Princess Pajamas
/Blue on blue in my Bed to Brunch💙💙💙.
The patterns this company uses are so wonderful, and each set looks different. Stripes, shapes, piping, contrast, and tone on tone are some of the ways each pajama set has its own unique flavor, thereby adding maximum use to my closet. The only accessories I needed here were a bed and some decadent chocolate truffles. While the first two PJ posts focused on going out, for this look we wanted to show how staying at home under the covers is often the yummiest, most delicious place to be.
Whether you're alone with your remote or a good book, with a bestie (of course grown ups can bunk in together!) or with your guy, up your stay-cation game with easy glam. It's just as doable to wear a pair of silk pajamas than it is to put on that ratty concert t-shirt and stretched out boxer shorts. Not that we don't love those items, but still. No matter where you are or who you're with, you deserve to feel effortlessly beautiful.
There's a reason it's called "beauty rest"🛌🎀👑👸🏼. So when your friend asks you the next day,"where did you go last night and what did you wear?", your response will be,"I went to my living room and wore silk PJs." FOMO alert. A chick that can own her solo downtime like a boss, enjoying her own company, now that's a girl I need to hang with. If that's you, Girl, please hit me up 💁📞🛍. Goodnight, Ladies. Tonight, as well as tomorrow, belongs to you.
Layla Tov, Lady Blaga
Because you have to
/I was recently telling a friend how when all the girls in my family got engaged, there was this weird rule that we all had to immediately take up needlepoint as a hobby. It was very spinster Jane Austen, only on a beach at the Fountainbleu hotel in Miami on Passover. It was a circle of females with their needlepoint projects, that were usually of a Judaic nature. Your girl had negative interest. That was considered rebellious, and was met with surprise from the committee of judgmental aunts and cousins. One cousin, who carried her needlepoint supplies around as a badge of marital honor, asked me what I'd start working on, since I now had a ring on my finger💍. Er...nothing...?
While I appreciate any artistic hobby, this just didn't speak to me. What was confusing was that it seemed to be this bizarre initiation process into wifedom. I didn't want to get married just so I could do stupid shit like that. I was crazy in love and wanted to be intertwined with this person. I didn't get engaged so I could do arts and crafts. That's how my family operated though. It was a large family that moved as a pack at all times. There was most certainly a pack master whom we all had to bow down to. If you didn't kiss the ring, there'd be major consequences. Fun, right?
As with most large, wealthy families, there were constant power struggles, rife with competition, jealousy, rules, fear, intimidation, and totem poles of authority. Every single decision was made by a committee of relatives, ranging from the minor to the major. My aunts and uncles all weighed in on where I attended camp, high school college, who I dated. I resented this tremendously, as any normal teenager would. It was astounding to me that my parents and I couldn't make those decisions without the approval of a Greek chorus. As parents, my ex and I don't give a rat's ass about what anyone thinks about the choices made for our children. It would never occur to us to consult with an outside party. This surely contributed to knowing my feelings and opinions about my own life were unimportant; it mattered only what the committee of elders thought. I never had a voice about anything. Anytime I tried to plead my case, it was shot down immediately by people who knew nothing about me, but who somehow had complete authority over every aspect of my life. Decisions were collectively made over what entree to serve at our weddings (veal chops) to which doctors we should see to where we should live.
A couple of my cousins dated boys from divorced homes. This was met with horror since divorce was considered a blemish on the paper write up of family values. Belligerent uncles tried to break up those relationships, using the guilt card of "what would your dead grandfather think?" There was no divorce in Polish shtetls. There were also no gay people or equal rights for men and women. Any white collar crimes were, of course, permissible since those weren't public. It was very confusing as a kid to watch grown ups behave so nastily to one another, yet know that these people were counted on to govern my life. They neither knew me or cared to, yet I was told to defer to them for everything. It made no sense and I had no choice in the matter. That was the way it was. We went on vacation together, even though there'd be fists flying at the table. Ugly words were served as freely as tap water. BUT, if you didn't attend/participate/comply you'd be destroying the holocaust surviving legacy of our grandparents. Years later, a therapist and I would spend years dissecting this notion of a pack mentality, of strength in numbers. "No matter what, we stick together". This made sense finally. All those miserable years of having to comply with whatever edict was being issued by the Don, with no possibility of just pulling away. Anyone who expressed the slightest show of independence, was told we were crazy and would destroy the family. The verbal and emotional abuse was nothing compared to being shoved into a gas chamber. You take it because you have to. You are nothing without the rest of us. You'll die out there on your own. You will fail without our instructions. You will attend this high school, you will date this boy, you will wear this to the party. Even seemingly small things turned into a tactic to maintain uniformity and control. There was no democracy. And if an elder were to make repeated comments about your teenage chest, you took it in silence because said comments weren't being made in an underground tunnel in a ghetto.
I finally was able to identify all the feelings I had as a child of being misunderstood, adrift, unmoored, and ignored. To this day I react with knee buckling fear if I think I'm a "bad girl". These are reactive patterns I'm still untangling. For the first time in my adult life I am certain I will not die alone out there. I am not crazy. I am not bad. I won't ruin the gestalt if I follow my truth. I am a really good person. A good woman, not a bad girl. My instincts as a kid were right; those people don't know what the fuck they're talking about. I don't want any of their lives. If they'd consider that crazy, then color me batshit. At one point I was told (yelled at) that at the age of 19, I was somehow responsible for the rift that was slowly forming cracks in the family foundation. This was actually screamed at me en masse at a bridal shower. Years later a couple cousins tried to apologize, no doubt to alleviate whatever guilt they had. I was not interested, and I remain uninterested. When I see most of those relatives, I pass by them as if we are total strangers. There is no room in my life for toxicity, family or otherwise. This was the most expensive permission I granted myself. It took ten years of therapy to understand I wasn't bound to these people. Prison, prostitution, physical abuse, and emotional torture were all worth it if you wound up on a beach needlepointing a challah cover.
