When I was a thousand weeks pregnant, David and I were looky-looing a ginormous open house down the block from us—an event that typically brings all the neighbors out in our extremely real-estate-obsessed community. (#Angelenos.) The broker told me I should be sure to meet another neighbor who was also there looky-looing, who’d just delivered twins a couple of weeks before. So I did, and we had a great chat. Mostly what I took away from it was that she looked like she’d never been pregnant in her life—and I had renewed (and it turns out false) hope for my immediately postpartum bod.
Now our twins are eight weeks old, and hers are 12. David and I love walking by their house in the evening. It’s one of our favorite houses in the neighborhood—so quintessentially deco Spanish—and they’re often sitting on the front porch with their babes, so we exchange wisdom and pleasantries. It’s very 227 as L.A. goes.
Given their babes are four weeks ahead of ours, we often get useful information about the best twin baby products we’re going to be needing ourselves any day now. Thanks to this neighbor mom, I have a new list of amazing product recs I am completely drooling over. And of course, I have my own list of things I love and can’t live without—widsom I impart to any twin mom (or twin mom-to-be!) who listens. Without further ado, here they are:
File this one under B for better late than never — but since I’m on a remodeling-post roll, I’m inspired to share a couple of before-and-after photos from our 1930s kitchen remodel… which we completed two years ago.
I can’t overstate how much I loved this house when we first saw it. It felt so right. It was like that magical Say Yes to the Dress moment. Is this the one? Oh yes, gurrrl, this is the one. But I’ve said a hundred times before on this blog, the only thing not ideal about this house is its size, at about 1,350 square feet. (Fine for a couple, but not so much for growing into as a family.) The kitchen was among the rooms in particular that did not feel large, but part of the problem wasn’t actually the size itself, but rather the dearth of storage. There seemed to be just a few cabinets willy nilly, but nothing that maximized the space.
Even though I’m Jewish, I remember at least once writing a this-is-what-I-want letter to Santa. (That was every kid, regardless of denomination, right?) I remember what I asked for: a plastic candy-cane-shaped tube filled with M&Ms. Talk about squandering an opportunity.
This year, I’ve already gotten everything I wanted materially. We closed on our first home, so sweet and cozy I recall literally squealing when I first set eyes upon it. More recently, I got a new 15-inch MacBook Pro, which felt downright bougie as a replacement for my Flintstones-era, employer-issued 13-inch MacBook that approximated the max productivity of an Apple IIc. On a trip last month to Las Vegas on assignment, I sat down at the bar at the end of a long work day, promptly hit four deuces on a deuces-wild video poker slot machine, and marched right into Crystals at CityCenter to parlay those winnings into my first-ever Louis Vuitton bag — something rather shockingly out of character for my death-before-retail philosophy. And then, this weekend, we sold my six-year-old Madza (still “new” according to my previous attitude toward car ownership) that had recently developed major mechanical problems, and turned it into a 2013 hybrid — a fancier car than I’ve ever had or even wanted.
All of that is to say, my material desires are more than fulfilled (to guilt-inducing excess, in fact) and I want neither M&M-filled candy cane nor anything else. Except one thing: this cut-crystal glassware from Williams-Sonoma.