The following is far too beautiful to clutter with words. Thanks for the rec, Em.

62. Young Lions by: The Maccabees


Gone Style: Family Jeans (Sponsored)

One of my earliest childhood memories involves a puddle, purple rain boots and a pair of denim overalls with a flower on the front pocket. It was the first item of clothing I could put on myself, untwisting the straps and hooking them to the buttons before proudly standing before the mirror. There I was, a bonafide big kid ready to take on the balmy summer afternoon, pockets full of the plastic zoo animals I took with me everywhere.

Fast forward to now, twenty some odd summers later… I’ve outgrown the overalls by a mile but I’m still kicking around in denim and so, not surprisingly are my kids.
Archer brilliantly pairs his favorite grey jeans with yellow shades, coincidentally coordinating with the “Travel Town” balance beam. Well played.
Fable strikes a pose in her denim jacket, drop-waist dress and handmade bow.
In my favorite skinny dark-denim jeans and denim wedge shoes.
Vest belonged to my grandfather.
Shirt = thrifted.

I tend to (try to?) dress for comfort and style. Same goes for my kids who must at all times be comfortable for daily adventuring, collecting moments and playing games, running down sidewalks, digging in the sand… For us that means jeans, mixing and matching denim pieces with cotton dresses, tees and sandals for summer.

Archer’s at the age where he picks his own clothes but Fable, for the time being, is still my baby and I omgso completely enjoy picking her little outfits in the morning. Layering thrifted pieces with new items, hand-me-downs with homemade gifts.

I think a lot about Archer and Fable and what they will remember. And I wonder if, much like I can remember the feel of the suspender buttons on my flowered denim overalls, they will hold the same kinds of memories. Of the lovingly worn jeans with the hole in the knee…
…The denim jumper that started as an infant dress but over the months became a shirt:
… The jacket she wore to the family picnic on the fourth of July:
And if for whatever reason they don’t, I will.

And if I happen to forget, my mind cloudy with a chance time-blurred memories? I’ll have thousands (literally, thousands) of pictures to remind us all.


This post was sponsored by the lovely people at Gap. Thank you, Gap! (ED: All items of clothing, including denim pieces were purchased and styled by GGC and fam.) For more on Gap's new denim line including stylespiration for the whole fam, check out Gap's uber- fab 1969 style stream. Enjoy!

Friday, 5:13pm, Office

Music for dancing + photography c/o Archer


Ten Items or Less

<span class=
First off, thanks to all for your advice to "take the week off" blogging. Clearly, I took it. And perhaps even more clearly (to me, at the very least) I needed to. This last week was one of the most clarifying weeks of my life and for the first time in a long time spent the week without thinking about what I have to "post about" tomorrow. It's addicting, this blog. Twitter. Checking Facebook. Sharing information. I realized just how addicting it was when I had to physically pull myself away daily... When every time something funny or clever or interesting entered my head I automatically went to tweet it- and then... smacked myself in the face. Because, why? Do any of you really care what I overheard at Trader Joe's? I'm going to predict, no. Especially with thousands of others simultaneously tweeting about what they heard at Trader Joe's. I mean, fuck, you guys! We all go to Trader Joe's, do we not? You know what I mean. So what's with all the noise? Sometimes I feel like I can't fucking shut up and I hate myself for it.

I used to have these really lovely quiet moments inside myself and now it's like, I feel this need to open up at all times in order to be... I don't know... validated? Normal? Interesting?

I don't want to be that girl. I roll my eyes at those girls. And yet... I AM that girl. Except the thing is? I'm not a girl. I'm an adult. A woman. I'm a woman who tweets about dogs wearing sunglasses? I don't know, man. I don't get it. I don't get me. Kids these days. Adults these days.

In summary, before I go waaaaaay off the deep end and you guys think I'm even crazier than last week's post let on, I'll say this: When your life becomes your living, it's impossible to know where to draw the lines. "Don't shit where you eat" doesn't apply to those of us who have spent the last eight years (five here at GGC. Three at my former blog, now defunct) blogging publicly about our personal lives. Fuck! Including my ...Teenage Soul days, I've been doing this for fifteen years. That's more than half my life. I don't even remember what it feels like to journal privately. I have no skill set when it comes to privacy. And sometimes being as exposed as I have been all these years is overwhelming and I have no idea what the fuck I'm thinking and I feel this overpowering need to hide... out... for a week slash forever.

