

This surprises me.

Before + After: The Lake House: Nursery

So, friends, The Nursery is finally complete enough to share. This is where Mr. Aston Robert will sleep, breathe, and poop.

Hopefully light on the poop.

Just to refresh your memory, here's what it originally looked like. It's a fairly large space with an attached sunroom and rooftop terrace.




It had beautiful bones, but the yellow was killing me. It had to go.

When I first began working on the design I'd already accumulated most of the pieces I wanted to use. I realized early on that this project was going to be very personal. I wanted not only a functional and comfortable space, but a room filled with things that we love, things that a little boy of ours might love, too. This was our focus, and as the plan developed it became less and less important if The Nursery actually looked the part of, well, a nursery.





















Nearly everything was found at local estates or consignment shops or during our travels. I bought the ottoman online from a place in India. The little cowboy boots were Andrew's. The work above the crib is mine from years ago. You may recognize the pharmacy lamp from our old office. The little red stool is something I picked up a while back and was using in The Laundry Room. The only new piece of furniture is the Bloom Coco Stylewood Baby Bouncer (gifted from Andrew's parents), unless you count the new slipcover I bought for the rocker.

So what are your thoughts?

Not too shabby, right?



See Part 2 here.
See the feature on Apartment Therapy here.

Lakeside Happiness

Lately, Aston and I spend most of our time here.

Except when we're not actually there, and we're in here. Looking out there.




It's beautiful and it's our happy place. Seriously.

We laugh and putz around and talk. Usually about how pretty it is or what we're going to make for dinner. Yesterday I read him a little Michael Palmer organ theft medical mystery thriller. Sometimes the conversation turns toward politics. You never know with that kid.

Also, before you ask (because I know someone will), I'll tell you. That belly. Yes. It is killing me. My back. My feet. My neck.

Did you happen to notice that first photo? The pulling to the left in my stomach?

That, my friends, IS A MOTHERLOVING KICK.

(Probably because I'd just told him he couldn't go swimming or that we were out of milk or something. Kids.)

Anyway, all kinds of weirdness is going on over here. Suddenly, I can no longer stomach bread crust. And I've developed this thing where all of my drinks must be consumed by straw. Even bottled water. Oh, and my hips. Oh. my. gosh. my. hips. They feel like they're being attacked with machetes pretty much all of the time.

My body has morphed into a science fiction version of Million Dollar Baby and I'm like Rudy on the training squad at Notre Dame. Aston has the power of no less than fourteen commercial jets and when he kicks, entire villages are relocated in Mexico.

Maybe because I've been feeding him this?





almond milk (vanilla/unsweetened) + banana.berries.kale.spinach.stevia

mix, rinse, repeat

I can't help thinking that by the time he's done baking they'll need a Caterpillar and three Jaws of Life to unearth that beast. My lady parts are legitimately terrified.

Along those lines, I've stopped reading any and all pregnancy, baby, and motherhood books and websites. And, honestly? Sometimes I wish I still had an assistant to screen my email. For anyone who has felt the need to impress upon me how essential their birth coaches or lamaze classes or parent groups or diets or breastfeeding theories are slash were slash will totally be for me (in romantic and overly passionate bordering on obsessive tones), I say to you. I SAY TO YOU.

Go forth, good soul!

I applaud you and your unsolicited, uncomfortably personal, overly informative, well meaning rhetoric.

I have taken mental note and will be preparing for this birth by doing shots and choosing a carefully selected playlist comprised of Mozart and The Ramones and Keren Ann, minus the shots. But I did go see Hugo and The Muppets, so I figure the extra credit should cover me skipping out on the other stuff.

And thank you for thinking of me.

But enough baby bidnid, let me show you what I found for Andrew.



I love big, chunky, executive desks and I've wanted to get him one ever since laying eyes on our new humungo office. The one we scored on consignment is a 1920s walnut Doten Dunton that weighs nearly five hundred pounds. Which explains why it has not moved a single hair from the precise awkward spot it was left in upon delivery.

Maybe I should ask Aston to kick it.

(By the way, ignore everything else in that photo. Aside from setting up shop we have yet to touch anything in that room, save the fireplace that singed Andrew's eyebrows. Soon, though. Probably.)



Oh and, before I forget, I have a dishwasher dilemma that I'm hoping you might be able to help with. I'm looking at that one, a basic stainless steel Magic Chef workhorse. I talked my South Florida appliance place down to $239 for it, which is sort of irresistable for a tall tub. I thought I'd ask if any of you have it and what you think before I give the salesguy the green light. The reviews are pretty good, and I need a new one, like, yesterday since our GE model just pooped out on us at The Downtown Townhouse. Would you let me know if it is awesome or notsoawesome?

Also, one more thing. Thank you to everyone who has said slash emailed nice things to me about the baby slash nursery slash pregnancy. Most of the support I've received has been amazing and not of the my two epidurals didn't work slash let me tell you about how I never had morning sickness slash blah, blah, blah, I didn't gain any weight slash I gained four thousand pounds slash what do you mean you haven't read every single pamphlet published about SIDS on the face of the earth variety.

Anyway, you're the ones who make my day.