These replicas of the classic Ray-Ban Wayfarers are scaled down to kid-size proportions and ooze 80’s style. How cute are these? Most kids sunglasses are obnoxiously colored and or decorated with Disney characters.

Offered at LittleDudesOnly.com for only $14, you won’t be heartbroken when they inevitably get lost or sat on. If the Wayfarers aren’t your style, they also offer a replica of the aviators pictured below and many many other styles.

Link: LittleDudesOnly.com

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I just bought this baby-doll style, mini-dress from ShanaLogic for only $30! I like how breezy and flattering this is without being too revealing. Maybe it is a tad on the mumu-ish side, but at least I don’t have to suck in my stomach after a big meal. What’s cool about this top/dress is that it’s immune to wardrobe malfunctions as long as I wear a skinny camisole or tank top underneath and leggings or jeans on the bottom.

I’m constantly bending over and carrying my 19-month old son on my hip, this causes all sorts of disarray to my tank tops, especially since he’s fond of clinging to my shirts like a baby koala and yanking the neckline down and flashing my bra. So now that it’s hot here in L.A., it’s been a challenge to find sleeveless tops and dresses that aren’t inadvertently revealing.

Shana Logic is an online consignment boutique of sorts that sells artwork, crafts, jewelry and apparel from talented DIYers and others who are not as craft-impaired as I am. I like to support indie ventures whenever possible, plus it’s nice to wear something that’s not mass produced and being worn by every other woman. This dress also comes in other colors and in an octopus print if you’re feeling tentacular.

LINK: ShanaLogic.com

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Hoodies are the workhorse of any mom’s wardrobe. They hide a multitude of sins (the food, formula, breastmilk stains on your shirt underneath) and keep you warm. When I’m in a rush in the mornings to get my boys to school, I throw on a cute hoodie and I’m instantly dressed.

What more could you ask for? How about a little individuality? These limited edition Gama-Go hoodies are embroidered with an individually numbered patch of authenticity, so you know that only 359 other people out there have your exact hoody. For only $96, that’s an affordable luxury.

There are five different patterns to choose from.

LINK: Gama-Go

PointsandPrizes.com Keyword: FASHION worth 50 points good through 03/09/08.
Not a member? Join Points and Prizes now for more free stuff!

I received an email from Urban Baby Daily about this new site selling glam hospital gowns called girliegowns. Their website cheerily quips, “Because your delivery should be girlie not grungy.” In a perfect world, we could just sneeze and pop out our little cherubs without messing up our expensive blowouts. Unfortunately, there’s no getting around the grunge factor in labor and delivery.

In theory, I totally get why women want to upgrade that dingy hospital gown on D-Day. It’s a momentous occasion, one that will be photographed or videotaped by your significant other. A revolving door of visitors consisting family and friends will coo over your newborn and take their own pictures. It’d be nice to look presentable on the big day.

But the reality is oh-so-different. Sure, a pretty hospital gown sounds like a good plan. But it’s about as practical as using couture toilet paper. Sure, it looks nice, that is, until you get crap all over it. And I guarantee that in addition to crap (mostly your own), you will get every conceivable body fluid all over your gown from just about every orifice. Birth may be miraculous, but it’s mostly messy.

The open ties in front and back, however ugly and revealing, are essential for easy access to epidurals and exams. Between the leaking amniotic fluid, the peeing and the pooping on the delivery table, the ensuing blood, the sweat, the vomit, tears and melting ice chips, the gown you deliver in will need to be peeled off of you and incinerated. You will change into another clean gown after the nurses sponge you off, but you will be bleeding so much you will need a diaper under gargantuan mesh undies to stem the flow. And even those diapers will leak.

If you’re breastfeeding, your nipples will crack and bleed when they’re not leaking colostrum. A dab of sticky Lansinoh is pure heavenly relief, but it’s one more yucky thing that inevitably gets on your gown. Not to mention the postpartum night sweats. Remember all the water you retained while pregnant? Well this is your body’s way of getting rid of the excess and you’ll soak through your nightie in no time.The frilly nightie I packed in my bag never saw the light of day.

In my opinion, the real workhorse of any new mom’s hospital wardrobe is a pretty robe. You can cover up and look presentable when visitors come and it covers your bare ass when you’re strolling the halls with your newborn. Wear the ugly hospital gown underneath to absorb all the yuck seeping from your body and top it off with a pretty new kimono or dressing gown instead. Problem solved.

LINKS: girliegowns and pajamamania

If I could magically sprout another arm that could scratch my nose, hitch up my perpetually slipping purse, and look for my keys while my other two arms are laden down with my toddler and my older son’s backpack (which he can’t ever seem to be bothered to carry himself), I’d be a happy, happy woman. A genetic freak, but a happy, multi-tasking one.

