What's Your (Kid's) Style

This post is sponsored by Wittlebee.

So these "online style profiles" are quite a Thing now, aren't they? The days of just going to a website and typing "black t-shirt" into a search bar are over, like what are you, some kind of e-caveman or something? Now it's all about personalized profiles and recommendations and letting fashion algorithms pick out your outfit because GOD KNOWS what you'd pick out if left to your own unstylish devices. 

(Pajamajeans, probably.)

The only problem with those personalized style profile things is...well, me. The personalized part. Because I managed to thoroughly overthink the process and second-guess myself.

"Do I reach for Vogue or InStyle at the hair salon? I don't know! Which one has Adele on the cover? And is US Weekly an option? Perferably something in a TomKat divorce edition? Because I would read the hell out of that right now."

And then I invariably try to impress the stupid thing and make it think I'm trendier than I actually am, and then my results are all, "CONGRATULATIONS, YOU ARE LADY GAGA."

In other words, I still really need a nice plain black t-shirt. 

So it was with a small amount of trepidation that I agreed to create a personalized online style profile on behalf of my children with Wittlebee (which is a kids' clothing club that sends you monthly boxes of fun and mystery), because what if I answered wrong? Is Ezra's favorite color blue or red these days? What's the difference between "sporty" and "casual" and if I say Ike is a "hipster" am I being too aspirational by suggesting that I actually put thought into his clothing beyond "OH HEY LOOK THIS HAND-ME-DOWN IS NOT TOO STAINED"? 

I mean, let's be honest here. This...

...is not a photo of two children tearing up a Fashion Week runway. 

See, if I was asked to write a style/personality quiz for my kids, it would probably be something like this:

WHICH PHOTO BEST DESCRIBES YOUR CHILD?

a) Made of ham and eyelashes.

b) Loves dogs, hates pants.

c) Is Lady Gaga.

I feel like those are straightforward questions with straightforward answers.

Wittlebee sticks to asking if your kid likes plaid or race cars. How do they feel about green? And do you need some socks?

I guess that works too. And I guess I did pretty okay on the quiz because they sent Ezra a monkey shirt. And I don't think you can do any better than a monkey shirt for that one.

GIVEAWAY! FREE STUFF! COUPON STUFFS!

Leave a comment on this post and I'll pick someone at random to win a free Wittlebee box of kids' clothes, all picked out nice and personal for you (sizes are newborn to 5T). Comments will stay open for seven days and then I'll contact the winner so please leave a valid email address.

Can't wait that long? Already convinced you are doomed to never win anything (PS I NEVER WIN ANYTHING.) Just totally addicted to taking personalized online style profile quizzes? Visit Wittlebee and use coupon code am15 for $15 off your first purchase between now and August 1st, 2012.

Deep Fried Sand Nugget

Sweet.

Merciful.

Sandy.

Crap.

Pine-Sol asked me to submit my best household-y tip — you know, like putting clear nail polish on panty hose runs or vinegar in milk when you're like, seven steps into a recipe before you realize you don't have any buttermilk  — so I thought I'd go vacation-themed and share one that has been near and dear to my heart (and my kids' butts) quite a bit in the past month.

Baby powder, y'all. Buy it, pack it, use it. Do NOT try to de-sand your sweet, gritty little hermit crabs without it. Sand will cling to wet, sunblock-y kids like...um. Like sand clings to wet, sunblock-y kids. It will multiply and hide in every possible crevice and thigh-fold, waiting for the perfect moment to come tumbling out in buckets from between their toes. Like...in the car, or your bed. Or on your in-law's couch. 

Powder them up before coming inside and the sand will wipe off with a dry towel or relatively sand-free t-shirt. They may look like ghostly, powder-y refugees from a flour fight when you're done, but it's way easier to get baby powder off the floor or bathtub drain than sand. 

(I also highly recommend putting a generous dusting on the inside of swim diapers for reasons that I will not go into because this is a sponsored post, which means there is an expectation of maintaining a shred of basic dignity.)

