When I was in 7th grade I transferred to a private school in Oyster Bay, Long Island from my public school in my home town of Northport. My new school, East Woods, was only twenty-five minutes away from my house but its technicolor culture was as foreign to me as Dorothy’s Oz—only with a lot more pink and green. As a teenager I could ignore the big unspoken differences: my grandparents arrived in America via Ellis Island rather than the Mayflower; my father went to City College not an ivy league. I tried to fit in by watching others and making well-timed jokes. What I could not ignore were the everyday lifestyle difference. I ate tomato sauce, my friends ate tomato aspic. I wore fringed Minnetonka moccasins they wore LL Bean bluchers. My bathroom waste basket was woven from rattan theirs were tin and painted in an eye-catching prints. I remember sleeping over Edie Meyer’s  house and seeing her wastebasket and thinking, ‘God even her trash bin looks like it’s going golfing.’

Edie’s bin matched her lifestyle, her dancing lessons, her sailing trips and everyday when she threw something away I wondered if she was reminded of who she was. It was a small detail that summed up her life, where she’d like to go to college, where she’d work, who she’d marry…In the 80s at 13 years-old it was easy for me to think that her life could be predicted by one incidental accessory.

I have no idea where Edie is now, and yes, I’ve tried to find her on facebook. I’d love to catch up. But I guess I’ll have to make do with buying a similar trash bin that is on sale at One Kings Lane this week. I want to get one out of nostalgia and irony. Edie’s bin once told me so much about who I wasn’t.  I know that the whole waspy aspirational lifestyle has faded in prominence, it’s  just one of many aspirational lifestyles, and it in particular seems out of date. But even now, I can’t help but be attracted to the bright and the shiny and the promise of belonging.

Safari Monkey basket $39

Garden Gate basket, $39

Coptic Trellis basket, $39

I’ve confessed it to David so I can tell you too: I’m in love with Stephen Drucker, the editor-in-chief of House Beautiful. It’s a one-sided affair. He doesn’t know I exist. Even though I’ve worked in magazines for over a decade, I know better than to pursue a job at House Beautiful because I’m too much of a fan to be able to ever make a coherent sentence around him let alone write or edit stories for him.

Each month when my issue of HB arrives in my mailbox I’m consistently impressed by Mr. Drucker’s ability to take something as ordinary as neutrals or wood and create these gorgeous narratives that change the whole way I look at decorating. But it’s his April editor’s letter that has made me realize just how much not only do I need him, but the whole design world. For those of you who don’t have a subscription, here’s what he said:

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I love the new linen line Lilly Pulitzer has created for Garnet Hill. But I just don’t think my husband will feel the same way.  The copy reads:

“The life of the party! Taking its cues from a smashing cocktail dress, this hand-quilted bedding adds cheer and elegance to the room. A shot of Palm Beach color and a dash of embellishment mixed with crisp forever-summer white — the perfect blend of fun and fashion — a recipe for a good time!”

It’s pretty convincing, but I can’t help but wonder if we got this bedspread, would he would feel like he was kissing his mom?

Decor club went on a little excursion yesterday to a stone works warehouse because my friend Stacie is redoing her mantel. She’s having it custom done and was interested in something modern and subtle, like brushed limestone—until I got into the picture. She invited me along to make sure her choice would be bullet proof and would ensure she could resell her house easily when the time comes. Her mantel is going to be this shape:

But I think the real reason she invited me along was to have a moment to fantasize before she played it safe, so I tried to persuade her to make a statement. First we stumbled, literally onto this spectacular piece of blue Lapis. When I pointed it out to her, the owner said, “You like that? Its the most expensive thing in here.”

But he can’t sell it because it has too much white and was dropped and has a lot of little cracks in it. Then I found this:It’s gorgeous and scary and a crazy risk. Stacie tried to imagine it but it made her dizzy, so much so she had a tripping incident.But I still think it would be spectacular. It’s Turkish marble and very rare. It looks like mountains from the Hobbit. I know it would be like inviting friends and family to have an LSD trip in your house every time you hung stockings (not that you would on that kind of fireplace), but I just love it. I admit that seeing it dusty and undiscovered probably makes it seem more chic than seeing it in installed and polished in your home. It is a brown, mindbending slab of marble and there’s a good chance it would plunge her home back to a time when women actually wore Jean Natay in an unironic way so I didn’t push too hard. When I asked the owner about it he laughed again and told Stacie she shouldn’t shop with me. The Turkish slab is the second most expensive piece after the Lapis. More than seven times what she wants to spend. Clearly I need to stick to throw pillows. But I know it could work, I really do.

