Renaissance Woman

{the she & him finished products of a watercolor morning with the Bean}

Someday in the future, hopefully in the far far eighty plus years far away future, my iPad tombstone will read..."Herein lies Bon Bon. She had enviable wavy textured hair and the gift of dabble."

{and a morbid sense of humor} 


Music. Art. Writing. Cooking. Dreaming. Mixology. Decorating. Styling. Athletics. Linguistics. Speed Reading. Sewing. Paper Mache Puppetry. Creating. Doing numerous Its by Yourself. 
Basically, everything from Butcher to Baker to Candlestick Maker and beyond.

{The term "butcher" is loosely being used here, due to an unfortunate incident involving a suicidal deer on HWY 212 back in the summer of 2010}


My real hobby is collecting hobbies.
Which is a cutesy roundabout way of saying: I like to quit things.

Once something gets too mundane or easy or boring or unnatural or hard or frustrating, I huff and puff my way off the mountain. {My last ski lesson was in 2001)


So, in honor of now being one of the Bean's "practice what you preach" role-models, and in homage to my collection of Giga Pets in the 4th grade that I starved off because they kept beeping me awake during the night, I am committing myself to a Renaissance Year! A year of trying, re-trying, and most importantly, finishing whatever I start.
{I'm specifically talking to the four books on my nightstand, a ukulele I ordered from Amazon, two baskets of clothes waiting to be folded since last last laaaast Friday, and season 3 of Downton Abbey). 


No more sulking by the ski lodge fireplaces of life for me! 

I'm going to open that unused bag of jewelry making supplies, dust off the out of tune banjo, sew something more substantial than a pillowcase, and re-watch "The Joy of Painting" episodes.



Maybe, first, I'll learn how to roast coffee beans. 
I'm gonna need it. 




I would also like to point out that the Bean beeped me awake for nine months straight and he's still here in one piece, so obviously progress has already been made. 

Keeping a plant alive is another story. 



xoxo

{Bon Bon}

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My Cart is Half Full

{Shopping Before Bean} 

The fox fur could be an exaggeration, but I vaguely remember the styled hair as being a real thing}

{Shopping After Bean}

aka Harry Houdini reincarnated. 

Seriously. 

Our Vegas cart-seat escape show is in the works.

And I'm only 96% sure that's chocolate on my dress.

I used to naively chuckle at the frazzled mothers hustling their offspring through the aisles of...anywhere. 

(basically, any public building with shelves and things to grab off those shelves) 

My Target Retreat bubble of isolation could be popped by so much as the seemingly shrill gurgle of a newborn's coo, and I'd wheel in the opposite direction, 

clicking my judgmental heels towards the fancy-free lanes of life filled with things like, "Fragile," and "Look Don't Touch." 

There were many peaceful, tantrum-free excursions during those years among the land of humans who don't internally combust when they have to put a pair of pink glitter mary-janes back on the shelf. I'll admit that.

But, oh how those years were lonely! 

When I was all by myself, leisurely carting through without a care in the world...

Lonely!

With no one to fling the entire contents of my purse onto the conveyer belt for me. 

Lonely!

Or be the Thelma to my Louise in a Mentos pilfering spree at checkout stands across the state.

Lonely!

Luuuuuuhhhhh-Ohhhhhh-Nnnn-Eeeeee-Leeeeeeey

Funny how something starts sounding unreal the more you say it?

But until you've heard a 16 month old cheer you on as the basket gets filled with "NANAAAAAS" (bananas), "COOOOOKAHHHS" (graham crackers, which he thinks are cookies), and "BASthKKKETBALLS", (oranges/melons/anything round like a basketball), 

well, 

it's just all a bit unreal.

Especially, the love you can have for a toddler wailing in the key of firetruck engine through aisle 8 while you try and calm him down by singing " The Hip Hop Bunny Came Today" from the Easter episode of Dora the Explorer.  

unbelievable. 

Don't worry, I'm laughing at myself too. 

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

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*never go through aisle 8. Or whatever the squeezable fruit puree aisle is in your store.

**or the shoe aisle. Never.Ever. 

***Now I naively chuckle at the mothers of two, three, four, or more kids. 

15 Months: The Real Version

At 15 months old, the Bean is officially that perplexing equation of equal parts baby, toddler, and tornado. 

The kind of tornado whose path leaves no bookshelf unbooked or goldfish cracker uncrackered. 

Probably at least an F3 on the storm scale, or whichever one makes you hide in the bathtub with two chocolate bars and a bottle of coconut rum.

