As I inch closer to my 40th birthday (it’s still a year and a bit away so I’ve got a little time), I am becoming pre-occupied with signs of aging (or maybe it actually has nothing to do with my mentality about turning 40, and everything to do with the fact that I am almost 40 and symptoms–I mean, visible signs of aging–are starting to come on fast and furious). I’ve got lots of greys (good thing my husband turns out to be pretty good at root touch-ups), and have noticed a

As we were on a rare family outing to Yorkdale the other day, Mike looked at one of the displays in a store window and said, “I don’t have enough stuff in one colour palette. None of my clothes coordinate very well.” Usually quick to commiserate, I had to stop myself because this spring I have really focussed on limiting purchases to a specific colour palette (light neutrals in denim/blue, cream, and nude), that not only work well together, but that tie into my pre-existing spring/summer wardrobe as well, resulting in

I’ve written a lot of posts about cleaning lately, which is apropos because, well, I’m a mom, and if you didn’t already know, being a mom means wearing that hat plus a hundred others that I, at least, hadn’t  thought about pre-kids. I wrote about how we hired a cleaning lady  a little while back, and I am so fortunate to have had so much of the burden of housework (and my mood!), lifted because of it. Our beloved helper (Gigi is in LOVE with her), comes and works her

When it comes to shopping, my MO used to be, see something that catches my eye and buy it, which is fine if you’re looking for a wardrobe of flash-in-the pan items that don’t fit together very well (read: a green metallic skirt, more pairs of destroyed jeans than I can count, a white flapper-style dress–you get the picture). So recently, I decided to fill in the holes left between the fun, statement pieces, with some much-needed basics. And the fashion powers that be are right–it is easier to get

A few months ago, having just come off a particularly arduous day of cleaning (of course Gigi would shorten her nap on the day I had set aside to clean the house that week), my mom-friend passed me the number of her cleaning lady while we waited for our boys at school pick-up. Intrigued, I took the little slip of paper–but with so much guilt you’d think I was buying elicit drugs in an alley somewhere. When I told Mike I had the number, he was all for it–most likely because he is

It’s World Water Day and I am proud to partner with Brita to get word out there about their campaign with Me to We to support a borehole in Irkaat, Kenya, that provides the local community with clean water. I can obviously get on board with the initiative and I love that it’s two-fold; not only does your purchase have an impact in Kenya, but by using Brita’s reusable statement bottle in lieu of a disposable water bottle, you are making an environmentally conscious choice that affects us all. So, stand

I’ve never been much of a suit person because I’ve never had reason to be. When I did work in an office, the dress code was pretty much non-existent, provided you dressed fashionably (I did PR for fashion brands),which suited me just fine. Before that, I worked for a non-profit arts organization so you know there was nary a suit in site. “You’re lucky,” my friends, who had to wear business casual every day, would say on shopping trips upon turning down my suggestions (“I can’t wear that to work,”

I’m usually pretty open-minded when it comes to clothes and gladly accept outlandish pairings, offensive proportions, unorthodox style–that’s the stuff of fashion, I think. But if there’s one oversight that the gods of style must regard as a sin, it has to be treating your topper as an afterthought. You know the type I’m referring to–that would-be put-together woman on the street who relinquishes any and all style cred by wearing her everyday parka over her chic dress. “She might be cold,” you say, and yes, parkas have their place

I used to fret about cramming as many blog photos in as possible on the weekends when my photographer/husband/childrens’ father was home during daylight hours, to take them. (Mike’s titles are by no means listed in priority sequence there–I mean, unless you count those of my former, photo-whoring self who’d rather gamble her infant’s afternoon nap than risk not having “enough” outfit posts for the following week. That bish be cray). And I was. I wasn’t living in the moment with my kiddos, which was a big deal because, since

I’ve been talking about Minimalism a lot on the blog lately, and while I have realized that I am not–and could never be–a Minimalist in the sense that most people in the documentary espouse (I’m a stuff-everywhere, lived-in, piles-of-pillows, and clothes-as-mementos-type person), I can make more intentional purchases. Rather than eschewing my love of clothing in favour of a deprivatory capsule wardrobe, I have been prompted to look more closely at my shopping habits and how they impact my life–and the world. I’ve alluded to it time and again, but I’m the shopping equivalent

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