What I Wore Sunday

This is a child being tormented with a gluten free birthday cake simply out of deference to his older brother's digestive tract. Look how aware he is of the injustice he is suffering. Look at his disdain for the offending pastry, frosted with an entire jar of Nutella and topped with fresh-picked strawberries.

The sufferings of a younger brother.

On the other hand, a perfectly gluten-full cupcake with real frosting will fit the bill nicely. Points for the other mama at our grande festa di compleanno for not trying to poison the guests of honor with millet and sorghum.

Because nothing says adorable like topless, frosted babies posing carelessly in front of bi-lingual birthday banners.

Jenny outfitted by: 

Unwashed native hair, twisted without so much as a Youtube tutorial 

Dress: Banana Republic outlet

Earrings: Target

Mom arms: nightly night caps. And maybe some of that Nutella 'frosting'

John Paul: 

Top: Baby Gap

Top-less: good genes

Hope you and yours enjoyed a buona Dominica - ours was blessed with new friends, locally-brewed Trappist beer from an Umbrian hilltown, and gluten-free and full birthday treats. 

Don't hate the player, hate the game.

WIWS + Olive Branches

Palm Sunday in Italia is more about the olive branches than the palms, a strangely endearing enculturation of the liturgy that surprised me on our way to St. Peter's square in the form of gypsies (is that even PC to say? Is PC a thing in this country?) selling small bundles of them for 5 euro a PIECE on the surrounding streets. Um, what? Pay for my palms? (Or whatever those things are.)

I was mildly scandalized, until we arrived in the Square and sidled up behind the obelisk for a good view of Papa Francesco. At his signal, everyone in the square (maybe around 125,000 at that point in the liturgy) raised their branches in unison, and the piazza became a sea of waving, flittering olive leaves (and a few fancy palms). It was beautiful. And I had to explain to my 2 year old why Mommy was too cheap and indignant to shell out more than a Starbucks fancy drink for him to have his own set.

After Pope Francis blessed the branches, he proceeded up the main aisle (on foot, so crazy!) to the major alter in front of the basilica where he would say Mass. We actually exited the piazza at this point to head down the street to 'our parish,' Santo Spiritu in Sassia, where an English language Mass is celebrated every Sunday at 10 am during the Year of Faith. Papal events are great, but when you live here, you become a little less capable of standing for hours in the blazing! (and it's only March, calm down sweat glands) Roman sun with babies on your back. And besides that, Fr. Gino, our pastor from the Pontifical Council for the New Evangelization via New Jersey, is a wonderful, wonderful homilist and a fantastically holy priest.

He always compliments the boys on their screaming commentary of his Masses, and makes a point to tell everyone that heaven sounds like babies screaming. So, I'm hoping he isn't endangering anyone's salvation with that little nugget.

Anyway, the blurry and less than full body pictures, without further ado:

Get him off me.

Our 'parish' is a Divine Mercy shrine run by the Sisters of Mercy, so every olive branch had a line from St. Faustina's diary tied to it. "Meditation on my Passion will help you rise above all things."

Outfitted by:

Dress via Gap
Shoes via JCrew (thrifted)
Turquoise necklace via street vendor
Shower-fresh topnot via...oh well, we were on time for once
Ergo clinger via world's most reluctant and indentured attachment parent

Thanks FLAP

What I Wore Sunday

It's Spring in Rome!

So I'll wear the same outfit I've worn 4 other Sundays, except I'll take off my jacket! (As soon as I'm done showing off my pockets.)

What do you do when you're too fat/poor/busy to shop in Italian clothing stores? Accessorize! (What makes you think that silver isn't sterling, or that my Gabanna isn't dolce, just out of curiosity?)

Just thrilled to be participating.

I don't know...maybe a mutual discussion about how very pregnant I look 10 months postpartum? Or something about those big Senour guns?

No sooner had I turned my attention back to my photographer than we discovered someone (ahem, a very competent mother) hadn't set the stroller brake. Naturally I snapped a pic before running after him. My heart's in the right place.

Outfitted by:

Banana Republic Outlet: dress
Frye: boots
Gap: blazer
Something close-ish to Forever XXI, emphasis on the Roman numerals: belt/pregnancy simulator
Shades: Nigerian import. Hot off the press.
Earrings: 1 Euro, baby. Nothing's turned green yet...