Oh, and also 1) buy boys' bathing suits that DON'T have the little useless back pocket on them (like what is Ezra supposed to keep in an itty bitty scaled-for-size-2T pants pocket? lip balm? his fake ID?), or 2) sew them shut lest they fill up with sand and you forget to turn it inside out until you shake the suit out inside and HOLY PHYSICS-DEFYING SAND MONSOON all over the bathroom floor. 

You can submit your own favorite tip or trick at Pine-Sol's website. And also here in the comments, for no other reason than because I am a sucker for a good shortcut or reading about 101 different uses for bobby pins. 

This post is sponsored by Pine-Sol® Cleaners. The Powerful Scent of Clean, with Everything You Need, and Nothing You Don’t.

Tequila Mockingpets

This is the last post of the Sauza sponsorship, and I apologize for both the semi-awkward timing and for...well. You'll see.

In honor of the Sauza Fireman & Kitten Amazingness video, I ordered a twee little beret for my own animals. Oh, how funny that would be! They would look so dashing and jaunty! Like this!

ZOMG.

But alas, the beret, it was backordered. I was thwarted by upside-down supply/demand economics! A run on the kitty-beret market! Dump your orange juice futures and invest heavily in felt!

I SHOULD HAVE STOLEN THAT PINK ONE I KNEW IT.

So in desperation I went to the local big-box pet store in search of the Most Ridiculous Thing I Could Put On My Pets' Heads. 

I found it, all right. In the form of a doggie doo-rag and some Super Ironical pink skull-and-crossbone hair bows. These items may or may not have come from the "Bret Michaels Pets Rock" apparel collection, which is actually something that actually exists, God save us all.

Anyway! Maximum LOLCAT potential unlocked! Now all I had to do was put said Most Ridiculous Things on said pets' heads and the Internet laughs would flow like tequila. Right? Right.

NOT AMUSED. GOIN TO MURDER YOO IN UR SLEEP.

Our photo op was a bit more...challenging than the one I witnessed at the commercial shoot. 

NO.

NO HATE NO

hate everything goin poop on her bed then murder in sleep hate no

THIS IS NOT EVEN THE CORRECT WAY TO TIE A DOO-RAG! DID YOU LEARN NOTHING FROM "ROCK OF LOVE," WOMAN?

Seriously. Just don't look at her. Pretend she's not even there. It takes away her power. 

YOU CAN TIE IT PROPERLY ALL YOU WANT NOW, BUT TEH MOMENT HAZ PASSED. LEMME INSIDE FOR WAFFLES.

So it seems, much like tequila recipes, putting things on animals' heads is also best left to the professionals. My pets are clearly warped from their early days as child blog stars, back before the human babies took over around here. Uncooperative divas, I suppose. 

PS: Max is totally going to eat my eyeballs tonight, and I will have deserved it. 

PPS: DON'T CARE. WORTH IT. HAAAAAAA.

PPPS: I think we should declare June 7th a national holiday where we all drink tequila and put stupid things on our pets' heads. Who's in? I think it could rival Cinco de Mayo. Séptimo de Junio! Hats for all! Dignity for none!

PPPPS: Okay, I'm done now. Thanks for sponsoring these posts and for letting me be so weird, Sauza.

We're Gonna Party Like It's 7:59

So part of the sponsorship dealie thing with Sauza (who I refer to in real life as simply TEQUEEEEEEEELA, because we're close) included the assignment to have an actual Ladies' Night In.

OH. IF WE MUST. How could I resist these eyes? <-- Click that and then guess which set of eyes I am talking about. GO ON GUESS.

However, because I am no fool, I invited my favorite lady AND her non-lady significant other, because I knew he would bring dessert. Specifically, cupcakes for the kids and macarons for me. (He did not let me down.)

Since Jason and I have never met a party theme we didn't enjoy beating into the ground, we decided a Sauzarita party called for a taco bar, complete with homemade guacamole and salsa. We also decided that Tracey and Charlie were about fourteen different people:

HEY YEAH WE BOUGHT ALL THE LIMES, TOMATOES AND AVOCADOS IN THE WORLD THERE ARE NONE LEFT NOW SORRY BYE.

We ate all of this. (Ezra helped.)

