I would have posted this sooner, but it’s taken me some time to gather my thoughts after the tragedy in Vegas. When I was single (or just prior to starting a family), things like this would happen in the world, your mind tells you how horrible it is, and you react like any compassionate person would. But it’s like the minute you have a baby, you no longer think with your head. In fact, it’s as if all of the world’s emotions get sucked into your heart and BAM – you’re a mom. You no longer just fear for yourself, you fear for these innocent little people who you created, and your mission in life is to protect that innocence for all it’s worth. But the duality is that you still have that logical pre-mommy side of your brain telling you that it’s impossible. That they will get to an age where they will become aware of the bad things that happen around them, outside of this parental bubble you’ve created, and you come to grips that this “age of innocence” is over. You accept your job as parents to raise them to be good people who fight for what’s right. Period.
So it’s been a few weeks since we broke the news that we’re expecting a girl, and I thought it would be fun to share what first went through my mind when I found out. I still can’t believe that nowadays they can do a simple blood test as early as 10 weeks to reveal the gender, and a friend of mine told me that they literally just call you up and tell you what it is. Well she wasn’t lying, and when the nurse asked if I was ready to know all I kept thinking was “oh I already know it’s a boy.” Well, not so much. When I heard her say “girl” my first reaction was, “Really??” Then, I had to ask how accurate it was because I knew Grant would want to know, and she reassured me everything is pointing to a girl. So of course I got all teary-eyed as I called my mom to tell her, failing miserably at trying to keep cool swinging my 3 year old at the park. I then got so excited because I’d been devising a plan to surprise Grant with balloons and girly looking desserts when he got home from work. When he walked through the door it was that classic look all those dads on the Youtube videos have when their sneaky wives film their reactions – at first it’s shock, and then just the sweetest look of contentment. I sent a pic to Grant’s family and they all said it looked as if he were blushing 🙂
Now that my superstitious mind has waited long enough, I’m finally ready to announce the big news. I’m pregnant! Yep, the Murray’s will be welcoming another little tyke into our family August 1st (but I’m thinking it’s gonna be a July baby, given that Garrett came early and this one’s measuring a whole week bigger already!). Aaaand, wait for it – it’s aaaaaaa….GIRL!
I’m excited this year to finally be doing a Holiday Edition of CH2T Covets! Since I know outfits don’t just throw themselves together, I’ve listed some tips below to help guide some of your style and gifting choices for the holiday season upon us.
I’ve also featured my most recent addition to the CH2T accessories family – an uber cool JORD wood watch that I’ve paired with a Thanksgiving, Holiday party, and Christmas look. And you’re in luck my friends because I’ve partnered with JORD to offer y’all a Holiday Giveaway. Every person who enters will be instantly emailed a $25 e-gift code to use on their site! So check it out, and don’t be tardy for the party 😉
Dear Judgy Mom at the park this morning,
I can see my son just offended you, and I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that my son, who just turned three less than a month ago, and who you undoubtedly took one look at and mistakenly took him for a five year old, didn’t live up to your high standards. Because here’s the thing – he does look five. At first glance, if I were you, I too would have scoffed at his behavior – running up and pushing aside your son who had at least four years on him and who he thought was done on the swing set. And I’ve been known to tell a kid (much, much older than Garrett) to let him have his turn, but minus the incredibly rude tone saying that “my son was playing there first.” And as you sat in the only other swing (as an adult), I’m sorry I didn’t thank you profusely for reluctantly getting up to let my son swing – because we all know how put out we feel to give up something to a child.
Let’s just set the record straight. I’m a sucker for anything old. Vintage cameos, antique decor, old towns – you name it, I covet it. It started with weekends spent strolling the quaint streets of Old Town Spring with my parents growing up, where the shops and restaurants make you feel like you’re living in an old west town rather than in the middle of the booming city of Houston. We’d spend hours at our favorite lunch spot, the British Trading Post & Tea Room, where my father bonded with a fellow Brit, Maureen, who ran the place with her daughters and quickly became like family. After moving away, I would plea for Grant to take me back any time we visited home, just to get a glimpse of my childhood memories.
Sign #1 that you are in desperate need of a date night: You catch yourselves referring to each other in the third person as “mom” and “dad” on more than one occasion. Yah, not cool man, not cool. So for a night, Grant and I got to leave our alter egos at home, in exchange for an intimate dinner event thrown by Los Angeles magazine at the Malibu Café at Calamigos Ranch (doesn’t that just roll off the tongue?).
Everyone’s heard the saying “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” I for one, have played that over and over again in my head ever since I was a young girl first exploring my sense of style – wondering how guilty I should feel going and buying that shirt or shoes that I spotted on a (seemingly much cooler) girl at school.
Fast forward 20 years, and I still do it today. The difference is, with the widespread popularity of style bloggers and fashion-centric social media sites (I’m looking at you, Pinterest), it’s far more socially acceptable. In fact, it’s customary and down-right necessary to turn to those whose style you admire as a way to even make it out of your closet in the morning. So alas my friends, I have learned to embrace the notion of imitation as a form of flattery, and I am here to tell you – it’s ok, don’t beat yourself up. We all do it.
Last week, Pantone announced the color of the year for 2015 – Chicken Marsala. Wait, no…just Marsala. Sorry, I have food on the brain; those five bites of pasta I snuck in between shoveling the rest in Garrett’s mouth and dodging shots flung from his spoon didn’t make for much of a dinner. Let’s try that again – hold your applause please…”Marsala” is Pantone’s Color of the Year. Yes!!!!!!
Now I’m all for a good marketing pun, but let’s call it what it is – it’s burgundy, people. The same way that 2014’s Radiant Orchid was just a fancy way of saying “wear purple, it’s cool now.” What’s more, it’s actually an excuse to dig out all my old Oxblood pieces that I bought when that was the “it” color 2 years ago – no complaints here.
In light of the holiday season among us, and instead of falling victim to the Black Friday and Cyber Monday hoopla, I decided to finally do a closet purge and donate all my unwanted clothes. Luckily my office building is doing a clothing/toy drive, and I imagine many are this time of year. I also plan on donating some of my more business appropriate clothing & shoes to the local Dress for Success affiliate in West LA.
To take a step back – I was inspired to go through with my own closet cleanout after reading a style essay in ELLE recounting one woman’s attempt to embrace her thirties. Her mission was simply to clean out all the clothes she had held onto in a desperate attempt to stay young. I suddenly realized that I had been doing the same thing – holding onto clothes that had sentimental value, drumming up memories of my college years or shopping trips in NYC. So one night, I went from rack to rack and shelf to shelf, tossing clothes into bags one after another. I have to admit, it felt damn good – like I was finally going to be free of the past and heading towards being a real thirty-something adult.