...Gargling with reality after waking up one morning and being like, "oh, this food I'm eating? There's shit in it. Someone pooped in my breakfast. What? What's that you say. Oh, yeah. It was ME who pooped in my breakfast. Gross, self. Gross."
<span class=


It felt really good to step away. To unplug from the sensory overload machine and massage the fist-sized conundrums in my neck. Not that those knots don't still exist. They're just...

I'm just...

Rusty with the metaphors apparently. Gosh, that was bad.

Anyway, I'm back. I'm here. I'm fully caught up on Mad Men. (Poor Sally. Sad face.) I did some writing, some reading, spent quality time with my kids sans cameras and phones and computers. Spent quality time with myself, reevaluating my goals as a writer and parent, wife and friend, sister, daughter, cousin, client, dog owner, neighbor, butcher, baker and candlestick maker...Did me some light shopping at "Trader Joes"... Felt for the first time in several months not overwhelmed.

I'll tell you what, kid. There's no therapy like being able to stand in the "ten items or less line" after spending the last however-many-months apologizing to the guy behind you re: your overflowing cart and "you might want to get in a different line, this might take a while."

It feels really good to be unapologetic - to walk out of the market with one bag in hand rather than pushing a broken cart full of overflowing satchels.

That's vacation, am I right?

... But it also feels good to be back.

For better or for worse, this blog is so much more than what I do, it's who I am.

Thank you for sticking around.


Random. So random. Random town.

Okay. So. Remember back in January when I threw a fit because my Mirena was making my hair fall out? Okay so it wasn't just my hair. I was also dealing with a dead libido. (Non related: I still confuse the words "libido" and "lipid. It's been a source of embarrassment since my 9th grade Foods class. Non related #2: Until I was twenty-one years old I thought "quitting cold turkey" meant quitting with the aid of cold turkey. As in, years ago, an ex-boyfriend said he was going to "quit smoking, cold turkey" so I went to the Supermarket and bought him a shitload of cold turkey meat to help him... uh... quit?) There was also a yeast infection issue that was disgusting and totally not my style (ED: "Yeast infection" is the second most unattractive word-coupling after "making love").

Anyway. Sorry about all of the parentheses. And everything else you're about to read. It was a long day/week and it's late. And I'm writing this post in a shower cap because eventually I'd like to take a shower if that's cool.

Anyway. Regrouping to announce that contrary to earlier assumptions, I'm now convinced that Mirena had little to do with my hair falling out in clumps. And that's because, nine months after having my Mirena removed, my hair is STILL falling out of my head. In clumps. The messy bun? Is to cover my scalp which reveals way more TMI than I'd like.

... Meaning, I'm afraid I blamed Mirena for something that might have been my body's fault all along and because I'm fair, I felt the need to let everyone know that my hair loss may be my own issue. For instance: I've been very stressed out lately c/o much work + little time, family + career = what happens when writing about your family is your career + my life is a series of events I am more concerned with recording than experiencing + what am I doing and why am I doing it + my DVR is piling up with Mad Men episodes I'd really like to watch someday + it's summer and I'd like to take a few days off, maybe even a week but I can't STOP because I'm a crazy person + etc + etc + more etc = AHHHHHH!

In the last year my hair has started going grey so it only makes sense that the shit would want to fall out, too. So, sorry Mirena. I may hate you but the truth is? No one but ME deserves to be blamed for my recent hair loss.

According to my doctor, my hair's recent thinning could also have something to do with post-pregnancy hormones as well...


There's a Steven Slater in all of us?

...Although my story sounds more "after school special" than "take that, asshole! Down the slide I go!"

Therapy: the ultimate revenge! Or... not. But tragedy + time does = comedy and I am LMAO for life. Truth.

Enter to win an $100 Amazon.com gift card by writing about your "Steven Slater" moment, here. Good luck!


Eat Well: Killer Tomatoes with WWW

The following is another delicious guest post by WWW. Enjoy!
I was all set to write about grain this week until today when I stepped into my garden after being in LA for two days. There, staring at me, were six pounds of plump, ripe tomatoes and several fallen green ones, begging to be eaten. I was immediately reminded of the 70's cult classic and decided I had better figure out what to do with all those tomatoes before they decided to eat ME! After picking two huge bowls full, I thought it might be fun to make an entire dinner with tomatoes so I gathered my cookbooks and set to work planning a tomato themed meal. Even if you don’t have a garden, cheap vine ripened tomatoes are plentiful right now at every farmer’s market so it’s a great time to cook with these luscious veggie-fruits.
I know I already did a post about summer soup, but as I said before, I LOVE soup and tomato soup uses several pounds of tomatoes, which is a good thing when you have a lot of them. I thought it would be a perfect time to try my new cookbook, Love Soup, by Anna Thomas. I happened to have all of the ingredients in the house for her tomato and fennel soup with blood oranges. This delicious soup is easy and quite filling for a light summer soup.