I can't imagine (remember)* what it's like to encompass such a vast amount of unbridled natural energy at my disposal each and every day. 

Morning. Afternoon. Evening. 

The smattering of wooden building blocks meeting hardwood floor means, "Awake," or "Hey You Guys Trying To Have Fun Without Me, Well, I'm Still Here, I'll Be Here Allllllllllll Night, Blalguauealughughdufjjfuerur!"

Sometimes, I have to remind myself that his middle name, the "J", stands for "James" not "Julius Caesar."**

Especially during the reigning dictatorship of 6PM-8:00PM.

His onslaught of macaroni and heavy taxation of patience will not defeat us. 

Not this time, Bean Julius!

8 minutes later...

We have made it to bath time. Shells of our former selves. But, alive. {Have you ever scrubbed thirty noodles off of hardwood floor? Enough to make a grown man cry. I've seen it}

And finally, we're in the home stretch! Pajamas. Toothbrush. Book. Mini meltdown because Daniel looked at him funny. Crib. Door closed. This must be what an IronMan competitor feels like when they crawl through the finish line. Sweaty, wobbly, covered in pee. Yup. 

Then, the strangest thing happens several hours later. After the celebratory champagne has been poured. After we've toppled wearily into bed. 

we look.at photos.of.the bean. 

The same Dictator Bean who has ruled from dawn 'til dusk since November 2012.

The same tornado on legs that pelted an entire table of Starbucks' patrons with cheerios because, "Bean Julius, you cannot drink caramel macchiatos," is not in his manifesto.

It's only been about 3 hours,(of blissful peace and freedom to use the bathroom alone for all), since we last saw him, and yet we can hardly wait to hear those wooden blocks crash on the floor tomorrow morning. And the next, and the next, and the next...

He's got my vote for, forever. 

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

*Legend has it, I would gleefully leap out of my Daisy Kingdom daybed at 6AM on the dot back in my bright-eyed-bushy-tailed years and yell, "Woman, where are my waffles?" My poor parents. 

Let's take a moment of silence for all of those Saturday mornings I took for granted.

**OR "Joule." But I thought that an obscure physics joke might be too much of a stretch, even for me. 

Plus, growing up, we had a cat named Brutus. So, things are really coming full circle in my life...obscure history joke. 

I'm done.

Seriously though, R.I.P Brutus. 

Quarter Century Girl

{my best gifts}

So begins my 25th year of life. 

Or, my 26th year, if I were to truly embrace the Korean side of things. 

And if these past twenty five years have taught me anything, it's this..."Every time you embrace the Korean side of things, you will end up next to a karaoke machine." Every.Time. I kid you not.

Oh, and never buy mangos from a group of door-to-door sales-children, no matter how cute they look. The kids. Not the mangos. The mangos will be awful and have an outrageously high price point. 

Obviously, there is still much to be learned. 

{Thankfully, grace envelopes the lessons}

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

The Bean Wears This

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 Sticky Cheeks: Jam on Hawthorne, Hat: Gap, Sweater: H&M, Chambray: Gap, 
Pants: H&M, Shoes: Zara

And this is why a "Baby Sartorialist," does not exist.

Dressing/documenting toddlers is like herding cats. 

Angry, apple-juice covered, striped sweater-wearing, nap-skipping...cats. 

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

Face Serum: DIY

During my time in NYC, {and thanks to my friend J.J's stash of luxury beauty products}, I discovered the added beneficial bonus of [this] face serum. 

Especially, since I'm a cheapskate {genius} who packed a week's worth of shtuff into a carryon and that week's worth of shtuff did not involve any of those pesky liquid 3.4oz-ers. 

Not that I own any of those bottles of liquid gold or anything to begin with.

I'm truly a simple girl at heart.*  

Soap, water, and toothpaste.

I can go even simpler. 

No.Running.Water.Hole.In.The.Ground.Toothpaste.Is.Too.Expensive.

Use.A.Twig.Instead** 

But, I'd be lying if I said that seven days full of Shiseido, Chloé, Chanel, and Estée Lauder all over my body didn't make me happy and glowing and want to jump into the nearest taxi and say,  "Giddy-up, Charles. Once around the park!" 

In a British accent.

{Although, the Chanel facial cleanser mainly made me mad as I slathered my face because it reminded me of how I'd much rather be slathering one of their handbags on my face instead} 

However, that serum was kind of fantastic. 