And this. Jason made homemade roasted tomatillo salsa (recipe here) and I encourage everyone on earth to follow suit. It will change your life and probably cure at least some of your diseases.

I mean, not to oversell it or anything. 

TACO TOWN!

We made carnitas. Fine, Jason made carnitas (a hybrid-mash-up of these two recipes). Just like Charlie made the dessert. I made...uh. I...vacuuming motions with the vacuum?

(What? We were simply upholding the spirit of the Sauza "Make It With A Fireman" campaign, which is all about getting hot men to make you things, like drinks and tacos and cookies.)

We did indeed make a batch of the Sauzaritas, as demonstrated in the commercial. I had a handy cheat sheet on my phone from my day on the set:

Other than having completely non-regulation ice cubes, it turned out pretty delicious. Except that we drank them before anyone remembered to take a picture. Oops.

Now it wouldn't be a TEQUEEEEEEEELA party without someone exhibiting some questionable judgment, which for us manifested in Tracey having the brilliant idea to create a NEW drink recipe. And Jason seizing on the opportunity to open a champagne bottle with the back of a knife. (Remember when we learned to that? Yes. Still doing that.)

(Please to note that all children were fed and tucked away in bed by this point, away from our terrible collective influence and reckless use of cutlery.)

So that's how...this was created. An unholy combination of tequila and prosecco and...Stevia? I think? I don't actually remember what all they put in it because I was too busy shrieking that I wanted no part of this abomination. NO PART.

WHAT HAS SCIENCE DONE?

This is Jason's "well it's not as bad as it could be" face.

And this is Charlie's "no, it actually totally is" face.

Yeeeeah. I recommend you stick with the recipes the Tequila Professionals come up with. But whatever, it was time to switch to coffee anyway, because we were all sinking into Tequila and Taco Comas and still wanted to watch Team America: World Police together and...

8:30 pm. NOW THAT'S A PARTY. Next time someone remind me to buy some Sharpies along with the limes.

This post is sponsored by Sauza and the (hilarious) "Make It With A Fireman" campaign. Please drink responsibly and avoid putting prosecco in your tequila, because ick.

Señor Tequila Throws A Party

Hello! I am a bottle of tequila. Well, half a bottle, but WHO IS COUNTING? Tequila is not interested in your math, Tequila is interested in getting Tequila's friends out on this placemat dancefloor for a Cinco de Mayo party.

No, we have no firemen, or kittens, but I will promise you this: NO ONE WILL BE WEARING A SHIRT. 

Oh look! Tequila's guests are arriving now. As always, I have invited a diversified mix of attendees to guarantee a wild, unpredictable time.

Blue Mug always arrives early and then stands around staring awkwardly at the punch bowl. He doesn't get out much and mostly just wants to talk about Star Trek and Game of Thrones. However, if something were to go wrong with the sound system, he is your guy. Can Tequila help him have a good time tonight? Oh. Oh yes.  

Total drama queen, this one. But such a dancer! 

Some might say I am crazy for inviting my boss. Perhaps I am. Such is Tequila. I make bad ideas into good, and good ideas into OMG WE SHOULD TOTES ORDER SOME TACOS RIGHT NOW.

Ah, you see Tequila's plan now, no? World's Best Boss Mug will most certainly come out of his shell when he meets Insulated Flip-Top Sippy Cup. She is young and vibrant and teaches measuring cups to read in her spare time. She is also spill proof! The perfect woman, really.

No party is complete without Red Solo Cup, obviously, but I know something even better: Frat-house antices aside, he and Blue Mug have much in common, over which they shall bond, share some drinks, and leave the best of friends.

(Hint: Bronies.)

Champagne Flute may, at first glance, come across as a bit of a snob, but Tequila knows her roots are much humbler: $4.99 for a pack of six at Ikea. Tequila will never tell, though. Tequila is a rogue, but always a gentleman.

Ah, my old friends. I go way back with these two, obviously. Let us not speak of the fact that they also, a long time ago, came in a pack of six. What happened to the other four? 

Tequila happened. Also that tall human girl who talks with her hands a lot. 

Ahh, and now my partner in freshly-mixed Sauzarita awesomeness.