Ladies, FLAP yourselves.

What I Wore (on Pope Benedict's last) Sunday

We made it to St. Peter's square in time to squeeze in with the crowd for a farewell to our beloved Papa B. I ran several people over (literally) with the stroller while trying to fight through the crush for a spot on the square, was probably cursed at in Italian, and we settled for being just slightly east of the piazza proper.

Proof, not of my outfit, which was nothing super special, but our presence at said historical moment:

Angry, work-weary, slightly stunned, squinty mad, and ginger-haired, in that order.

Peeking at Papa past this precious Italian gentleman and his dapper outfit.

Don't be fooled by the sweetness. He bit two people in Mass this morning.

And this one...I can't even talk about this one. But he did go 9 hours straight last night.

No filter, no edits, just a glorious parting of clouds and a pause in the rain for Papa's last Angelus. A beautiful and surprising moment.

The words to his address were beautiful, and you can read the full text here, courtesy of my talented and hard-working husband.

Ciao, Papa, and grazie tu.

Flap it out.

P.S. I made two - 2! - friends after Mass today. We bonded over expensive diapers, a disappointing lack of dryers, and other laundry-related issues. Riveting stuff. I smell slumber parties and karaoke nights in our future...

What I Wore Sunday: Franciscan Style

Hail, Steubenville... and all you other fans of Francis out there. And all the lovely ladies decked out in delicate cotton weave and eggplant.

We spent a glorious and quick overnight in Assisi and it was simply amazing. Great food, great prayer, not so great wine (our fault, not theirs), and .... great sleep.

For 1.90 Euro per liter, why would this not taste amazing?

May this day be remembered henceforth as the morning we all woke up in one hotel room having slept for 8 continuous hours. I attribute it, in all sincerity, to the miraculous intercession of St. Francis and to the astonishing peace which the entire hilltop town is awash in.

Anyone who's trod the cobblestoned inclines of this Umbrian paradise knows exactly what I'm talking about. Francis is there. God is there. It's truly a little taste of Heaven on earth.

Heavenly lighting. Proof positive. Plus, behold Joey's peaceful countenance.

Now, to the more superficial fare you've come to know and tolerate from this corner of the internet.

Baby wearing sister date.

Dave: "Are you using those friars as props?" Jenny: "Yes."

Please, let's walk the hill one last time? My feet feel amazing.

Accessories shot. Nothing awkward about this angle whatsoever.

Just so you don't think aaaaall we did were glamor shots of her ladyship, here's a little reenactment from our engagement/maternity session. (No announcement here, just a little nod to the awkward hand placement.)

 Outfitted by:

Ergo baby sport

2 days sans shower

And not

enough

diaper 

wipes.

(Top: Loft, Skirt: Target, Boots: Don'tbesuchanobxnoxiousnamedropper, Earrings: Assisi boutique.)

Winter night in Assisi. From our gorgeous hotel.

Finnegan Fieldhouse Basilica San Francesco on a rainy night.

Lovely Christiana, sister, auntie, nanny, and photographer extraordinaire. "Please don't take my picture Jenny, my jacket is ugly."

I told her\ that we all had to make fashion sacrifices to embrace the true spirit of Francis. Poor Fr. Julian had to flip his hood up in the biting wind, and on a good hair day at that.

What I Wore Sunday

 Who's that coming down the block, dressed head to toe in goth chic?

I have come to the conclusion that monochromatic black + lipstick is universally flattering to a post-partum bod. Also, the scarf is the 'put a bird on it' of the fashion world.

Hence, my new Italian momiform, if you will.

Creeping on the passers-by below.

A little bling.

The shabby view.

'Please mother, some attention? Or perhaps a dry shirt to cut the 34 degree wind chill?

And then

We all

Vogue.


details, etc.
Jenny:
Scarf: sweater shop down the block en route home from Mass this morning. Does that still count?
Boots: Frye, gifted
Black jeggings: Faded Glory. Elastic waist. Hell yes, I went there.
Tunic/sweater/frumper: Loft
Earings: Betsy Johnson, gifted

Christina:
Scarf: Burlington Coat Factory
Pea Coat: Target
Pants: Kohls
Boots: Etienne Aigner

P.s. Please don't stop leaving comments just because I'm too lazy/technilogically challenged to respond to them. They're truly such a consolation in this sort of weird and lonely and incredible time, and I promise you I read them all!