Until, I saw the price and realized the Bean would have to become an indentured servant to Mrs. Estee Lauder herself and spend the rest of his days working off my night repair serum debt while living in the factory as a product tester. He'd have fabulous skin...but, no. 

Out of my Sephora cart it went. 

And then out of my Amazon moment of weakness cart, it went, again.

and again.

All this to say: I made my own face serum. 

Stick it to the man!*** 

Americuh! 

...

My "Hubba Hubba" Skin Serum has Jojoba {carrier oil}, Lavender {essential oil}, and Vitamin E. 

Check [here] for more info and recipes!

xoxo

{Bon Bon} 

*Even though I have a Sephora Beauty Insider Card. 

**Shout out to four months in Rwanda.

***Literally. The man. {Leonard Lauder I'm talking to you}

The Bean Wears This

Beanie: H&M, Sweatshirt: H&M, Vest: Old Navy, Pants: H&M, Shoes: Zara

We like to call this the "One Less Lonely Girl" outfit. 

Which is ironic, because there will, indeed, be a lot of lonely girls for quite a long time.

{He's not dating anyone until, oh, 2045} 

Especially after these photos. 

There's a hint of "smolder" in that last one.

Sheesh. 

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

Mom Jeans

Boots: Thrifted, Jeans: Kut, Chambray: Target, Sweatshirt: DIY

That sneaky 25th year of life is creeping up on me. 

Twenty. Five.

Otherwise known as,

Holy. Cow. 

Which is almost Thirty. And practically Forty. 

With a hint of Fifty.

My wide bootcut denim is quickly becoming a gateway jean to tapered elastic SNL skits involving Tina Fey. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

Just numbers. Silly old numbers. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Who am I kidding, 

 I've always been somewhat of an old soul anyway. 

At age 10 {and apparently going on 110}, I dressed up as George Frideric Handel for Halloween.
Complete with powdered wig.

And parts of my beauty routine now, involve Elizabeth Arden for goodness' sake. 

...

But some parts still involve Bonne Bell.

And the closet part is involving a whole lot of Forever 21. 

Crap. 

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

DIY: Polka Dot Dot Dot

{Seriously. He's licking it. Willy Wonka was right.}

Our little whim wham family has been in the new-old house going on four months now, which is plenty of time to get unpacked, settled in and have the cupboards fully stocked and memorized. 

We even have our favorite corners to pile up dirty laundry and secret drawers to stack junk mail. 

The true definition of mi casa.

Of course, the main reasons to cross those t's and dot those i's  on our mortgage papers were things like, "wall decor", "linens", "paint swatches", and "tchotchkes!" 

{Daniel, I'm speaking for the both of us on this one, right?}

I'll admit, it has been slow going with time/budget/motivation in tiny bursts here and there. 

{"ONE ROOM AT A TIME!" is my new life motto

as I scour Craigslist for Restoration Hardware knockoffs} 

Although, this morning's french press left me full of unbridled energy to DIY. 

Something. Anything.  

Bedroom Wall. I pick you! 

Slowly and randomly, the house is becoming our home. 

...

{I'd share the polka dot "tutorial," but it's so easy a caveman could do it and if I tell you, you'll write it down in your diary and laugh about it later. BUT, if you reallllly want to know my super secret $6 polka dot wall keys to success, email thewhimwhamlife@gmail.com and I'll let you know. Shhhhh}

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

Rewind

This. This is what Bean looked like around this time last year. This!

He was chubby, rotund, and all the best kinds of squishy.

It was his season of life to eat-to-live-to-eat, catch up on seven seasons of Dexter, and ignite a local epidemic of babyious feverious in every grocery store and coffee shop within a 10 mile radius. 

Oh, oh, and we had this great song&dance routine at bedtime. 

 He would pretend to be a big boy and fall asleep in the bassinet, to impress DaDa. 

 And get this, this is the best part. 

I would pretend to be a big girl and put him IN the bassinet. 

Like he wasn't gonna sleep that night, or the next, or the next seventy-four nuzzled in the cocoon of that which is, my left armpit.

ha.ha.ha. 

Comedy gold. 

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

Vintage Priorities

This outfit post could be titled, 

"A Sunny Afternoon in Homage to Annie Hall." 

or, 

"1970s Librarian's Puzzled Expressions Over Husband's Camera Handling."

But really, it should be, has to be, and must be best captioned as, 

"Umm. Excuse Me. Hi. Why Is No One Playing Trains With Me?" 

xoxo

{Bon Bon}