The three little limes shall regale our party guests in song before going off to bed. Broadway Souvenir Mug will especially enjoy that, I think. 

Hmm, I think we are all here, but is someone missing?

HOSPITAL CUP BITCHEZZZ AWWWW YEAH!!!!!!!!

And now we dance! And toast! And...

"Heeeey you guuuuys. I brought hummus."

"Sigh."

NOW that's a Cinco de Mayo party, my friends. 

(Or so I've heard, having never been to one before. Hence my response to Sauza's request for a sponsored Cinco de Mayo post being about imaginary party guests I found in the dishwasher.) 

(And the beer. Which is sadly absent in that final shot because I made margaritas before making sure I had all the photos I needed. Shocking, right?)

(If you would like your own dishware party with our fine friend Tequila — or with actual human friends, IF YOU'RE WEIRD — there's a coupon on Sauza's Facebook page. Woot.)

Firemen! Kittens! Tequila! Oh My!

Hey! So anybody remember that little trip I took up to New York City, the one I wasn't allowed to tell you anything about at the time? And a few of you kept occasionally asking me just what in sam hill that was all about and I ignored you until y'all just gave up and stopped asking, because I WILL BREAK YOUR SPIRIT AND YOUR ATTENTION SPAN? 

Anybody? No? Excellent! Perfect time to bring it back up, then. 

So after all the secrecy and embargos and hush-hushness about it, I am thrilled to report that I have been cast as Marilyn Monroe in a new Broadway musicaHA HA JUST KIDDING. No, actually I went up to watch a commercial being filmed.

A tequila commercial.

Now, yes. Tequila and I have had a rocky relationship. We broke up in college and I've occasionally tried to make it work, we've been on but mostly off, because I KNOW tequila can be kind of a jerk but...he's so pretty! And tasty! And he goes so well with tacos! 

And so I allowed myself to be once again be seduced by the handsome rogue of tequila and convinced to run off and spend the day with him in New York. Not drinking, or anything, just...you know. To hang out. Talk about our feelings. Just be. Shhh. It's okay now.

(Tequila: The Ikea of the booze world. If that ingenious TV/media storage cabinet fails to solve all your problems, try a margarita instead.)

I woke up at the buttcrack of dawn to head to the train station, and kicked things off Classic Amalah Style by sending my phone FLYING out my car door in a freak charging cable accident. It hit the pavement and the screen shattered.

Awesome.

The good news is that the cracks gave any self-portrait photos I took a lovely, angelic sort of glow:

Never underestimate how flattering a giant patch of upper-arm-and-chin-diffusing light can be, ladies. 

Catherine (aka Her Bad Mother) was also invited to come watch the commercial, which was for Sauza Tequila. They were not aware of our History Together, aka That Time We Did An Interpretative Dance Routine During Total Eclipse Of The Heart karaoke And Very Nearly Killed Each Other. I mean, not that it mattered. I love her like a sister. I'm over it. 

(AND YET I AM JUST SAYING.)

Anyway! I'd never been to a real live set before. I must say I don't necessary recommend it to anyone who -- like me -- lives in constant fear of being scolded or shushed by Imaginary Authority Figures. Because YOU WILL BE SHUSHED. You will not be able to whisper quietly enough. You will become more aware of the sound of your shoes than you ever were before. The words "ROLL SOUND" will forever shut your ass up faster than...I don't know. FAST.

You will also learn (the hard way) that food stylists are not bartenders. None of this is for you. Woez.

You will be offered about a bajillion different kinds of tea, however.

I debated over trying a cup of the Sugar Controller Blood Cleansing Tea, but thought maybe that sounded a little too loud.

Not that the lack of actual alcohol consumption saved me from nearly killing myself on Various Wires Of Trippy Doom approximately FOUR MILLION HOJILLION TIMES.

This is Catherine, posing in front of the door she accidentally slammed (WHILE SOUND WAS ROLLING) and it literally sounded like the fists of God punching a tower of tequila bottles filled with pennies.

Not pictured: Me hyperventilating on the stairs nearby, half out of asshole laughter and half out of OMG THEY ARE GOING TO FIRE THE MOMMYBLOGGERS.