I remember being in fourth grade, and an aunt didn't like the outfit I had worn to a ballet we'd gone to see. I was ten. My mother had obviously bought me those clothes. She told me I "looked like I was going to a roller skating party instead of the ballet". If anyone ever spoke to my kids like that, I'd rip their face off. I literally know no one that speaks like that. I don't keep company with "those kinds of people". This aunt was later on tasked with teaching me how to use tampons, again at the damn Fountainbleu on Passover. As in, live demonstrations. Until we got it right. You can imagine how comfortable this was, and how fabulous it felt at dinner that night that every family member had been apprised of my menstrual achievements. Nothing was private. The committee knew everything. I am in the acute minority of having had an issue with this. I don't recall if there was a discussion of what brand of tampon I should have used, but I imagine there was. It takes your past to ultimately define your present and future. It took my childhood to define my parenting. It took having zero loyalty, support, kindness, and understanding to being in a place of only surrounding myself with the right people. Unapologetically. Because you have to.
Shortbread #2 Chocolate
/
Give me chocolate or give me death‼️🍫. This chocolate chip shortbread is a nice take on a classic CCC🍪. It's way quicker since there's no rolling, flattening, and rotating cookie sheets. One pan, mucho yum. Easy to make, pretty quick to bake, even faster to take.
Substitute any of your favorite mix ins, just stick with the general amount so the dough can support whatever you add in. I have learned the hard way that if you over add, the dough will crap out. If that ever happens btw, don't freak. Simply crumble your crumbs on top of ice cream and pretend you did that on purpose to compose a sophisticated sundae🍨🍪. Add chocolate syrup and whatever berries are in the fridge. This would probably be an even bigger delight to your guests who are always eyeing the ice cream at the birthday party. These bars are sturdy, so they'll wrap and present well should you choose to share (no judgements if you don't).
For this JESScipe, click on the previous shortbread post and substitute the blueberries for chocolate. YUM!
C is for 🍪, LB
shortbread series
/I'm guessing this cookie/bar hybrid is called this because of the short time it takes to make it. This was my first shortbread attempt and I loved it! It felt nice and homey to bake a good old fashioned classic. I love how I was able to make different kinds just by playing around with mix ins. The blueberry ones looked so pretty, like mini cobbler situations. The crumbly texture of the cookie mixed with the gem like blueberries is so inviting. Blueberries are best used in the summer when they're in high season, but recently I've been finding these gargantuan blueberries. Their golf ball like size is slightly concerning (as in black market growth hormones), but they are bursting with Flav.
These bars are pre cut, so it's easy to just plate and serve. And they didn't stick to the parchment paper, which drives me to drink. Def whip this up when you're short on time and long on love❤️. Which is literally always😂.
🐝Good, J
Ingredients:
1 cup butter
3/4 cup brown sugar
2 cups flour
3/4 tsp kosher salt
1.5 cup blueberries
Directions:
Heat oven to 350. Combine ingredients in an electric mixer. Once fully combined add in blueberries and stir in gently.
Coat a 9x13 pan and line with parchment paper.
Press dough firmly into baking dish and bake for 25-30 min.
Enjoy!
Pajama Party 2.0
/
Hey, you're still invited to the coolest slumber party of 2018! Think of the slumber party scene in Grease. That was at Frenchie's house, right? "Look at me, I'm Lady B..."
Since Bed to Brunch, my fave chic pajama company, graciously gifted me with three gorgeous sets, I bring to you the second look. I must have been channeling Gloria Swanson with this turban, which I just brought back from my recent trip to Israel. Some folks bring back meaningful trinkets that hold deep religious significance; I brought home this hat and this emerald green coat. While shopping on King George street in tel Aviv, I came across this incredible boutique, Plazmalab. Serious cutting edge, avant guard pieces.
Working off the jewel tones colors of the pajamas, so I could convert the pair into outerwear, I chose this coat/robe and belted it with this LB staple bet. My giant Michael Kors belt that you've seen a million times, works its way into every shoot, proof that one solid accessory can support so many different looks. I've gotten great feedback from readers saying how much they love that I reuse things so much. That really is how I dress, and the mark of style is knowing how to do that. I feel much more creative when I come up with new ways to use a piece. Who has time or bank for new things on a regular basis? Which is why a beautiful pajama set doing double duty is such a helpful ensemble to own. Oh, and these shiny, hot pink slipper type of loafers🙋🏼🙋🏼🙋🏼. A statement flat is a super chic way to take this set out of the bedroom. Perfect for brunch, a day on the town, or F it and be the most interesting looking woman at the grocery store🖕🏼💅🏻. With the right shoe, coat, and accessories, pajamas become a suit. Now if only we could figure out how to make those footed fleece onesies cool🤔.
Off to the nearest B and B, your 🐝
In Memory of a Miscarriage 🍼
/In a recent post I made mention of a miscarriage I had. I'd actually intended to write about it prior to that other post. I don't know why I am all of a sudden dragging this out of the depths of my memory. It happened 16 years ago, after I thankfully had my oldest baby. As painful as it was, I imagine it would have been much harder had I not had a child yet. When a woman wants a baby, it's an all consuming, frenzied focus and desire. She wants it NOW.
My first baby was so wonderful and easy. She was only a year, but why not add another one to the mix? Figuring I had motherhood under control, I could certainly handle two. How foolish and arrogant, assuming this would be no big deal. I was 22 years old, and all I wanted was to be a mother. I yearned to push that massive double stroller all over NYC, while balancing babies, boobs, and bottles. Getting that positive pregnancy test when you want it is better than a billion dollar winning lottery ticket.
My first pregnancy with my daughter was nine months of crippling round the clock nausea, so I figured this next one was a boy because I barely threw up. I also kind of grew a beard, which caused me to think I had increased levels of testosterone simmering in my body. What an ignoramus I was, though I believed I was the expert on parenting and adulthood. Which is impossible at any age, particularly the age when your peers are partying all night and waking up the next day with lampshades on their heads.
Parenthood catapults you into adulthood. At 22 I felt older than I do now at 40. I wanted to play house and be a mother, so I immersed myself in an insanely grown up role. I love being a young mother, but there is something to be said for respecting your developmental capacities at certain stages in life. As I said, my daughter was a dream, and we couldn't wait to give her a sibling. When I went for my routine eight week checkup, the frozen, sad look on the technician's face said it all. We had brought the baby to the sonogram so she could have her first "big sister" moment. So stupid; she was 1 year old.
