Whew, What A Week!

Last week I gave birth to Nora, this precious little fresh human being, and one of the things that happens when you have a new baby and you already have two is that you think “yes this is amazing and perfect and the most happy thing that could happen to me I love my kids and now here is another one to love.” And then another thing that you might think is “oh my jeez now there is another kid here, reset the Egg-Timer of Freedom to 18 years again here we go” (Ok. I’m kidding here. I think. Anyway, relax.)

In these times, I remind myself that I am fabulous. And having another kid makes me more fabulous (just like if there’s someone that wants to never have kids, they get more fabulous every day that they continue to successfully not have a kid). And sometimes my fabulous brain fabulously wanders and I find myself revisiting common ground, thinking: what does a stylish mom pursue? Style! Obviously! But what does it mean and what does it look like?

Well, I decide, it looks like extravagance. It looks like luxury. It looks like pampering myself (not always, mind you, but…not never), and I think Henry knows this sometimes better than I do, because (without me even knowing it) he found this great Las Vegas limo company LV Limos to come to the hospital and give us a ride home with our new baby. So when I was released from the hospital, and they wheeled me down to the front entrance, I’m looking for Henry in the Santa Fe, thinking well it would be easier to see him if this big stretch limo wasn’t in the way and then suddenly he comes out of nowhere and he’s like “what do you think of the ride?” and wiggles his eyebrows, pointing at the limo.

So I’m like let’s do this. Because I just went through some pretty harrowing stuff back there, and while there’s a part of me that’s thinking I don’t technically *need* a limo ride, there’s a much bigger part of me that says I deserve this OK. So Henry chuckles at me, because, I’m guessing, he can see the greedy glee behind my eyeballs, and the wheels turning in my head that are telling me this is what a stylish mom does. She rolls home outta the hospital in a beautiful, elegant white limousine. Cha-ching.

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So Henry’s already got our overnight bags packed in the trunk, and the chauffeur opens the door for us and we slide into this gorgeous interior. All black leather. Perfectly cool temperature (it was a hot day, sun beating down and all that). And there’s these pretty little champagne flutes with fresh orange juice. So I just melt into the seat while Henry cradles Nora, and let me tell you this was one of those bliss moments, and I’m thinking Nora you are really starting off on the right foot here on the road to being a diva.

Ok, so can I just take a moment here to defend style? Is it necessary? Is anybody still reading? I don’t know. Am I going to do it anyway? Yes.

I’ve heard some people painting style/fashion (punctuated extravagance) in a negative light, like with this big broad sweep of a brush, with words like “superficial” and “silly” and “waste of time” etc.

Which is just fine. Absolutely. If this is how you feel about the world of fashion, then you’re actually right. It is silly, superficial, a waste of time. For. You. But what some of these people forget is that energetic self-styling is a mode of locating the self for some of us. It’s a way of empowering ourselves. It’s a means of deciding how we want to feel, then making ourselves feel that way. It’s a way of navigating the chaos of white-noise that constitutes contemporary day-to-day living. It’s a meaning making scheme that we define for ourselves. It’s a constant pursuit of becoming the person I want to be.

Also it’s fun.

So the limo ride was sublime and easy and a nice way to prolong re-entry into “regular life” just a little bit longer. Thank you, Henry. You are a fabulous man.

Eventually, we get home to see Violet’s new mohawk courtesy of Aunt Sierra (my sister who I love and a hairstylist at “Sheer Luck”), and it is absolutely flawless. Violet is fierce, and she rocks her hairdo like some kind of steampunk Mad Max unhinged lunatic—I love it. She knows what she wants, and then she goes out and gets it. And she and Liam are all excited to see Nora and curious and they seem a little bit louder than I remember or else I am just exhausted, but at the end of the day, we’re a happy little family that is now just a tiny bit bigger. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for us.I’m so excited to see my kids growing up, learning to define themselves, experimenting in their own little ways with looks and styles and other ways of communicating who they see themselves to be.

Until next time.

Stylish mom signing off.

Hello, Welcome, Thanks For Stopping By

Hi, my name is Sheila, and welcome to my blog! A little bit about me first, I suppose. As you might have guessed (by the cryptic URL), I’m a happy mom, enjoying our recent little addition to the family, so the current *updated* roster is:

Nora: 1 week old, tiny, precious, perfect (ok I’m obviously still riding this wave of endorphins)

Liam: 4 years old, the prettiest green eyes anybody has ever seen, such a quiet little guy (I’d like to say “introspective”)

Violet: 7½ years old, not quiet, in fact is greatly enjoying making use of her ever-expanding vocabulary to volunteera thorough assessment of each object, event or person the world tosses her way

Henry: (husband) 33½ years old, web developer, highly-skilled grill-master of all meats vegetables and fruits you-name-it, falls asleep 45 minutes into the movie every time, says he “got the gist of it”

So that’s the crew, and you’ll notice there is no blurb for yours truly. Well that’s because this blog will serve as my bio (Narcissism? What’s that?) as I navigate life as a parent in an attempt to avoid (completely) sacrificing my passion for style, fashion and cultural trends. I’m trying to uncover some answers to the big questions here, like: What is a stylish mom, anyway? and: How can I be one? and: Does anyone care?

Stay posted for the answers! Or witness my slow deterioration! A chronicle of waning energy! A tragically fracturing psyche in real-time! Who knows!