And last time I checked, my hip hugging, low-rise jeans didn’t come equipped with front pockets capacious enough to hold my keys. Forget about the back pockets - stuffing lumpy objects back there just makes your butt look bigger. As a result, I’ve resigned myself to wearing my keys around my wrist with an ugly plastic coil I bought from a car wash gift shop or hanging them from my belt loop with a carabiner. I’m not thrilled about looking like a bank teller or a mountain climber, but sometimes you have to take one for the team.

That’s why I love the concept of the Wriskey so much. It’s a rare fusion of fashion and function. For only $12 a pop, you can wear your keys on your person and avoid looking like a prison warden.

LINKS: Wriskey via DailyStroll

This invention is a must-have for narcolepsy sufferers, long-distance travelers and sleep-deprived parents. Now you can take a nap in public in comfort…if not in style.

Available for purchase at: itp.nyu.edu

Link: via CoolHunting.com

Beware of old ladies in Christmas sweaters this time of year. Seriously. Women of a certain age who sport these yuletide monstrosities fit a very particular psychological profile and it’s best to just avoid confrontation and eye contact. It takes a pathologically aggressive personality to don knitwear with reindeer and snowmen over leggings and deem it suitable for public. Matching earrings or brooches are optional, but should serve as a warning that this grandma is particularly badass. It’s an act of fashion aggression that matches their self-centered, f@ck you attitude. They’re the ladies who cut in front of you line at the mall, steal your parking space and yell at your children in the store.

They can be a public nuisance and it’s best to avoid any checkout lines at the grocery store with Xmas sweater wearers because you can guarantee they’ll hold up the line with a terrifying assortment of expired coupons or harangue the checker with some complaint . Sure, they may look doughy and harmless enough but beware of their bright red, acrylic talons. Once they get you in their arthritic grip, there’s no escape.

On the plus side, you can see them coming a mile away and avoid unpleasant encounters by being vigilant. Last night, my husband and I took the boys out to dinner at Mogo’s Mongolian Barbeque. This has to be one of my favorite restaurants in the Valley. It’s a family-operated restaurant in a strip mall with ugly 70’s decor. But the food is an all-you-can eat buffet of meat and vegetables that you assemble yourself and give to the cook who stir fries it over an enormous circular steel drum of a stove. The place has a homey, kitschy charm and attracts a hardcore group of regulars who wait outside the doors for the restaurant to open. Once you place your order, you help yourself to the assortment of sauces, meats and veggies to assemble your stir fry.

My hubby and I usually take turns to go up since we have the children to attend to at the table and the line at the stove isn’t too bad as long as you get there early enough. I hadn’t gotten up to get my food yet but wasn’t in a particular hurry since nobody was up ahead of me. Suddenly, a group of middle aged women walked in and my husband immediately looked up and said quickly, “Women wearing Christmas sweaters, better get up there.” Sure enough, they didn’t even bother to sit down at a table to place their order and started rushing the food. A waitress had to run after them to take their order, but they didn’t pause. They kept walking and barked out their order as the waitress trotted next to them breathlessly scribbling into her notepad . Luckily, the waitress proved to be a momentary diversion and I managed to slip past them to get my food. But it was close. Like bears, they may look big and clumsy and cuddly, but when fighting over food, they can be surprisingly fast and fierce.

So I thought I’d raise awareness about the Xmas Sweater Mafia and perform a valuable public service. But when the holidays are over and the last sweater abomination is packed away in mothballs, I’m afraid we’re all on our own to identify these sociopaths lurking amongst us. Intrigued by this sweater phenomenon, I tried to research more about the history of the Xmas Sweater, but found very little about the origins. However, I did turn up this little entry at wikipedia:

 Holiday sweaters contain a (sometimes cheesy) Christmas or New Year’s related design. Patterns for holiday sweaters can be found dating from as far back as the turn of the century, but they only became common after the Second World War - before that time women didn’t wear patterned sweaters at all (before ca. 1918 women rarely wore sweaters except as jackets/coats) and men who wore sweaters generally wore either traditional patterns or plain sweaters. Before 1945 most people couldn’t afford a special sweater just for one season, either - most people had two or three changes of clothing at most. Knitters spent most of their time on socks, mitts, and other necessary cold-weather accessories.

What happened after the Second World War is that the wool manufacturing industry had to find a way to sell wool. Manufacturers had built huge factories for carding and sorting wool and producing fibers in order to fill the demand for uniform cloth during the war, but the larger wardrobes being purchased by returning veterans and their families contained a lot of items made of the new synthetic fabrics. So as not to take a huge loss on the facilities built during the war, manufacturers retooled to a small extent and started producing much larger amounts of yarn than they previously had. In order to sell this, they promoted sweaters as a fashion statement and prompted the development of commercial knitting facilities. They also produced thousands of pattern books for the home knitter and crocheter. These pattern books proliferated and things like holiday sweaters, novelty socks, crocheted toilet roll covers (anybody remember those at Grandma’s house?) and even ‘peter heaters’ (I kid you not; my mother, may she rest in peace, had a pattern. And yes, it had sizes S-M-L-XL.) Basically, if you could knit it there was a pattern for it. It was in this flurry of knitting frenzy that the holiday sweater became an entrenched part of the Anglo-American holiday period. Later on in the 70s when hand knitting became ‘old-fashioned’ and ‘fuddy-duddy’, it became more common to buy the holiday sweater. Nowadays it’s all back.