It never occurred to me EVER that something would go wrong. The panicked demand to know what was going on, the technician's sympathetic face, the ominous instructions of "let's wait for the doctor to come in". All while lying vulnerable on a table, my body housing whatever was going on that I had yet to understand. The doctor came in, and in a rather cold demeanor announced that there was no heart beat. I exploded into a tidal wave of tears. I didn't want my baby to see her mother sobbing so uncontrollably, so she was taken out of the room. What was meant to be this wonderful moment, turned to devastation and grief in a matter of minutes.
A miscarriage is unquestionably a death. What was once alive is no longer. It's a massive loss. Since mine didn't bleed itself out on its own, I had to schedule a DNC to have it "scraped out". I had to wait about a week for that appointment, and all I could think was,"I'm carrying death around in my body." It was an excruciating time, and looking at other pregnant women bursting with life was a dagger in my heart. Pregnant women are everywhere in NYC, and I didn't leave my apartment for weeks. What was the worst part about it was this: I was instructed not to discuss it with anyone. What was meant to "protect our privacy" became a twisting, silent, agonizing secret. It was wrong and unfair to expect me to carry the weight of such a loss alone. Women need to talk about their bodies. We are emotionally designed to seek and need support. I was so young, and I thought there was something wrong with me and my reproductive system. I was terrified I wouldn't have another baby.
I recall how hard it was to uphold this unreasonable vow of silence. I so wanted to tell my best friend at the time. I was with her every day, how could I not say something? I almost exploded, but held back out of fear of upsetting my very private ex. It never once occurred to me to challenge him on that, and advocate for my female point of view. I was the one carrying a dead baby, it's shocking to me that I overlooked that. Did I really believe I wasn't entitled to a voice about this?? How utterly sad...
When I finally did blurt it out, my friend said,"big deal! So did this one and that one and this one and that one." I couldn't believe I wasn't alone! I didn't think people my age had them. It was like learning about a support group I didn't know existed, but that I needed. It was so comforting to know that this was way more normal than I thought. Had I only spoken to my friend earlier, I'd have spared myself that extreme level of pain and isolation. The point to all this is that no one ever has the right to order you to not discuss something so personal, especially if it's tragic. The need to shut down and bottle up is unhealthy. The need to reach out to others to release, emote, and be supported is healthy. For another person to block that healthy need of ours is wrong. If life is holding you under water, you have every right to grab onto a lifeboat and swim the hell out. Men and women are biologically built to react differently to things. That's a fact. Areas about baby making are particularly murky and painful. Women need each other for most things, this tenfold. The desire to keep this quiet didn't stem from a bad place, but that's irrelevant. It was insensitive and unfair to assume I was okay with that while dealing with what was occurring in my own body. Would you ever tell your daughter to lock up her pain and throw away the key? Of course not. Mothers need that same consideration. We are human before we are mothers. It dishonors the normal range of human sadness by burying it so swiftly and deeply. I am clearly a person who finds comfort in sharing, which I'm glad for. I wish I'd have done what was right for me. I can't go back in time, but even years later I can learn from that. We owe it to ourselves to let pain and vulnerability not be a source of shame. We need the uncomfortable feelings just as much as the happy ones.
As soon as I got pregnant again, I saw that miscarriage as a blessing. Had that other baby lived, I wouldn't have had my second daughter. Tragedy often leads to unforeseen wonder. Until that wonder reveals itself, honor your need to be open. A closed heart doesn't help fix or heal. Never apologize for being open hearted. It's not weak to need the support of others. It's strength to admit you do. Feelings are strength. Tears are courageous. Warriors cry too, though they keep going. Warrior 2: arms straight like an arrow, foundation strong and ready, gaze over the front middle finger, looking ahead. Unwavering. About to change shape over and over, while never losing the integrity of the pose...
🏹. Blessings, LB
This. Is. 40.
/To be honest, I've put a lot of pressure on myself regarding the Big Birthday Post. I'm not sure what my dear readers want to hear, and I always strive to share what I know will resonate with you the most. This has been a very complicated and layered year, all leading up to my life cycle beginning anew (as it does each day, but the regular days aren't deemed balloon worthy🎈😉). I grappled with the message of this post being one of empowerment, one of gratitude, one of struggle, one about being single. I know readers understandably love stories about divorce. About a woman grabbing herself up by her bootstraps, and going forth with strength and positivity, with honest difficulties sprinkled on top. I like stories like that too. We all find ourselves in places of despair, being held under water while trying so hard to claw our way to the safety and predictability of land. People who are on the precipice of crumbling, but don't. We like these tales because they are at once relatable and hopeful. Anyone claiming to live a shellacked existence is fucked; one day the slightest crack in their armor will send them flying into a tailspin. "Perfect" is a dangerous word. It sets you up for failure. It's those of us who can face shit that will break the surface and hungrily gasp for fresh air, reviving ourselves with a breath so furious that it jolts us back to Life. I have always known that extreme joy cannot be understood without extreme sadness. I hate the idea that "ignorance is bliss". Ignorance to me is death of the mind, of the spirit, of the self. If you dumb yourself down, how can you possibly know what you need to live a joyful, wondrous, fulfilling life?
Having grown up in a family whose main purpose was to maniacally convey to the world how "perfect" they were, all the while covering up layers of poisonous emotional sediment that would eventually come to bite all of us in the arse, I went the opposite route. I will choose blunt honesty and vulnerability every time. I find such strength in admitting I sometimes feel lost, unmoored, bored, or just plain sad. That is what allows me to be bathed with the wonderful parts of life in such a pure state. From darkness to light, every time. I mean, how good is that first sip of orange juice after Yom Kippur?
I dated someone a couple times who works in the entertainment industry. Our brief relationship went off course when he became fixated on turning my life into a television series for netflix. I have heard this before, which is flattering but would cost my family its privacy. He tried to be all showbiz manipulative by saying ,"You don't realize how important your story is." He was wrong. I know exactly how important and interesting my story is, and I could write Season 1 in a week. I have envisioned every opening and closing credit, and every episode in my head. I know the soundtrack, I have casting ideas. He said, "You are a woman who would not live her life being ignored." I replied, "Well, you're ignoring me right now by not respecting my reasons for not doing this." I feel much safer sharing my story with you via this blog.