The bar I recently set up and motherblogger is mentioned in the Time’s Home section in a story about the super fun bar cart trend. Unfortunately, the wrong url was printed in the story, but they fixed it online.

When Maria, the reporter for the Times was interviewing me, I realized that I received a bar cart one Christmas from Santa. I had forgotten about it, but while we were talking I remembered coming downstairs one Christmas morning to find an orange plastic cart with metal trim and bright shiny wheels decked out with a tea set and glasses. The mod tangerine plastic gleamed next to the tree lights and even though I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t even know a present this chic existed in child size— it was a wildly reassuring gift. The cart was my mother’s way of saying to me, I know who you want to be and who you will become. That summer I was voted clumsiest camper at Camp Chinqueka, but by giving me that cart, my mom was telling me that I could also be Grace Kelly.

My mom is still that kind of gift giver and she manages to surprise me every Christmas. When I was in college I was too controlling and specific about what I wanted so she stopped taking risks and I received lots of gift cards. It was what I had asked for, but when I’d open the little card it felt like our connection was diffused into an institutionalized transaction. Parent = Shopping spree at Anthropologie. It made me feel like a favorite neice, not her daughter and her gifts had been her unique way of mothering me.

So I stopped telling her what I wanted for Christmas because I didn’t want checklist gifts. I wanted her imagination. And it worked. In the years since, she has given me a vintage Tutu from a performance of Sleeping Beauty; a limited edition of The Flair book; a fur scarf; a set of Leeds china. This year she gave me a ruffled purse. Where I’ll use it, I have no idea, but it’s her way of saying, you need this as much as a new pair of yoga pants. All her gifts are her way of guiding my taste while boosting my confidence to be who I wanted to be in a way that only she can.

When my mom gives me advice, sometimes I can hear the worry in her voice. Her gifts, however, are clear they all say I believe in you. And often enough, her presents are ideas of myself that  haven’t even occurred to me. So it was funny to realize, that while Maria was interviewing me, I had said I set up the bar because I was having two parties and I didn’t want anyone crowding up our tiny kitchen, but I really set it up because I wanted to have that life that she whispered into my ear when I was seven on Christmas morning.

Merry Christmas to my house. Thank you honey. It’s perfect.

File under totally uncessary but still worth fantasizing about. This Hayworth Shelf in melon by Serena & Lily is the kind of thing I’ll furnish my office in heaven with.

The December issue of House Beautiful featured home bars and inspired me to set one up, especially because I’m having a dinner party for friends Christmas week and then hosting family on Christmas Day. The bar is my way of hoping to shoo guests away from gathering in the kitchen.  Normally, I like kitchen parties, but our kitchen is small and not the prettiest room in the house and  it’s just going to stress me out if everyone ends up in there. Ta da: my solution:

The tray is over 90 year’s old and it was given to my husband’s great grandmother from his great grandfather as a “push present” when his grandmother was born so she could have breakfast in bed. The lamps are from Pier 1 and were $30 each! The crystal decanter was a wedding gift. When I opened it as a 27 year-old newlywedI burst out laughing, certain I’d never have a use for something as formal as that. What a difference a decade plus can make.

The wall needs something, so I’m going to ask David for this convex mirror from West Elm for Christmas. I’ve had my eye on it for a while because I thought it would be fun to hang a starburst mirror over our canopy bed. But now that the bar is set up, if I get it, I most likely put it here.

None of the lamps I bought for the guest room worked out. They were too big for a bedside table so I ended up heading back to Home Goods that Sunday and returning four out of the six I bought. That said, two worked out really well in the living room.

And that’s my favorite part of decor club, seeing how things work out spontaneously. I went out for the guest room and came back redoing my living room. Plus, I got these lamps for $40 each at HG. Later that week I saw pretty much the exact same lamp at on sale in a local shop by Le Jardin, a furnishing company I covet (below), marked down from $550 to $239.

Am I right or am I right?

Some women have book clubs, but my friends and I have decided to start a decor club.

First rule of Decor Club: Talk about Decor Club.

Second rule of Decor Club: Never talk about Decor Club with your husband. He’ll just start asking questions that start with “How” and end with “much” that take all the fun out of your ingenious plans even if  they are based on going to Ikea and buying those Lack tables that are reduced to $7.99!

Decor club doesn’t require formal meetings we just email, text and talk about our latest   rearragement brainstorm, wallpaper obsession or can-you-believe-this-was-on-sale discovery whenever we have one. Case in point, knowing that my mother was spending the night with us for Christmas Eve (the first time she has decided to stay at our house and not in a hotel) I wanted to tweak our guest room so that she’d be comfortable enough to consider doing it again next year. First task: lamp shopping for bedside tables.

Home Goods was having a sale.