I totally got to play on the fire engine, by the way. My kids would have been so jealous if they had any idea and/or interest in what Mommy does with her life.

I also totally got to meet this guy, the Sauza Fireman Guy. He reminded me vaguely of Alcide from True Blood -- and I spent much of the day pointing out the resemblence to various people, none of which had ever seen a single episode of True Blood and instead just stared at me, blinking, while I decided that maybe they'd know what I was talking about if I repeated "ALCIDE FROM TRUE BLOOD" in a louder voice but SHHHHHHH WE'RE ROLLING SHUT UP, GOD. 

Not pictured: The photos I took posing with him. Turns out me standing next to very very ridiculously good-looking (and funny, nice, expert drink-mixing) guys who vaguely remind me of Alcide from True Blood is not exactly my best angle. My chins multiply when I'm nervous. DEL-ETE.

Luckily, there was really good butter and cheese and stuff on the craft services table to comfort-eat in the wake of ego-bruising photos. Stupid cameras making it look like I need to lose 15 pounds for no stinking good reason oh wait. 

Also:

A kitten in a beret, people. A kitten in a goddamned beret. Easily the best part of the whole day. But more on him later.

Here's the finished commercial. I hope that I have added value to the viewing experience by helping you picture the exciting behind-the-scenes goings-on of me and Catherine 1) falling down, and 2) bumping into things. You guys, I WAS RIGHT THERE!

AND I ATE ALL THE BAGUETTES. 

Thanks to Sauza for sponsoring this post (and my trip to New York City), and for not firing me and Catherine over the door-slamming thing. It was an accident! As was the smaller, secondary slam that happened when I made her recreate the incident for the camera. I SWEAR.

Home Sweet Hazmat

(What up, people. This is a sponsored post. Big thanks to Oreck and the AirInstinct Air Purifier. As usual, there's an awesome giveaway at the end and lots of me making an idiot out of myself in the meantime. Enjoy!) 

One of the weekend prompts for the March Photo a Day challenge on Instragram was "a corner of my home." A lot of people chose nice, neat, book-filled corners. As I do not own one those corners, nor did I have the energy to clean and organize and stage a fake one, I posted this instead:

I admit that even before I had all these children (and all their related sold-separately accessories), housekeeping was not really my forte. I have a very high tolerance for clutter and a natural knack for procrastination. (Both of which I am clearly passing on to the next generation, since that photo above was at least taken after we told the kids to "clean up.")

Now there's a cat and a dog and three boy-children -- two of which have officially started to Smell Like Boys on a regular basis, and I have not nommed on their little footsies in a very long time because STANK, DUDES -- I just...I don't know. It's overwhelming. It's...disgusting. 

SEVEN DISGUSTING CORNERS OF MY HOME, LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THEM:

1) Shoe rack in front foyer, filled with shoes that emanate the aforementioned radioactive foot stank.

2) Kitchen sink/disposal/trashcan area, filled with various unspeakable things that attract various wildlife.

3) Basement, better known as the place the dog likes to spite-poop on the floor whenever it rains outside. Also, one time Jason saw a snake and I will never, ever, ever, never stop being freaked out about that. 

4) Cloth diaper pail, at top of the stairs, outside the nursery. Everything is all well and good when it's just sitting there closed, but when the lid comes off...well, let's just say things get very, very REAL up in this bizzatch.

5) Noah and Ezra's closet. This one I will never understand. I wash their clothes. I do. I wash their clothes on an extremely regular basis and use perfectly nice-smelling detergent. Then I fold and hang up clean, perfectly nice-smelling clothes. Yet that closet smells exactly like feet and sweaty hair, mixed with a vague hint of maple syrup.

6) Noah and Ezra's bathroom. Holy God.

7) The closet in my office. There's a litter box in there. Now that poor old Max is really and truly aged, it's unfair to hide his litter far away from his favorite place to be (my lap). So FINE. Nearby closet it is.

So you'll never guess which corner of my home got the super-sweet air purifier, right? 

(AWKWARD SEGUE IS AWKWARD.)