Buona Dominica!

What I Wore Sunday: the Vatican Edition

What do you get when you take a couple of toddlers, drag them through customs in 2 different time zones, feed them an exclusive diet of yogurt, Milka bars and cuties, and wear a nursing-inaccessible dress to Sunday sancta missa in Italiano inside the venerable San Pietro itself?

An F-minus. Times two.

Between bouts of crying, kicking, flailing, and almost-displacing of several folding chairs inside St. Peter's basilica, we managed to say a few of our responses correctly during Mass, and we did make it to Communion. But...still. 3 adults. 2 babies. 1 humiliating spectacle of the failure of American parenting, on display for all the world to see.

Some highlights:

 Dark and blurry deets:

Blazer: Gap
Dress: Banana Republic outlet
Boots: Frye
Necklace: Lia Sophia (gifted)
Diaper bag: Timi and Leslie (won)
Hair: shabby-teeny-euro-shower-chic

Little sister and photographer extraordinaire. Making us all look hot, tan, and skinny via some magical editing process.

Slightly better behaved than his naughty brother, but only just.

Living the dream. Last week a high-schooler, this week an unpaid European nanny.

Papa peeked out his apartment window for the Sunday Angelus. Actually, just to say 'hey' to us.

Pay no attention to the halo surrounding him; he was a legit hellian.

Longer post forthcoming tomorrow, until then, buon Sunday!

Off to see prettier outfits and nicer children you go.

What I Wore Sunday: Christmas Adam

Afternoon readers,

Tis the night before the night before Christmas, and we are gearing up to get down at Casa Uebbing.

In preparation for the holy feast to come, we have been scrubbing, cleaning, and fluffing all throughout the house, all while wrangling two sick sickies with an ear infection and a cold from hades, respectively. I would take the time to mention who has what, except that at Dave's insistence, we buzzed both boy's heads last night and now my (sob) baby looks identical to my (gulp) toddler. Soooooo, basically can't tell them apart from a distance. 7 lbs separates JP from world domination, and by that I mean being able to defend his floppy self when Joey drops an elbow on him and starts pummeling.

All in good fun.

Without further ado, I bring to you what you've all come here to see: mah church threads.

Today's post is sponsored by holyfreakingamazingbesthusbandever. And you'll soon see why...

Gaze into Christmas future

Now contemplate how many calories are in that little red cup, and my ever-widening mommy flanks

But from this angle? Nailed it!

'Take your shades off, darling. Let them see how well we slept last night...

'Did you think I would still be making us take selfies once we were married?'

The good stuff:

Dress: Banana Republic outlet

Necklace: Lia Sophia, gifted

Earrings: Targay

Boots: Frye(!) 30th birthday present which will never, ever leave my feet.

Shades: Van Huesen outlet

Starbucks: making your holidays merry and gay

Happy FLAP-ing, ladies!

Rejoice, He's coming...

What I Wore Sunday: Jingle Jam

Hail from the gloriously high and dry elevation of 7,800 feet. Monument, Colorado...almost heaven.

But anyway, the husband and I slipped out for Mass alone this morning - alone I tell you - and it.was.awesome. Homily? I heard it. Eucharist? I got it. Both readings and the responsorial Psalm? Yep, listened to those too...in order.

Afterwards, I enjoyed a leisurely afternoon of Broncos football, children napping on a separate floor from me, and plenty o' aunts, uncles and grandparents to hold them allllllll day long.

Then, I conscripted this lovely lady into snapping my weekly selfies:

Behold, the youngest Senour sister. Ain't she purdy? 

She obliged, willingly. Let the all-humiliation hour commence.

Oh, Christmas tree...

How lovely are your branches. I just have to touch them.

Gaudete Sunday. Nothing says rejoice like a head wreathed in evergreen. 

Outfitted by a thrifty triple threat. I am on fire:

Top: Banana Republic, thrifted
Skirt: Tag ripped out but prooooobably Target, thrifted
Shoes: Nine West, thrifted

Leading me to this little gem, as introduced to mi familia by our recently returned collegiate crew. Warning: F bombs. Like, several. But still...an apt anthem for my awesome.

Forgive my blurry cell phone pix?

Happy Sunday, off to FLAP you go.