I HATE humidity. It probably started back when I wore my hair (naturally) curly and the moisture, thick in the air, would bloat my ‘do up to 10 times the size it was when I had left the house. Now that pushing a double stroller around the city is a big part of our entertainment around here, I still hate it–but at least a few passes with the straightener means that my hair stays at bay! For an early dinner with friends the other evening in the hot, wet, heat,

We’ve got it bad over here–or I guess I have it bad, (although I’m doing my best to turn Viggo into an Olympics enthusiast–and I’m succeeding). For some reason, in my house growing up, the Olympics was always a big deal, which is ironic because my family is SO unathletic. And I really can’t stress our unathleticism enough. None of us played sports (minus one summer of softball for my sister),  but when the Olympics were underway (back when the games only took place every four years), they were central to

As I was walking across a hillside in Banff wearing this dress, I was tickled by my similarity to Maria Von Trapp and I wondered, “how did she escape to Switzerland on foot, through the Alps, while singing and wearing formal clothes?” It was all I could do to find traction in these lace-up booties while making sure I didn’t step on my hem. Speaking of Fräulein Maria, I am kicking myself for not getting an arms-open twirling picture but I was too distracted by what you don’t see in the shot; Gigi

I have been thinking about what to pack for our Alberta adventure for weeks–even months–but I still haven’t actually put anything into a suitcase. The surfaces in our house are covered with various travel essentials that I have recently purchased, but the buck stops there. Digitally, however, I’ve got a beautifully organized list divided into categories for myself, Viggo, and Gigi (Mike obviously packs himself and I’ve just learned to take no sweatpants at the cottage and running out of undies four days before we head home, in stride. True

If you know me, you know I’m not very athletic, per se. At least, that was the popular opinion until I joined my friend’s dragon boating team several years ago, and let me just say, my parents really missed the boat (literally ;))by not encouraging me to put my family’s idiosyncratic big arms to use as a rower. But I digress. Dragon boating aside, I’m not athletic, so when it came time to start thinking about what to pack for our upcoming trip to Alberta–first the badlands for some dino

Lately I’ve fallen into the habit of asking Mike if certain outfits look too young for me before I walk out the door. He always furrows his brow and acts like I’m nuts for even considering the scenario–I think partly because he’s got an “age is just a number,” attitude, and partly because I’m two years younger than he is, so if I’m feeling self-conscious about my age, then he should be having an all out tantrum because his big 4-0 is on the horizon, (as in, it’s happening before

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