Anywayyeah. Oreck sent me a (freeeeee!) AirInstinct Air Purifier just in time, and while I gave them my whole "I'm not a review blogger but will be happy to find an appropriate, conversational topic that fits with your brand blah dee blah blah" pitch, it would be unfair of me to not include the relevant fact that I LOVE THIS THING TO ABSOLUTE DEATH. Hot ham, it's fabulous, and if you ask me about it in person I will make overly-dramatic faces about it. 

Hello! I am EVE from WALL-E crossed with an iPhone! I am your silent soldier in the war on disgustingness! Do you smell anything coming from that closet over there? Do you sense any litter dust in the air? No, you do not. FACE. I also offer mood lighting! 

Am I easily impressed? Maybe. But maybe not. I like to think I'm pretty grounded and measured about a lot of th-OH MY GOD YOU GUYS I JUST FOUND A DOLLAR. IT WAS UNDERNEATH THIS GROSS PILE OF SOCKS AND GRANOLA BAR WRAPPERS THE WHOLE TIME!

***

Would you like an EVE of your very own? Aw yeah you do. 

1) Visit Oreck.com. Then come back here and comment, including one thing you learned about the AirInstinct. 

2) Um. That's it. 

3) Well, you can also enter three additional times, if you're feeling frisky:

    3a) Follow @oreck on Twitter. (Then leave me a comment telling me that you did that.)

    3b) Like Oreck on Facebook. (Then leave me a comment telling me that you did that.)

    3c) Tweet about the giveaway, mentioning me (@amalah) and Oreck and the link to this post. (Then -- wait for it -- leave me a comment telling me that you did that.)

4) Comments will close in seven days, and then I will select a comment using Random.org and email the winner. 

5) Okay, that's REALLY it. Other than the fine print stuff I have to copy and paste now.

The giveaway winner must be a resident of the U.S. 48 contiguous states. Oreck Corporation provided the prize for the sweepstakes but is not the sponsor of the sweepstakes.

Underthere

Sponsored post ahoy! In which I talk about my underthings for money. What? Weird? A little? Whatever, there's free stuff for you at the end, so we can all be weird together. Mmmmm, creepy.

My relationship with lingerie is...complicated.

On the one hand, I am a 34-year-old woman who has been pregnant three times. Then hacked open for childbirth three times. I have breastfed three babies and eaten more than my fair share of leftover Halloween candy. I've fallen off the exercise wagon so many times I think it's circled back around and run me over, just for kicks. I am currently at my heaviest non-pregnancy weight, which is also technically slightly more than I weighed at nine months pregnant with Ike, thanks to an extended, shameful holiday love affair with ALL THE BAKED CARB-Y THINGS.

Forget stressing about being naked and/or scantily clad -- these days, I spend enough time trying to look sufficiently non-muffin-topped and saggy while fully dressed. Stretch marks and cellulite? I can't even. I will deal with you later. 

(STRETCH MARKS: No worries! We'll still be here when you're ready.)

(CELLULITE: Yep, totes not going anywhere either.)

On the other hand:

I have an awful lot of lingerie. That's a good-sized drawer there, chock full of nighties and see-through naughty frippery. That's a double-decker lingerie collection, collected over the years for anniversaries and Valentine's Days and vacations. Or for extra special occasions, like Going Up Two Cup Sizes From Breastfeeding or WE'RE IN A HOTEL WITH NO CHILDREN HOLY CRAP PARTY.

That photo actually shows the drawer post-organizing-purge, since I recently sat down and went through multiple dozens of lacy silky things in order to edit it all down to a reasonable, well-fitting, non-tacky level. (I used to get the Frederick's of Hollywood catalog in my early 20s, yes. Nothing like one-size-fits-all bras that shed synthetic feathers all over the place, amirite, ladies?) 

At the very bottom of the drawer, I found the lingerie I wore on my honeymoon, almost 14 years ago. And oh, did it all ever make me laugh. Not just the small tag size, but the fact that it was all so...modest. And tame! I was 20 years old and had a butt the size of a postage stamp and a stomach so flat it was practically concave, but I spent my honeymoon more covered up than I usually am on a typical Sunday morning around the house, in front of the kids.

