taking a sabbatical

A few years ago, I read enviously about Design Mom's decision to move to France. 'One day,' I thought, 'we will up sticks to foreign lands.' The Husband has always been game for this as well; we've been discussing it since we were dating. But doing it? Another discussion entirely, especially after The Husband and I became parents.

Ah, parenting. Those years when you get settled into a routine, a schedule. It's convenient and altogether pleasant. And you nurture and provide and do laundry with dye-free, perfume-free detergent for tiny clothes. You get comfortable. Mostly.

Then you decorate and run errands and freelance and drink coffee at playdates with other women who are doing the exact same things. And happily await the arrival of Baby Two.

And then the itch happens. Maybe it's been seven years, maybe not. Perhaps it's an itch that never went away really. Perhaps you got good at ignoring it. Regardless, you itch.

Eventually I scratched. And we upped sticks to somewhere else in the lower 48. Not technically 'foreign lands'. Technically. And once again, routines were established, memories were made, time marched on. And we were comfortable. Mostly.

Because the itch has returned. I can't place the blame squarely on Mrs Blair's shoulders as that would be dishonest. But I will admit that her post got me thinking. And the discussions with The Husband about moving abroad began anew. We watched 'House Hunters International', setting the dvr for episodes we missed. We became enamored with 'Location, Location, Location' - and its subsequent iterations. Then, jobs were offered, schools were contacted, and twitter friends responded with DMs of encouragement. The itch was spreading.

And then I saw the Blairs' house hunting episode in France on 'HHI'' : view it here. That house captivated me. It seemed that behind every door, around every corner awaited another fantastic surprise. And it was a rental. That's right: a rental. Design Mom and her family were renting an amazing house in a foreign country. And everything about it seemed believable, doable. Huh.

Ever the consummate professional sharer, she posted some particulars, photos and the like. But the most important detail, to me at any rate, was that the house was listed on a website for house swaps - Sabbatical Homes. Like in 'the Holiday'. I was familiar with the airbnb app and already used VRBO; adding Sabbatical Homes to my arsenal just intensified the itch.

So as The Husband and I - and now The Children - begin another, more serious round of discussions on moving to foreign lands, I will have my laptop on and tabs open to the wonderful advice of 'Design Mom' Gabrielle Blair. And the Sabbatical Homes search engines will be working overtime. Watch this space for updates. And, if you're reading this from said foreign lands, do let me know about that lovely property 'for rent' near you; it just might be our next house.

Onward.

wearing: zoe karssen sweat shirts

Remember when Zoe Karssen invaded street style with her 'creme de la creme' sweat shirt:

Ok, ok. I realise two street photos do not an invasion make. It was just a quick fiddle with polyvore. And the sweat shirt was *everywhere*, in all different colors, on all different shapes and sizes. It was paired with leather and lace and flats and heels and lions and tigers and bears.

Then there were the bats:

And the 'boys'. And people in shirts shouting 'Oh la la!'

Even the 'you - me - oui' trinity had its day.

Yet I predict another Zoe Karssen sweat shirt revival is coming. And here is its herald, straight from the ZK site:

Prepare for glory!


Onward.

switching scents

Summer.

It conjures images of barbecues and bicycling, outdoor festivals and sailing, sandals and -hopefully- lots of sunshine. Days spent at double-headers, on long car rides with the windows down, and listening for the ice cream man. Evenings spent sitting on the porch swing in pajamas, talking with neighbors and passers-by, and staying up late to catch fireflies and play flashlight tag.

Summer also smells: of burning charcoal, suntan lotion, and freshly cut grass. Of roses and peonies and hydrangea and stock.

As many of you do, I too switch scents in the summertime. To something lighter, something fresher, something 'summery'. And, given that I am allergic to 'florals', usually something green and 'citrusy'. Often, I opt for 'The Pour Un Ete'. But this summer, two other fragrances have caught my attention: Eau Duelle and Rodin.

In the summertime, I tend to flit from perfume to perfume. And while Diptyque has seen its share of activity from me, this spring, I landed on my favorite thus far: Eau Duelle. It is subtle, to put it mildly. I spray it on and feel like it's hovering just over my skin, a light, smoky wash of scent. Then, it lands and dries down immediately, settling comfortably into a spicy, vanilla musk. And it sits so closely, so secretly, I hardly believe it's there. I love it.

Rodin, on the other hand, is jasmine to the nth degree. It's arresting, completely anti-subtle. When I tried it, I sneezed. Never a good sign. Then I wandered out of the room. And wandered back in to grab a book. My first thought was that I'd left a window open. I braced, anticipating wonderful, warm breezes from the Mediterranean. Then it dawned on me: the windows were closed and it was 65 degrees and raining. That lovely fragrance evoking those strong feelings was contained in that little unassuming bottle I'd just set aside on the dressing table. To this day, my nose/brain keeps waiting for warm, wafting breezes and a sunburn. Even perhaps a hint of gardenia or melissa. But this perfume is hard core jasmine, unrepentant, spicy, and bold.

Interestingly, both of these 'summer' scents share notes with Shalimar, which contains vanilla, bergamot, and jasmine. Typically, that's what I wear, summer or winter. It is a scent that is near and dear to my heart, and one I've been wearing since college. Prior to that - and depending on the season, I flitted mercurially from one scent to another, as I mentioned. From Love's to Bill Blass to Fracas to Lauren. Then I smelled Shalimar. It was instant attraction. Like I'd stumbled upon my 'scent home'. Of course I'd walked by it loads of times in the shops; I'd just never stopped to smell the bottle.

But then I did - for a classic reason: a dear friend wore it and she smelled good. When I confessed that I liked it and was thinking of buying a bottle for myself, she gasped. Why would I do that, she wanted to know. Didn't I love the Samsara I wore? 'Nope,' I admitted. It had been a gift from a boyfriend; and, while lovely and intriguing and everything, my olfactory glands (or 'nose/brain') had simply never bonded with it. Then she grinned. 'Can I make you a deal?' she asked. Of course, I replied. 'I'll give you my bottle of Shalimar if I can have your Samsara.'

We made the swap that night.

We've seen each other off and on over the years, and every time we embrace, we pull back laughing. 'I see you still wear Shalimar,' she'll say. Smiling back, I'll reply: 'And you're still with Samsara.'

Now, since I know I'm not alone, tell me about your scent switching/swapping. And, coming this winter, look for an updated seasonal 'scent switching' post.

Onward.

answering the phone

335,612

The number of 'toll free' calls we get each day. Where is the 'national do not call list'? Why isn't it working? Have I missed opting out of (or into) some esoteric loophole?

Then again... that security team at the credit card company is ace. They've got my back, and I appreciate it. Really. Even if they call me from a toll free number.


Onward.