Tomato and fennel Soup with Blood Orange
(From Love Soup by Anna Thomas) Serves 6


2 ½ lbs ripe tomatoes
1 ½ Tbs. olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 large fennel bulb, chipped
1 tsp sea salt plus more to taste
freshly ground black pepper
1 ½ cups vegetable broth
¾ cups fresh blood orange juice
Garnishes: 1 cup drained yogurt or crème fraiche
2 Tbs. sugar
grated zest of 1 blood orange
sprigs of fennel greens

Cut crosses in the tomatoes with a sharp knife and scald them in boiling water for 1 minute, then drain, rinse with cold water, and slip off their skins.
tomatoes, skinned

Cut the tomatoes into large pieces, saving all of the juice. You should have about 5 ½ cups of cut-up tomatoes.

Heat the oil in a nonstick skillet. Add the chopped onion and fennel, sprinkled with a big pinch of salt and some pepper.

Cook the vegetables over medium heat, stirring often, until they are soft and golden but not brown, about 20 minutes.

Combine the cooked onion and fennel in a soup pot with the tomatoes and their juice, a pinch of cayenne, the broth, and the blood orange juice.

Cover the pot and simmer the soup for about half an hour, or until the fennel is entirely soft and the tomatoes have released their juice and turned dark.
Allow the soup to cool slightly and puree it until it is completely smooth, either in a blender or with an immersion blender. Return the soup to the heat, bring it back to a simmer, and taste.

Adjust the seasoning with additional salt and pepper if needed, and add a touch more broth if it seems too thick.
Whisk the drained yogurt or creme fraiche with the sugar.

Serve the hot soup in shallow bowls and sprinkle a tiny pinch of grated zest over each serving, then drop a big spoonful of the yogurt in the center of the bowl and garnish with sprigs of fennel greens.

Now for the main course....

I wanted something I could whip up while the soup was cooking and since several green tomatoes had dropped off the vine, I decided to make fried green tomatoes (I must have movies on the brain today!!). This is a very easy main course to make and is a great substitute for meat since green tomatoes have a pungent tang to them.

Fried Green Tomatoes
4 green tomatoes
2 eggs, beaten
1 cup buttermilk (or yogurt)
Seasoned bread crumbs OR cornmeal mixed with salt, pepper, and herbs of your choice
(or half bread crumbs, half cornmeal)
Canola oil (or half butter, half oil)

Cut tomatoes into ¼-½ inch slices:
Beat eggs and buttermilk* together before coating tomatoes in flour.
Then dip tomatoes in egg/milk mixture.
Dredge in breadcrumbs or cornmeal.

Heat oil or butter in pan until hot. Fry tomatoes in batches until golden brown on both sides.
(don’t crowd the pan)
Put finished tomatoes in 200 degree oven on paper towels to keep warm
(as you finish cooking the other tomatoes)

(served here with fresh homemade salsa)


For my final dish, I made a simple caprese salad…sliced tomatoes topped with buffalo mozzarella, fresh basil leaves, drizzled with good quality olive oil and salt and pepper.

I am sure you must be thinking I am crazy to make an entire dinner of tomatoes, but honestly, each dish tasted so different that we really didn’t notice that the entire dinner was made from tomatoes.

I think, though, tomorrow’s harvest will be shared with the neighbors and I will go to the movies!


*I substituted buttermilk with (goat milk) yogurt and it was delicious! Recommended!


Yesterday, a lovely girl named Ashley posted the following video on my facebook wall. She thought I might like which I totally did. So much so I thought I'd share it here (for those of you who haven't seen.) And this is why I love the Internet. It's like passing notes in first period without getting into trouble. Sharing ideas and stories and articles and videos and everything that means something to and from ourselves. As someone who once dreamed of becoming a poet, (shut up, don't laugh) who was told, "no one cares about poetry" ... "unless you're Jewel" ... "and you're not Jewel even close" ... it's pretty exciting to see that this lovely video, posted not three weeks ago already has a million views:

Major fist pump.
Thank you, Ashley. And thanks to all of you for sharing your videos and stories, links and articles, blogs, music, photographs, essays and selves with me over the years. Love that we all get to sit beside one another in this massive, inspired classroom. Alone, kind of, but not really.

Yesterday, 6:20PM, My Parents' House

Yesterday, just before dinner, Fable spotted a balloon.
She pointed her finger and we all looked up.
And then, as they do, it disappeared.
"ba-bye balloon. Ah gone."