Compared to the plunging/push-up/see-through numbers I've since worn while pregnant, nursing or rocking extra pounds of baby weight, those first little purchases are dripping with old insecurities about how I looked. My boobs were too small, my thighs were too wide, my upper arms were too soft. I didn't really have a good grasp on what "sexy" was, but I remember I definitely thought I was not it. 

I was tempted to hold on to all that stuff, for sentimental reasons, but ultimately tossed most of it in the donate pile. I'd rather make room for things that fit me, now. 

This post was sponsored by Eberjey. Guess what they sell. Guess! Go check them out, then leave a comment here with your favorite item for a chance to win it. (I'm quite partial to the uber-flattering Ingrid chemise, though no, I will not model it for you. You'll just have to take my word for it.) I'll choose a comment at random next week, on 3/14/12. Can't wait that long? Get 15% off your order of lovely things with code AMALAH15 (expires 4/1/12).

More Real-World Style Tips From A Real-World Fan Of Occasionally Wearing Pants

Hey so remember the time I rubbed all y'all's faces in the fact that I got sent a heapload of free jewelry? And then was like, "okay I guess one of you can win some free jewelry too?" Yeah, so it turns out that a lot of you seemed to be very much in the pro-free jewelry camp (shocking!!1!), and also in the screw you, blogger, I can buy my own jewelry myself camp.

The post was a success, is my point, and I was then repeatedly asked to do another sponsored post/giveaway for JewelMint's sister site, StyleMint. Repeatedly! There is only so much resisting of free clothing with a side of bonus money a girl can do, you guys. 

So really, this is all your fault, if you think about it. DEAL WITH IT.

StyleMint operates the same way as JewelMint, only with clothes: Take a style quiz, get recommendations based on your answers, and every product comes with helpful Styling For Dummies suggestions to give you ideas on how to wear it and look like you have not given up on life. It's a membership site, so you can either treat yourself to something new each month or check in and opt to skip the purchase that month. (Maddeningly, despite very responsibly setting a reminder for myself on the first of each month in iCal, I have yet to take the "skip this month" option over on JewelMint yet because BUY ALL THE THINGS.) 

I was a bit hesitant about the StyleMint offerings because...well, they're designed by the Olsen twins. I am...not an Olsen twin.

In today's performance, the part of an Olsen twin will be played by Photoshop's shape tool, while the part of Amalah will be played by a hulking behemoth wearing too much jewelry and being vaguely threatened by a towering stack of cloth diapers.

So I was afraid that wearing something designed by an Olsen twin might result in something like this:

The giant sentient stack of vicious cloth diapers is probably unrelated to the shirt, BTW. 

I am happy to report that no one will be forced to see my midsection, as the shirts I ordered -- chosen carefully with the guiding style principle of Can I Breastfeed In It -- are downright roomy and forgiving around that particular, ahem, problem area. I can indeed breastfeed in them without destroying the necklines like I've done to dozens of less-stretchy v-necks. They also, as promised by the site's expert stylists, go with jeans. And also other jeans! Pants in general, actually. Which is nice. I think they might look kinda dumb with yoga pants, though not like that's ever stopped me before. 

(I wore one to New York this past weekend and while the top itself was super cute, I did learn the hard way that there is no cute top in the world that will EVER make having your picture taken next to a really handsome male model be a good idea. You feel badly about yourself and your neck then eat your feelings via the craft services table. But that's another sponsored post for another sponsored day. Alas!)

Anyway! TL;DR; just take me to the giveaway part, crazy lady: Two thumbs up, fine holiday fun. Get 20% off your first tee with code AMALAH20 between now and 2/29. AND YES, you can win any shirt of your choice by commenting on this post before Friday at noon, ET. Winner will be chosen at random and I will email you the good news and maybe even offer you some expert styling tips of my own for your selection. (HINT: IT PROBABLY LOOKS GOOD WITH JEANS. SHHHHH!)

Cooking With the Mighty Zah

Happy Valentine's Day, everybody! And good news! Thanks to the money-grubbing powers that be (AKA MY OWN SELF), I accidentally scheduled a sponsored post for today so y'all are spared having to read something goopy about my husband. Instead, we're going to talk about vegetables, thanks to Hidden Valley Ranch.