Source: my mother’s 363460989843 knitting books. –Charlene 09:24, 11 March 2007 (UTC)

This Ghost Towel is too cute to accurately reflect the true horror that is bath time. Not only for the child, but for the weary parent who has to chase a naked, dirty child around the house in order to cajole, wheedle, threaten and ultimately wrangle their spry offspring into the tub. Unfortunately, getting them into the water is only half the battle. Now that they’re wet, the advantage is all theirs as the slip and writhe out of your grasp as you feebly attempt to wash them. Afterwards, the chase resumes as you try to catch them streaking through the house, leaving a slippery trail of water in their wake for you to slip and slide on. It’s a freaking miracle I haven’t broken a hip yet repeating this ritual, TWICE a night with my two boys.

My son perked up when he saw this towel on my computer screen and asked if I could buy it for him. This retails for about $35 (U.S. Dollars), so it’s not the cheapest towel you could buy for a kid. But if it makes him hold still for even a nanosecond while I dry him off, it’s well worth the money.

LINK (via Neatorama)

Now that I’m a mom, I’ve become a freak about food sanitation and personal hygiene - especially hand washing. Children are pint-sized Typhoid Marys and hand washing is front line defense against most germs. Unfortunately, my purse hygiene would constitute a Code Red by the health department. I don’t carry a dead ferret in my purse, unlike the woman in my previous post, but I think the puddle of fermented apple juice, pirate booty, graham crackers and Altoids and God-knows-what-else at the bottom would cause even the most street-hardened purse snatcher on crack to recoil in horror.

Yesterday, I was taking a taekwondo class and my Goody hairband (as usual) exploded on the mat and zinged across the class, nearly taking out a classmate’s eye. I excused myself and ducked out to find a spare in my purse. I plunged my hand into something sticky and gritty at the bottom of my purse and sighed. This was becoming an all too familiar scenario. I finally found another hairband, but it was absolutely encrusted with graham cracker crumbs which were sodden with Purell (which had spilled in my purse). I reasoned that the Purell probably killed whatever nasty bacteria would be lurking on the hairband and brushed it off the best I could and tied my hair up. But I vowed to finally clean out my purse when I got home.

In retrospect, I should’ve donned latex gloves, but I guess I was unprepared for how bad it was going to be. And it was pretty bad. Here’s an inventory of the crap I found in my purse and I was alarmed at how 90% of the contents were expired food items.

4 boxes of Sunmaid raisins - some empty, some half full. But all of them petrified.

1 empty Altoid tin.

7 Dentyne wrappers. 3 pieces of melted gum and 2 pieces of chewed gum.

Toilet seat covers purloined from Bloomingdale’s women’s room. (See previous blog entry)

2 dried out ballpoint pens.

1 tampon, unwrapped and expanded from absorbing all spilled liquid.

2 broken crayons

2 bottles of Arrowhead water, half empty.

pacifier, covered with pirate booty dust.

3 Thomas the Tank Engine trains - Percy, Henry and Terence (I can’t believe I know their names).

1 box of dried out baby wipes.

a half dozen empty sandwich bags.

1 dead flower. (no idea what that’s about)

Sand.

A spork and pair of chopsticks.

A baby croc and sneaker. Both Left.

Snickers candy wrappers and assorted melted Halloween candy.

And creating a foundation at the bottom were a fossilized collection of cheerios, goldfish, pirate booty, pretzels, melted string cheese packets and other unidentifiable food items. I guess that explains the empty sandwich bags.

If I had a personal theme song, it would be the one from Sanford and Son. I totally disgust myself.

I remember a news story about how shockingly germy the outside of most women’s purses were when swabbed and tested in a laboratory. There was e.coli and even hepatitis detected on the purses.

LINK

Yet, I wonder if there’s ever been a study done on the biohazard lurking on the INSIDE of an average mom’s purse. I’d be afraid to take a culture of the petrie dish that I call a purse. There could possibly be new strains of penicillin or some new life form emerging from the primordial soup of pirate booty and Purell. But more realistically, handling the contents of my purse will probably just give you a very bad rash.
The most depressing epiphany was the realization that there wasn’t a single useful thing inside aside from my wallet and makeup bag and cell phone. I was creating a premature dowager’s hump on my back, carrying a heavy, overstuffed receptacle of toddler detritus. Now that my purse has been somewhat decontaminated, I feel a sense of relief. If any of my intrepid readers have been inspired enough by my post to tackle the contents of their own purse, please post your most shocking and disgusting discoveries here. I’d love to feel less alone in my handbag squalor.

