I’m decompressing this post-changing-of-the-clocks Monday morning—over a plateful trough of mini whoopie pies and frosted brownies and black and white candy (and copious amounts of coffee)(and then more coffee)—and figuring out how I can share all the incredibleawesome that was my girl’s Bat Mitzvah party, complete with stories of (almost)…
My firstborn, my oldest daughter, my mini-me turns twelve today. My dancer, my actress, my singer, my LOST addict, my Aritzia-leggings wearer, my Dorothy, my Mary Poppins, my Disney VIP, my chills-giver, my babysitter-in-training, my fashion guru, my ombre-hair coveter, my Taylor Swift lover, my shower concert giver, my dark…
Emily’s Bat Mitzvah is in 27 days. A month yesterday. I have spent the better part of the last year working on invitations and accoutrements, dresses and shoes. I spend far too much time on Etsy, dealing with friendship drama, planning black and white poms, stickers with her logo on…
