Do They Still Make Garanimals?

On a recent (fabulous) visit to New York, I made a quick stop at the H&M at Herald Square while en route from one outer borough to another. I bought a knit hat for Coco and package of underpants for Hank. The briefs were rolled up in their little box, and all I could see were the pictures of construction equipment, which appeared to be right up his alley. Little did I know I was purchasing a six pack of Euro slingshots. The boy could not care less and is happy to have another pair of drawers with a backhoe on the front. But I can’t help giggling a little when he puts them on (especially the orange ones with the steamroller). Guess that’s what I get for shopping Scandinavian…

I’m a terrible shopper and rarely buy retail for my kids (or for myself when I think about it). These people are thoroughly second hand: hand me downs, yard sales, thrift stores, CraigsList—that’s how we roll around here. My little beauties generally don’t wind up looking exactly as I’d have them in a perfect world. It’s particularly hard to style a little rocker chick with suburban castoffs--Coco has way more pink in her wardrobe than she would if I was sourcing firsthand (I’m more of an earth tone kind of gal). But the sad truth is, pink is what’s out there. I have drawn the line at Dora and the Disney princesses and pretty much any annoying television characters. Whenever we inherit anything with that kind of obscene commercial display, it goes right back into circulation via the charity thrift shop my mother helps operate. I do a pretty good job with the recycled threads at my disposal, I have to say. But we’re a far cry from Madison Avenue.

My NYC adventures with Coco included a lovely Saturday afternoon in Manhattan, where we checked out the hipster infested playground in Madison Square Park with our wonderful hosts. Bugaboo strollers lined the perimeter, and the fashions on the kids were pretty impressive. More than enough to give this hayseed mama a complex. I often think about how great things would be if only I had been able to convince Christian to move to Brooklyn when we decided to commit. How enjoyable it would be to raise kids in my old neighborhood in Williamsburg. But I’m really not so sure I could handle it--we just don’t have the wardrobe for it. Remaining fashion forward in Lovetown is hard enough.