Judging by the growth of the blog and the increase of readers from exactly a year ago, it seems we are on the right path together. The blog and I have the same birthday (along with my brother and my dearly departed boxer, Roxy). Celebrating my birthday this year was also a time to look back and reflect on how far Lady Blaga has come as a brand. 40 for me, among so many other things, means I have my own business. Saying I never thought that'd be part of my reality is an understatement. I was raised to be a housewife and nothing more. No one ever wanted more for me, including myself. We believe what we are told. When I started rejecting the story others wrote for me without my permission, that set new paths into motion. Paths I wanted to stay on. Paths I must have always wanted to take, since they wouldn't have materialized without some measure of subconscious intention and desire. Uncovering all that blocks our own wishes and dreams is hard work. It's scary, it can blow your carefully constructed paper life to bits. I swear it's worth it. I am living proof. As I look back on what has unfolded since I'm 39, I am amazed by the power of the partnership between us and the world. The universe so organically wants to steer us towards our dreams, but it can't tell us what our dreams are. That's up to us. It's both daunting and empowering to know that our entire life is in our own hands. The past year I have occasionally wept with gratitude at our ability to heal ourselves. The level of freedom and love we have the potential to feel is infinite. I have learned I am enough, that I am my own home. Being married or single is irrelevant to that fact.
I was on the beach today, envisioning something I'll say to a man when I'm one day sitting on a beach with him. This was the conversation I imagined: after he asks me how I'm enjoying the vacation, I say this, "Everything else is secondary to being here with you." Then I quickly said the same exact thing to myself. I burst into an a thousand watt grin as I looked up at the sky. Oh man, do I want Love. I dream about it every minute of every day. I was built for it. It doesn't scare me, as I know it does many people. That to me is like being afraid of a butterfly, and who doesn't delight in watching a beautiful butterfly flapping peacefully about? However this year has been a lesson in learning to love myself. I am not entirely there yet. I need to remind myself constantly that I deserve the kind of love I'd so easily give to others. I feel sad for myself that I don't know that, that I have to re pattern by meditating on being worthy of receiving. Why wasn't that instilled in me before?? I had to be 39 before I started to fight for myself. It is my right. But as I said before, that sadness has led to tremendous growth, since it has taught me so much about myself. Every lesson is important. When we are happy we think everything is great, so we don't look to learn. Why search when all is peachy? It is only in a dark room that we feel around for the light switch.
I spoke to my kids last night about how though I want love, it doesn't mean that sitting in Mexico with them on this beach, at this exact moment, is anything but perfect. About how life is a constant balance of looking forward while loving the present. Always reaching while standing strong, steady, and firm. I said the speech with tears and snot pouring out of me. I dreamt for many years about running away with my kids to a beach. I have laughed with many girlfriends who have had this same fantasy. To be mothers amongst Mother Nature. Well, here I am. With these four humans who were selected to enter the world through my body. Out of the billions of souls, these were given to me. They are the four chambers of my heart. This doesn't mean my heart can't fit in others. Two years ago the thought of boarding a plane alone would have filled me with anxiety. Today, at 40, I took my four kids with several suitcases to another country by myself. Zero nerves. It was the calmest I'd ever been before a trip, and the least I'd ever packed. I feel beautiful and natural. I am wearing no makeup, and am taking about five minutes to get dressed. I feel happy and safe. I am awash with gratitude at my ability to grow. I am proud of how my kids know they are all I need to be loving this vacation. I feel strong, fluid, and cared for by the universe. I trust myself, while knowing I will make many more mistakes.
As Rogue, one of my DJ friends told me ,"Mistakes are awesome. That's how we learn." She was talking about DJing but her thought impacted me deeply. I had always felt the need to be perfect. I feared error. Now I embrace it. As I look back on photos of myself at 20 and 30, I beam. I have never looked or felt better in my life. I have carved a place for myself in the world, and I'm not putting that chisel down ever. I have a renewed zest for life that I feel every day. I walk around each day thinking that today could be the day I meet Him. I am alive with possibility. It's enthralling. Perhaps the most important lesson I've learned is that He isn't revealing Himself to me until I strengthen my own vibration. The right kind of love, the stuff of fairy tales I'm certain exists, will find me at the right time. It will be delivered to me, no signature required, though I will be waiting calmly by the door. Not because I need it, because I want it. And because I want it, it will happen. And you, dearest readers, will get one hell of a story. So this is 40, eh? Education, strength, inner peace, trust, love, hope, accomplishments, proof, wonder, excitement. I didn't have most of those things when I was younger. I have earned my happiness, and I will keep fighting for it, sometimes peacefully and sometimes with force. We are born every single day. January 19, 1978 was the day my soul met my body, but that's it. I celebrate myself each morning with new breath. The reason the start of this decade is so major for me, is that every dark tunnel I crawled through has led me to this place of light. The past is always over, no matter how good or bad it was. Key word; was. Key word; is. This, Friends, is Me. I just happen to be 40 at the moment... You have no fucking idea how amazing you are, Lady Blaga
B-day Playlist
/Songs that would make this birthday girl very happy 😄.
- "The Love You Save" by Jackson Five.
- "Fireball" by Pitbull.
- "All For You" by Janet Jackson.
- "Forever Your Girl" by Paula Abdul.
- "I Wanna Dance With Somebody" by Whitney Huston. Touch the Sky by Kanye.
- "Baby" by Justin bieber.
- "That Power" by Bieber and Wil. I. Am.
- "Till I Collapse" by Eminem.
- "Birthday" by Katy Perry.
- "Candy Girl" by New Edition.
- "Only For Me" by Chris Brown.
- "Countdown" by Beyoncé. .
Queen of Hearts❤
/
🤔 which JESScipe to post for my birthday ? 🙋🏼I know; these decadent, delicious chocolate and raspberry finger sandwiches. God forbid I should allow myself an entire regular sized sandwich ,and risk awakening and angering the ghost of Dr. Atkins😝👻🍞. These mini treats are so sweet, pretty, and easy to make. They serve beautifully, with just a couple on a small plate next to a cup of tea or coffee, or with more of them delicately stacked on a platter or cake stand. What's so special about them is their ❤️ shape, easily made with a heart cookie cutter and a regular loaf of white bread. These are essentially grilled chocolate sandwiches.
