The Latest Miracle Product

Theoretically — and I say theoretically because it's currently about 90-something degrees outside — it's fall.

I love fall, except for one thing: the old lady hands.

It never fails. A light chill hits the air and my hands start to look all prune-y. Excuse me, I believe I mean "dried plumlike," that's the term the fruit's PR people are pushing these days. Dry, wrinkly, gross hands. Seems I can't lotion enough. But after a spilled lotion incident in the purse, I don't dare carry it around with me. I've got stick sunscreen already in my bag for the same reason. Now, the sunscreen has company with Josie Maran Argan Oil Moisturizing Stick.

If you haven't heard yet about argan oil, allow me to enlighten you. It is the latest, greatest rage in skincare. Here's the dealio, the oil is very moisturizing and is purported to have anti-aging ingredients rich in fatty acids and vitamin E. In the stick form, the oil can be used as a multipurpose balm, soothing chapped lips and skin, relieving the itch from insect bites, even taming flyaway hairs. I just roll it over my hands. When I'm feeling braver (lately I've been plagued by pimples), perhaps the balm will take a trip across my face.

You can find Josie Maran Argan Oil Moisturizing Stick at Sephora for $22.

Gettin' Jeggy WIt It

Jeggings.

If you can forgive the lame term — it's "leggings" crossed with "jeans" — it's actually a cool concept. Take a pair of skinny jeans and cross 'em with form-fitting but forgiving material and perhaps slap an elastic band on the top. If you can get over that maternity-wear look — shudder — then these are phenomenal. That is, when they're appropriately paired with long, flowy tops. We do not want to see these on the Supermarket Sirens. You know who I mean — those chicks wandering the grocery store aisles who apparently don't own a mirror and choose to wear spandex without adequate badonkadonk coverage. Yuck.

Well, I LOVE this pair of jeggings (please don't let that be a Rachel Zoe term. I don't want to give her any more credit than she's already hogging) from Tobi.com. The price is a little steep, but as usual, Forever XXI has decent versions at allowance-friendly prices.

I'm thinking jeggings paired with this Sauce top, which, incidentally I just bought. On eBay! I loves the eBay.

My version is green and has these darling, oversized gold safety pins decorated with giant faux pearls. The pins adorn the front and back. Too, too cute. It'd make a nice casual, weekend outfit.  

Friday Shoe Haiku

Flat but not boring
These make my feet so happy
Leopard — ha cha cha!


Me Too "Nevada" Flats

A Bear-y Cool Faux Fur Coat

On the one hand, maybe this jacket is taking the whole faux-fur trend too far.

But, I find it pretty darn amusing. I also think you wouldn't have to pay me very much money to wear it around.

Absolutely Mad for Plaid

It all started with this cute pic on Luckymag.com (the Lucky magazine Web site): a fun, low-key plaid look.

Now, I'm completely obsessed.

Not only did I buy a $20 Forever XXI plaid shirt, so I could steal this look (except for the tights — still too hot), but I find myself needing more plaid. It's like fashion crack.

I found this awesome plaid tunic by Torn. (And yes, I do spend too much time looking for things to covet on the Internet.) Even on ebay, the top is still waaaaay too expensive for a novelty look. But man, I'd love to wear it with skinny jeans and some tough, peeptoe boots.

And then Stems — A Shoe Boutique got in these ADORABLE plaid Harajuku Lovers platforms in red plaid. I might be willing to torture my tootsies for these.

My question is....How much plaid does one closet need?

A Little Spritz'll Do Ya

OK, so after I celebrated a 77-degree day with Ugg boots last week, I'm now being punished — harshly — with high 80s temps.

Ugh.

No more boots this week. In fact, after taking the puppy and 4-year-old for a walk in the 86-degree heat yesterday, I reached for my Evian spray mist when I got home. Sure it smacks of a very "I-live-in-the-Hamptons-dahling-and-I-have-a-day-laborer-just-for-opening-the-pickle-jar" move, but that light spray mist felt so refreshingly good. If I'd put it in the fridge, that would have been even better.

You can pick up a duo of Evian spray for $11 at Sephora. It's a worthwhile little splurge.

An Inconvenient Poo

Al Gore can yammer all he wants about global warming. The biggest problem in the world — well, my world anyway — is an inconvenient poo.

It never fails — whenever we go, wherever we go, someone has to go. Always No. 2. And, it's usually the youngest, No. 3, who has to do his doo-ty.

Now, I know the Mommy Handbook. I faithfully follow Rule No. 5, and I never, ever leave the house without making them sit on the toilet first. And yet, the minute we go out to the mall, the grocery store, the restaurant — he's gotta go. Interestingly, it's the craft stores that really get his bowels moving.

The automatic doors fly open when we arrive at JoAnn, and I see the look. It's the same uncomfortable, pained expression I see on my husband's face on those rare occasions when I force him into a craft store, his own personal purgatory. Like father, like son.

"Uh, Mom," he'll say. "I have to go to the bathroom."

If we're lucky, we skip the room-clearing gas that's typically a precursor to the Public Restroom Visit.

We'll march to the back of the store and everything needs to come off, for some reason. Shorts, undies, shoes AND socks. All spread over the floor, which does wonders for my germophobia. I'll make him wait until the toilet seat is appropriately swaddled in TP, and then he can sit. Minutes go by...

"JJ, are you done?"

"Nope."

"Are you finished now?"

"Nope."

Of course by this time, he's scooted around enough that TP is all over the floor, leaving his innocent little bum exposed to countless cooties left behind by other asses. This makes me crawl out of my skin. Would it be possible to bathe him in antibacterial hand gel? Is there enough in my purse? In the world? Will he ever be clean again?

This past weekend, he had a soccer game. Afterward, he had to go. The park was crawling with kids, I was sidetracked by my other kid's bake sale, so I didn't have time to quiz him when he said he needed to go. Like there was any question.

Now I've been at correctional facilities — for work. And let me just say that I'm pretty sure that the in-cell toilets
were nicer. Undoubtedly cleaner.

There was my sweet little boy in that nasty, nasty slumpblock "restroom." Of course he was in there awhile. A line started. Then, a little hand pushed open the door from the inside. "Moooooom?" JJ called.

I walk over. Undies and soccer shorts are down around the ankles. At least he wasn't barefoot. A minor miracle.

"Are you done?" I ask.

"Yes."

Another miracle.

"I can't flush," he whines. "There's no flusher."

I look at the stainless steel toilet — no toilet paper on the seat, shudder — and the urinal and the standard prison-issue sink. There's a handle jutting straight out of the wall next to the toilet, which I point out to JJ.

"No, I don't need help," he insists. "I don't need help! That makes the man come."

Dear God, he thinks this bathroom is nice enough to have a restroom attendant. I still can't figure out when he would have been in a restroom nice enough to have one. Surely not at Michael's.