The Other 364 Days
Frosted Blue Eyeshadow & the Invisible Architecture
There were stations set up all over the classroom. Bins of neon nail polish. Loose cotton swabs. A pack of first-graders who are personally, passionately committed to bringing back 1998 frosted blue eyeshadow.
I sat in one of those tiny plastic chairs, the ones that make your knees hit your chin, smelling like cotton candy body spray, while my son used my eyelid as a canvas. I was trying not to blink. I was trying to be present, which is somehow both the simplest and the most exhausting instruction anyone ever gives you.
I have complicated feelings about these school events.
School is already a lot for kids. Days like this can be incredibly hard in ways nobody plans for. They make an absence feel loud in rooms designed for celebration. I hope we figure out, eventually, how to honor the love without amplifying the quiet of who isn’t there.
But I sat there anyway.
And somewhere between the blush brush and whatever the “glitter situation” was, I stopped looking for the exit and started looking at the women around me.
There was a mom with a new baby at home who showed up ten minutes early, wearing red lipstick. She seemed to glow with pure joy. Another woman, a nurse, had just finished a twelve-hour shift and was still in her scrubs. She had matching braids in her hair and her daughter’s, both done before sunrise.
Looking at them, I was reminded of the invisible architecture we’re all constantly, quietly, holding up.
There’s a shared strength in being a woman, being the emotional support and the safe place for others, all while trying to build a future without a clear plan. It’s a lot to carry, living in a world that expects us to be everything while we’re still figuring out who we are when the room is finally quiet.
It’s beautiful, and it’s a disaster. Easy and devastating, sometimes in the same hour, sometimes in the same breath.
And still? Even with smeared purple glitter on my face and the exhaustion of navigating a system that wasn’t built for us, I would choose this.
“I’d choose to be a woman in every lifetime.”
We talked about mothers yesterday, and we should. I just keep thinking we don’t do it nearly enough, the other 364 days!
Every woman I know mothers the world in some way. She raises, anchors, restores, and holds things together that would otherwise fall apart. She does it in small ways, in daily ways, in ways that go completely unnoticed and most of the time unrewarded.
She does it anyway.
There’s something I keep coming back to:
If you scream “ Mom “ instead of “ Help “ in a crowded place, nearly every woman in the room will turn around. Mother or not. She’ll turn around, already moving toward you, already ready.
That’s not a small thing. That’s actually the whole thing.
To this community, the ones who read this, who reply, who trust me with your homes and your time. I don’t take that lightly. I see you turning around. Thank you for being here.
Summer Design Secrets: The textures & products I’m obsessed with for June.
The “Buy Once” Update: I’m officially retiring one “must-have” and finally sharing the one I’ve been waiting to share.
The Design Waitlist: Three spots. Wednesday at 9:00 AM.
But first.
Last year, I dumped out my mom’s bag on the table, and y’all loved it!
She has the best playlists, the jewelry you never want to take off, and this genuine, deep love for people that makes everyone feel like the only person in the room. She has that kind of “cool” that isn’t a performance, it’s just her.
I asked if we could do it again this year. She didn’t even look up from her coffee.
“Of course,” she said.
The chaos, the receipts, and the leather-wrapped tape measure.
There is a difference between buying things and building a life you love being in. My mom has always known the difference. We went through everything in her bag this afternoon, from the jewelry she never takes off to the one thing she says “every woman should carry.”