I whipped up a fresh raspberry dipping sauce for a creative way to marry the wonderful flavor combination of 🍫and raspberry. This is a fast, uncomplicated way to tell someone you love them. Isn't that how expressing love should always be? I hope everyone reading this has someone in their lives, be it a significant other, a friend, a child, a pet, or a teacher, that makes it easy for you to share your feelings with. Love is meant to be sweet, delicious, and enjoyable. It should feel natural and yummy to express. It should give us satisfaction and make us feel special. Food is very romantic in that way, when it evokes the same feelings. This JESScipe reflects how I'm feeling about Love right now. It shouldn't be difficult. It should look beautiful, but more importantly, feel even better going down. It should be a wonderful experience from the outside in. It should be easy to share, and a pleasure to give, just for the sake of giving. It is so much easier to give love to others. The internal challenge we face is to give ourselves absolutely everything we love giving to others. "I love myself" is always on my mantra rotation. It doesn't always feel comfortable to say to myself, which means I need to go deeper into my core and excavate. We find hidden gems when we lower down and dig... If saying that doesn't always feel right, then I need to work on this harder. I do that everyday, some days are easier than others. As with anything, it's practice and commitment. This past year, I have come so far in self love and appreciation. I have undone decades of bad patterns and false conditioning. There is so much further to go, which is very exciting. How wonderful to know that increased joy is so attainable to us. I love these hearts. I love my heart. I'm going to eat these as a symbol of how certain I am of myself in this exact place and time. I love you,40. We have so much work to do together. 🎂❤️🎉💝
Stay with me, Lady Blaga
Ingredients:
A loaf of white bread
Dark or milk chocolate bars
Butter
3/4 cup raspberry jam
A box of fresh raspberries
Juice from half a lemon
Tbsp of cornstarch
Use the heart shaped cookie cutter to shape bread slices, set aside. Put jam in a small pot on a medium low flame on the stove. Heat but not crazy hot, just to break it down a bit.
Put in raspberries and gently mash with a fork to blend with jam. Squeeze half a lemon, watching for pits, into the pot. This cuts the sweetness. Add a Tbsp of cornstarch as a thickening agent.
Simmer about ten minutes until texture has reached a thicker, dippable consistency. It needs to hold on the sandwich when dunked, not slide right off. Add more cornstarch by the tsp if necessary. When the sauce is ready, remove from flame and let cool.
Meanwhile, break up your chocolate bars and place a few squares in between two hearts. Brush a griddle or frying pan with unsalted butter and grill until golden brown, or until there are those awesome griddle lines. Yay if the chocolate oozes out the sides! Let cool slightly. Platter and garnish with extra raspberries. Put your sauce in a pretty little white bowl, and dip! Such a fun dessert or brunch concept💝.
Thank, Hugh
/
RIP to the inimitable Hugh Hefner, who died this passed year. Hef gave the world permission to worship the female form on a public level. He was a revolutionary, an icon, and a lover of life. This post is my little homage to him, since it's about a look we both seem to favor above all else; silk pajamas for all occasions.
This fantastic company Bed to Brunch so generously gifted me three gorgeous pajama sets. I fell in love with this trend several years ago, and stupidly paid through the nose for a set, since at the time it was the coolest option I'd seen. However, with pretty pjs having a major moment, it's easier to find well priced, well made sets that can be worn in and out of bed. Sets to wear together, or broken up so the pieces can have added use. Pajamas are so versatile.
Here I dressed up this burgundy pair with leopard heels, a chunky statement necklace, and a blue coat that is the same color as the blue piping on the pajamas. I've had this Rebecca Taylor coat for 18 years. It has never been properly used until now. It kinda looked like a glam bathrobe, which obv was the perfect topper to bedroom fashion. This is one of my favorite ensembles of all time. It's comfortable, glamorous, unexpected, daring, and totally pulled together in five minutes. When a woman walks in wearing this, she clearly owns whatever room she's in. The rich color scheme lends gravity to the intrinsic whimsy of this look. The pajamas are also beautifully tailored, so there was no ice cream in bed shlump factor. Bed to Brunch has made glamorous comfort both beautiful and affordable. Now excuse me as I take these off, put on an evening gown, and climb into bed to watch netflix.
Sweet dreams, day or night, LB
Home Hair Mask
/Let me clarify: I'm no hair care expert. Take this as a light suggestion. All I can tell you is that I've always been highly devoted to taking care of myself, and love researching self care tips and ideas. This homemade hair mask was born out of dire necessity. Please read this week's Inspire to understand the root of my hairhysteria.
After carefully researching numerous sites on how to repair my stress broken and dry hair, I've settled on making this mask part of my routine. I began doing it two or three times a week when I felt I was at my most helpless. We do whatever we can to desperately try to regain control over our problems. Now I do it once a week as maintenance. I recommend this for everyone. It's a weekly spa treatment for your hair. I've always been so diligent with biweekly face masks, how could I have gone so long without giving my hair the same TLC?
Last year's devastating hair loss was a blessing in disguise, since it taught me how to give my hair what it needs. Hair is alive, it's meant to grow. We must tend to it as we would a plant. It needs vitamins, moisture, hydration, air and sunlight🌱🌞💦.
Our food intake directly affects the rate and quality of hair health, as it does with all parts of us. Healthy fats such as avocado, nuts, salmon, whole eggs, and produce are all members of the Hair Cheerleading Team. I mean, duh.
It's a very common pitfall that many women who feel "middle aged" or who have been in long relationships give up on taking care of themselves. They feel like there's no point. Secure in relationships that may have morphed into stale, passionless routines, it's easy to feel ,"why bother?" I understand that. I've always been pretty robotically consistent with this, having naturally gravitated towards it as a tween. But there were definitely periods in my life where even though I would take the time to exfoliate, shave, laser, deep condition, I definitely felt it was unnoticed and unappreciated. Which made all my efforts kinda sad.