This morning as I was getting dressed, I pulled down my favorite pair of Joe’s Jeans (the ones that I used to live in pre-pregnancy) and paused. I hadn’t tried them on since 6 months post-partum and I couldn’t even close the top button. Well, technically I could, but not without a muffin top explosion of abdominal skin and fat spilling out over the waistband. I knew that I was risking feeling like a big, fat pig the rest of the day if I couldn’t get into them and I’d be filled with self-recriminations over that KFC dinner of original recipe chicken wings I gorged on last night. But since this is what passes for living dangerously in my suburban existence, I thought I’d give it a go. To my infinite delight and surprise, I got the jeans on with a little wiggle room to spare. Ah, what a difference 13 months makes. The only happy side effect of having an early walker is the endless cardio chasing after him involves.

To celebrate my return to semi-svelteness, I decided I needed to do some shopping for clingy clothes. My mother-in-law spends a little time with Asher on Friday mornings, so I popped down to a neighborhood boutique owned by actress Lisa Rinna called Belle Grey. The salesperson was very friendly and helpful and instead of being snooty and standoffish, she happily pulled down her favorite t-shirts, sweats and dresses for me to try on. Instead of feeling pressured, it was more of a “I work here so I know what the best stuff is and I’m cherry picking my favorites for you” kind of vibe. I bought a couple of Michael Stars t-shirts and a super cute black Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress that can be worn two ways. The first way is sexy and low cut and totally va-va-voomey. But turn it around backwards and it transforms into a classy, Audrey Hepburn inspired, Breakfast at Tiffany’s style shift that wouldn’t be inappropriately sexy for an office Christmas party. I needed a little wrap-dress 101 lesson from the salesgirl on how to tie the damn thing, but I think I finally figured it out.

It was their very last dress in size 2 and the mere fact that I was feeling celebratory about being in that size again made me interpret it as a sign from the retail therapy gods. Plus, I reasoned, who doesn’t need a little black dress in their closet? Not only is it a wardrobe staple, it’s a Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress that will never go out of style. It seemed less frivolous when I thought about all the mileage I could get out of a classic dress that could be worn two ways and combined endlessly with jackets and accessories to dress it up or down.

Although it was a splurge to spend hundreds on a dress I had no immediate use for, when I saw how skinny yet shapely it made me look, I figured it was cheaper than plastic surgery. And speaking of plastic surgery, as I emerged from the dressing room, I came face to face with the proprietress and celebrity fashionista - Lisa Rinna herself. I think I let out an audible (barely, I hope) gasp when I got a good close up look at her face in the harsh, unforgiving light of day. The flattering t.v. lighting and the airbrushed magazine photos left me unprepared for a face that so obviously bore the ravages of plastic surgery. She was wearing tight yoga pants and a tank top with a tight jacket. Her figure is toned and impeccable, but her face…oh my lord, her face. It looked like a perfect doll face that had had been left behind in a house fire. Her skin was pulled tight and shiny, yet her features seemed a little, melted and less defined. As if the plastic features were deteriorating. I don’t know how else to describe it. And her lips were two giant, rubbery pieces of meat unevenly filled with collagen. I think she was striving for a lips that were beestung - not stung by the entire colony of killer African bees.

I averted my eyes quickly and pretended to fuss with my clothing selections so I wouldn’t be caught staring in open-mouthed horror. But Lisa Rinna is a personable, friendly type and she chattily asked me what I was buying and seemed genuinely interested in my choices. We chit chatted about how she was expanding into the store front next door and how excited she was about this. Luckily, she was busily dressing her window as we talked so I didn’t have to look her in the face and avoided any awkwardness at being hypnotically mesmerized by her over-inflated lips and boobs.

Aside from her questionable taste in plastic surgery though, her taste in clothing is enviable and awe inspiring. I was thoroughly impressed by the well-edited selection of clothes in her boutique and that there was such a mixture of low-end and high end items in one store. Plus, it’s walking distance from my house, which is probably dangerous. To complete my morning of shopping, I had the ultimate L.A.-ladies-who-lunch lunch - sushi and Pinkberry yogurt for desert. Actually, come to think of it, the really hardcore L.A. lunch ladies merely pretend to eat their salads after pilates. But since I lack the self-discipline that anorexia requires, I have to eat. Yet salads at lunch gives me gas pains all day. Plus, I do taekwondo instead of pilates and the list goes on and on. I guess I’ll never quite fit in with the other pampered suburban moms here, but at least I can fit into my old jeans.