Vegetables are romantic, right?

(I know where your mind is going right now and I do not like it. I LOVE IT.)

Specifically, I'm supposed to talk about getting kids to eat their vegetables. LIKE I HAVE ANY IDEA. The only kid in my house who is currently not a jerk about consistently eating his vegetables is the baby. Because vegetables are pretty much the only food group he is aware of. 

I make all of Ike's food, and I...well, I make his food because I think it's fun. It's very easy and satisfying and it makes me happy to see my baby's face light up when he tastes something fresh and delicious and baby-birds his mouth for more, more, more. Plus, it's cool to have a baby who eats vegetables beyond the jarred green beans and carrots. There's only a short window before the Great Beige Food Phase, so I like making the most of it, while I can.

The variety in Ike's diet, however, is also owed to a certain older brother's tendency to grab random things in the supermarket and sneak them into our cart. So then it's like playing a game of Chopped at home, as I try to figure out what to do with celery root, kale, a pomegranate and two tomatillos. 

The good news is I can put that same big brother to work in the kitchen. My homemade baby food insanity is contagious, I guess, because Ezra absolutely LOVES helping me cook Baby Ike's Veggietabuls. 

First up, baby veggie stock (to cook stuff like rice, grains, lentils, etc.), adapted slightly from this cookbook. Peel a shallot (or leek, or some spring onions...something mild) and cut into pieces. 

Crack open a sweet potato like an egg. (Then, you know, peel and chop it like a sweet potato.) Use two for a more intense flavor, or if they're small. 

Add about six lightsabers' worth of asparagus.

Four cups of water. Bring to a boil, cover and simmer until the vegetables are soft. Mash and strain them. Refrigerate or freeze the stock; use the leftover veggies in a puree. The broth makes a nice drink option in a sippy cup, and will add extra flavor to bland baby cereals. Ezra also recommends adding pasta noodles or crackers to it for a big-kid lunch. 

Next up, roasted parsnips. Apologies for the blurry photo but OMG PLEASE DON'T PEEL YOUR THUMB OFF IN THE TWO SECONDS IT TAKES TO SNAP A PICTURE OMG.

Preheat oven to 400, arrange in baking dish.

Drizzle with olive oil and add some thyme or rosemary, if you want. Bake for 20 minutes, then puree in a food processor -- thinning with water or baby stock until it's the right consistency for your baby.

Don't forget to save some of the tiny extra-roasted end bits for your super-helpful assistant. They're the best part.

Finally, some old-fashioned basic steamed zucchini. All those springs and summers where I had more zucchini in my garden than I could ever possibly use? I just needed a Baby Ike, because that kid will eat a bushel a week, if I let him. 

But alas, it is winter, so I have no bumper crop out back. 

Luckily I have a REALLY good supermarket-sticker-remover at my disposal. The best place for the peeled-off stickers is your belly button, BTW.

Bring an inch of water to a boil, put (unpeeled) zucchini slices in steamer basket, allow your child to work at the stove because you are not a paranoid helicopter parent and he needs to learn to respect the heat and OMG IF YOU TOUCH THAT BURNER I WILL GROUND YOU FOR A MONTH OMG.

Steam for a few minutes until super-tender, then puree. Don't add any liquid to this one, but DEFINITELY let your preschooler man the food processor controls, because that's like, flying-a-rocket-ship-into-space level AWESOME.

Since we had all three batches going at once -- stock pot, steamer basket, oven -- we made everything here in a little over an hour. (After the zucchini steamed I added the rest of the asparagus to the pot and whipped that up, too.) Not too shabby.

I was going to make a mango puree for Ike as well, but decided Ezra deserved a little snack break. He ate the whole thing. This veggietabul business is no joke. 

Thanks so much to Hidden Valley Ranch for sponsoring this post, and to Ezra (who, despite SOME vegetable jerkiness, would admittedly eat a car tire if it was dipped in ranch dressing) for being so much fun to cook with. You're awesome, little chef-dude.  

This post is sponsored by Hidden Valley® Ranch. Discover how you can make vegetables delectable!