Now, with my renewed appreciation for myself, when I moisturizer everywhere nightly, using various creams for different parts of the body (that's gotta be a marketing scam btw. It must be the same cream manipulatively packaged differently for women like moi. Whatever, they won; I buy into it hook, line, and sinker), I think someday someone will delight in my skin. Someone will be addicted to playing with my hair, and hugging my fairly fit body. Someone will view holding my soft hands as therapy at the end of a long day. Someone will be endlessly dazzled by my Crest whitening strip smile, and my lasered and waxed limbs (please, please let that last one be worth it one day😱). I know it will happen, and that guy will be one lucky son of a bitch. Until then, I'll be the one enjoying all those things, knowing I'm being good to myself from the inside out and the outside in. We need both directions to help us feel on our path to our best selves. I'm with you.
It's important to note this mask is a bit messy to apply. Have paper towels on standby near a sink. Oh, and this is waaassyyyy more potent and cheaper than store bought hair masks , which can run up to $30, and contain unnecessary chemicals.
Ingredients and Directions:
You will need a towel to clip around your neck, this is oil based so it will drip.
A disposable plastic shower cap.
Paper towels.
A headband to prevent the mask from dripping onto your gorgeous face.
Mix a whole egg (protein) , a quarter cup of coconut oil, two tbsp castor oil, a tbsp of honey, and two tbsp of avocado oil. If your hair is very dry add a super mashed, ripe banana for moisture. This will look and feel like diarrhea, but it won't smell bad at all🍌.
Lol, I gotta warn you about that last part. If you're looking to speed up growth, add two tsp each curry powder and mustard powder, and a tsp of rosemary oil. The latter ingredients kick follicles into high gear. I leave this on for a couple hours. These days I'm omitting the spices, since I got myself to a comfortable place with growth. For months I slept in a state of curry. If you do that, sleep on a thick towel to protect your sheets. Use one of your crappy towels. Just spread it evenly over entire head root to tip, really working your fingers in there. Cover with the shower cap. Once every three weeks I'll put two tsp of peppermint oil with a half cup of water, and mush it into my roots to clarify and get out all buildup. Rinse after several minutes and shampoo and condition as usual. This is like exfoliating your skin. Things must be cleansed and unclogged in order to receive the full benefits of nourishment.
This is true physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I cannot stress that enough. If you are having inflammation and irritation on your scalp, I read that tea tree oil really helps with that. Please look online for further info, treatments, and measurements. Happy nourishing! You, and your hair, deserve only the best nature had to offer. The sheen in your hair will really make you smile😀. Shine on, however you can. Don't let anything about you feel dry and neglected. Love, LB
Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
/On any given day we can look back to where we were a year prior. This need not wait until New Years, a birthday, or any other calendar time marker. Every day belongs to a place in time where you were a year ago. Well, a year ago I was freaking the F out because out of NOWHERE I lost eight inches of my hair. It occurred within six weeks, start to finish. On thanksgiving it was long and luxurious. Right after that it started falling out and weakening, and by mid December it was significantly lacking. The selfies I took on my way out the door to the club on New Years were alarming. I was baffled. What happened???
I was devastated. Having lost two thirds of my hair in high school due to a vicious case of psoriasis on my head, hair is a major topic for me. That time it took four long years to grow back. Like this time, back then it was ALL I thought about. All I'd look at on other girls. What I'd maniacally stare at in the pages of magazines. I was hair obsessed. We tend to fixate on what we are lacking, and so my brain was tuned to the hair channel 24/7. It was excruciating, being in the throes of adolescence. I had bald spots that I'd strategically cover. Damn, it was depressing. I never thought I'd have to go through that again.
Then I went through the typical post baby hair loss four times, but everyone does. It's so hard collecting drain piles while feeling helpless. So much of a woman's vanity is tied to our hair. For better or worse, we care a lot about our manes. This time around, just as I was feeling ready to soon explore the dating world, I was frantic. I was all set to embrace my soon to be single status and this derailed that. I had worked so incredibly hard to make sense of the next chapter of my life, had a positive attitude, and was in the right frame of mind. I felt robbed of a fresh start. The first question anyone asks during hair loss is "are you stressed?" Um, no, I really wasn't. I was truly in a place of peace and contentment. My divorce wasn't public, and my ex and I were going through it together in a unified manner. It was the least stressed I'd been in a very long time. However, the several doctors I cried to all said that it takes the body six months to process emotional trauma. Bingo. My hair breakage was exactly six months after the summer, a period of tremendous anguish. I was certain this was the result of something massively internal. I know my body well. Living with ulcerative colitis since I'm 11, which is triggered by stress, seasonal shifts, and hormonal zig zags (pregnancy and post pregnancy), I've learned how to read my body's signals and reactions. Breaking eight inches of hair in just a few weeks had very little to do with the hair itself. It was greater than that.
It's very scary when we are faced with having no control over our lives. At a time when I finally felt in the driver's seat, the bus was once again forgetting to pick me up. My yoga teacher told me it's just external and doesn't matter. Um... I'm not nearly as evolved as her. IT KINDA MATTERED😫. I wanted my haaaaaiiiiiiirrrrrr😢. I frantically did all sorts of research on hair growth. I'm by nature a very proactive person. I react. Strongly. I believe in proactively solving what I can. I can dwell, mull, dissect, and rehash with the best of em (a habit I'm unlearning since it traps us in the past) but I respond. I'm like this by nature, but it's also a result of my entire life; since childhood I've been on my own emotionally in every way. I've had to make things happen for myself. I have always had to be my own safety net. It's why I'm good in a crisis. It's why I can be that safety net for others. We provide for others what we ourselves lacked. Shitty circumstances force us to rise to the occasion. Such as this one. I'd never googled this much in my life. I found all these Indian hair gurus on You Tube. Those women know what's up; their hair is their livelihood. The best wigs come from that part of the world. They are hair magicians, and I sought their secrets. I want to share with you some of what seemed to be consistent among the women I found. There are many hair bloggers, You Tubers, and experts from all over. I didn't spend too much time looking far and wide, I had no patience for that. I jumped on the first few I saw who felt right to me. I didn't question anything they said, from putting curry in my hair, to all the vitamins I've since taken religiously, to rubbing my fingers together to activate stem cells in my head. My daughter laughed at the last one. She said when she did it she just got a headache. Aha! It caused some kind of reaction! All they said was law.
I dutifully listened, determined to expedite the restoration of my mane. The vitamins that they all seemed to swear by are: folic acid, B 12, A, E, D, and iron, which I take anyway. I also found VIVISCAL in my research and take that too. Why not throw in Biotin? Twice weekly I made a mixture of various oils and spices and slept in it. Sexy. At first I followed exact measurements but now once a week I'll make my own concoction. The ingredients in the hair mask varied, but the common ones were coconut oil, castor oil, avocado oil, curry powder, mustard powder, and peppermint oil. I also used this Indian plant powder my friend CR got me from her yoga teacher. As I said, I was all in. Today I'll throw in an egg for protein, honey as a humectant, and occasionally a banana for moisture. I no longer sleep in the mask, which was so gross, but I'll keep it in for an hour. It's insanely nourishing. Nothing grows if its not healthy. My hair was broken and uneven, but I had to restore its health if there was going to be any movement in the right direction. I also have myself twice daily head massages to stimulate the follicles.
The most important thing I learned from this was to increase yoga. Until then I'd been doing once a week private healing sessions. Needing to increase blood flow to my head by being upside down was essential. Makes sense, but a yoga class is typically an hour and fifteen minutes, a hard time block to commit to several times a week. I've never been an early riser, but there was this 6:15!!!! Sunrise class that would not cut into the rest of my day. The only way to force myself out of bed at that ungodly hour was to stop going to bed so late. The only way to stop going to bed so late was to put down my stupid phone. Basically, I had to change my whole schedule. I was ready. I just did it. I didn't deliberate, I didn't complain, I just did it. This was new as well; not deliberating or complaining and just going with the flow. Pretty much everyone I know bitches and moans about everything. It's habit. I never knew otherwise, so I never noticed it. I can barely tolerate it anymore. It's unpleasant on the ear. I also purchased a very expensive light stimulating baseball hat that I wore three times a week. I was hoping to resemble Doc Brown in Back to the Future. Instead it was a black baseball cap from Chernobyl. If I looked at it I was blinded. I hid it from my kids so they wouldn't hurt their eyes out of curiosity. Supposedly this hat is all the rage among aging Hollywood actors. Great🙄.
I started drinking a tbsp of coconut oil daily, wanting to nourish my insides and eliminate whatever toxins were lurking inside. I took numerous steam showers so I could just be enveloped in moisture. I wanted to become the opposite of dry and brittle, both literally and figuratively. I wanted growth, health, newness, a fresh start. I rubbed coconut oil into my skin (until I broke out in places I didn't know one could break out in). My sole focus was wellness. And it felt calm and right. It felt so nice to take such loving, educated care of myself. No one has ever tended to me like that. As I said, I've always had to provide for myself. That's not victim-y, it's just fact.
Well, a year later my hair still needs to grow several more inches but I love its current length. It's shiny and healthy. I've never had shiny hair before! My vitamin regimen gives me a noticeable glow that people have stopped me on the street about. The yoga has impacted my life in ways I never thought possible. The morning classes are not always easy to wake up for, but fill me with energy, joy, strength, and flexibility. My studio has become a place of refuge. The notion of going to sleep at a decent time and not falling into the iPhone vortex for three hours at night was a needed change. I still do that sometimes, cuz I'm a girl in 2018, but it's a crappy feeling. At least now I know better. Then I didn't even think it was a problem. I learned how to take care of my hair as I do other parts of me. I learned when to clarify and when to nourish, and I'm not just referring to hair. So many people lose the quality of their hair as they age. It thins, cracks, loses its luster. They give up on it, chalking it up to aging. Maybe there are other factors to consider besides getting older in numbers. Maybe it's indicative of a deeper drying up... That can be brought back to life... I learned that Spring always follows Winter. There are seasons for everything. There are times when the trees are bleak and barren, but then the leaves do grow back. It takes patience but it happens. For all things a season. We reap what we sew. Output from input.
Because I'm Lady Blaga, I must leave you with an honest, self deprecating anecdote from this challenging time. One night I was sleeping in a shower cap covering my stinky curry oil mask, while wearing an adult diaper since my period was what can only be described as a "murder scene". I called my friend SF, described the scenario, and said, "Gentleman, take a number."
❤️, the 🐝
Marbleization
/
So this is clearly NOT an outfit you'd wear everyday😆. This is a showstopper. I loved the marbleized pattern. There's movement to it, not an obvious effect given the aim to look like, well, marble. I thought the romper was so cool, especially with the high neck and cargo pocket detailing. This romper has edge. It's not a flirty little thang. Neither is her Big Sis of a jacket. I love things that are large in scale. And what chick doesn't feel like an itty bitty pretty lady in a giant coat? Cue saying to your man, "I'm sooo cold, can I borrow your jacket. My dainty little bones require extra insulation." Even if it's 90 degrees. I'm learning men like jobs, so they'll give you their coat every time. If they don't, they're male instincts suck, so run.
The jacket is effortless in its oversized look. It is relaxed yet has purpose. The effect of both pieces having the same material packs a punch, but the bare legs make it not overwhelming. This ensemble is another Norma special. Wearable, pack able, light, comfortable, and unique. It's also modular in that each piece can most certainly be worn on its own. The jacket will dress up any basic jeans and tee look. The romper is delicious, and can be dressed up to LBD status with heels and opaque black tights. The tights take it to colder weather. Dress it up with bold but clean jewelry. A chunky earring or cuff. Nothing wimpy that will get lost. Chunky high heeled boots 👏🏻, like I have on in the pic. I recently wore the jacket over a long black better dress and motorcycle boots. Both pieces are truly versatile. Don't shy away from pattern. Embrace it and use it to top your classic palette. The neutrality of the color scheme makes it widely usable. This look can be dressy, while the anorak feel of the jacket is also "yeah, whatever" cool. So, item to add to your wardrobe: a relaxed fit, boldly patterned jacket in neutral colors. The romper is more taste specific, it's not for everyone. Whatever your preferred style is, experiment this season with scale and detail. A little goes a long way, and a wisely purchased piece can blast your basics for years to come.
Much Love, Marble Mama📓
Navy Seal
/
Chic, chic, chic! I don't think I've ever worn something like this, but I loved it. The clean navy on navy is understated and wonderfully monochrome. The outfit gets a Blaga like pop of iridescence with the accessories. After all, I said clean and chic, not flat and boring. This boyfriend coat is my new fave winter purchase. It's a gem from Carven that I found at Century 21. I felt it was a tad roomy at the store, then decided I'd embrace the loose fit. Over this easy Theory sweater dress, the coat becomes an essential part of a strong, ladylike look. I felt like a businesswoman dashing to a meeting. Pretty and powerful👊🏻.
The gold gloves against the navy was fabulously regal. Love those gold foil Norma Kamali gloves from her current season! Nothing I'm wearing here is the same designer, yet it's all pulled together by using a couple of the same fashion principles. Start with pairing two pieces together in the same color family. That's your foundation. Then just jazz it up with accessories that have personality, whether it's a bright, fun colored purse, or a statement shoe that will liven things up. Classy by no means has to mean conservative. Lady B doesn't do conservative, it's just not my thing. I look at this ensemble as a metaphor for me trying to hold my tongue and choose silence...Right before I burst and run my big mouth off with whatever two cents I must add👄👄. "I really just want to hang out with quiet, boring people with no opinions", said NO ONE EVER. Wavy Navy👋🏻, LB
A year ago I...
/I lost eight inches of my hair due to residual stress (stay tuned on the blog).
I was no longer married but no one knew.
I was cracking under the pressure of how to tell our kids about the divorce.
I was trying so hard to hold things together while other things had deconstructed.
I did not have the blog.
I had no idea how I'd survive without a relationship.
I had no idea how to do anything in DJ lessons, though I had begun six months prior.
I decided to slam the door shut on certain unhealthy relationships in my life, social, extended family, and otherwise.
I had no Lady Blaga Instagram handle.
I was a colt getting up on shaky legs.
I was certain I needed a new version of my life, but wasn't quite sure what.
I didn't have yoga as a part of my routine.
I had never meditated, and therefore had no real means of coping.
I would sometimes go into my room and lose my shit out of uncertainty.
I had to bite my tongue from blurting out my secret to my best friends.
I was starting to believe in myself but felt I had to justify doing so, even apologize.
I hadn't yet met some incredible DJs in the Creative community, who have given me the truest form of encouragement, since they understand.
I was no longer trapped in a cloud of invisibility.
I felt new life breathed into me.
I started to smile for no reason, and for every reason.
I no longer felt angry and bitter when I saw couples together on the street.
I began to feel what I came to identify as pride.
I had a renewed sense of energy and life.
I had people stop me and inquire about my glow.
I finally proved to myself I am indeed a writer.
I felt certain in my value as a woman and an individual.
I let go of Jewish guilt.
I began to envision the version of my life I deserve.
I came up for air.
I felt my days and weeks were no longer identical.
I felt a hunger to maximize my time here.
I felt stronger and more sweetly vulnerable than I ever had in my life.
I felt safe being catapulted into this new space, though logic might dictate otherwise.
I stopped apologizing for growing.
A year ago, I shook hands with myself and said, "nice to meet you."
Warm Winter Stew
/I am knee deep in a steamy love affair.
With...my crock pot.
There is nothing more wonderful and homey than walking into a kitchen infused with the scents of something slow cooking. Extra points if it's being done overnight. The cold winter months are the perfect time to invite warmth into your home in any way possible. My boys are terrible eaters, but my daughters love walking off the school bus and entering the house to the smell of stew. After a long day that ends in a dark bus ride home, their faces light up at knowing the yummy dinner that's in store.
The idea of throwing a bunch of quality ingredients in the crock pot and just leaving it alone to all slowly come together is thrilling to me. It's amazing what results from two minutes of prep. It's an entire meal. The crock pot knows what to do. It takes all the delicious components of your dish and gently simmers them together. It's perfectly controlled culinary harmony. Hearty potatoes, root vegetables, an earthy grain, chicken so soft it falls off the bone,and fresh garlic and herbs, all simmering in a spiced, layered liquid base. Substitute short ribs on the bone or just make this vegetarian/vegan. A green salad to lighten the mood, and a beautiful loaf of fresh bread rounds this out entirely. You can make this on high in the morning, or set your crock pot on low the night before. I usually prefer that so we can wake up to the smell in the morning. Plus, I don't have to give dinner a second thought that day. It's not good to let things stew in your mind, but it is terrific to let things stew in your slow cooker🍠🍖🍞🍴. Serve in cute, earthenware mini crocks for a less "gruel in the orphanage" feel. Stew by nature is fantastic, but she ain't the prettiest girl at the dance 💃🏼.
Ingredients:
Four Idaho potatoes cut into chunks, skin on. Or a pound and a half of small red potatoes cut in half.
Four each large carrots and parsnips, peeled and cut into large chunks.
Four celery stalks cut into fourths.
A cup and a half of Farro or short grain brown rice.
Six skinless chicken thighs on the bone.
An onion peeled and halved.
Three cloves fresh garlic.
A large dried bay leaf.
A sprig of fresh rosemary and a small bunch of fresh thyme tied tightly together in a bouquet garni mesh bag.
A large can of tomato sauce or crushed tomatoes for a thicker texture.
A box of beef stock.
A third cup of red wine.
Two tsp salt, a tsp pepper, a tsp and a half of turmeric and cumin, a tbsp each garlic powder and paprika.
Directions:
Place the garlic cloves and potatoes on bottom with one onion half. Put half the Farro then the chicken on top in an even layer. The other onion half, the bay leaf, and the rest of the Farro.
Add the rest of the vegetables and other onion half. Put the herb bag on top, nestled in. Mix the beef broth, tomato sauce, wine and all the spices in a large bowl with a whisk. Pour on top. Use low setting overnight or high setting for seven hours that day. Simmer, inhale, and enjoy!
Winter meals warm the soul like nothing else. Look around your kitchen, and take pride in what you've built. Not all moments are easy, and most are quite imperfect. But in this time and place, savor what you've created.
You did good today. Love, LB
