Step One

For as long as I can remember, I have written. I created elaborate illustrated storybooks when I was a kid, kept diaries all through my teens, wrote feature stories for the campus paper in college, and even got a graduate degree in journalism--not because I ever felt it would lead to a career as a writer, but simply because I love to string words together. It's as much a part of who I am as the color of my eyes or the sound of my voice. For me, writing is theraputic and joyful, both grounding and freeing. But it's also very much my secret pleasure, a thing that I love so much that I am almost afraid to share it. So I have spent the last thirteen years editing, taking quiet satisfaction in shaping the work that other writers do. I might tell you that I am an editor because I like to make books, but that fact is that I am an editor because I am afraid to try to be a writer. I don't want to fail at something that means so much to me. But recently I've come to the point in my life where failure isn't so scary--or maybe it's as scary, but not as frightening as the alternative: the life-long regret at never having tried. So a couple of months ago, I gathered the courage to write something with the specific intent of selling it. And, somehow, on my very first try, it sold. And today it was published on the delightful parenting website Babble.com. I hope you'll check it out. And then I hope you'll keep checking back here to find links to other features. Because I'm going to keep trying.

A Better Day

Last night Madeline said, "I wish your hair was curly like mine."

I said, "Well, sometimes being different is nice."

And then she said, "Barack Obama is different, too."

Today offers countless reasons, large and small, to feel optimistic about the beginning of something better. But no matter what Obama accomplishes during his term, his inauguration today sends a message to my children. They will grow up in a world where being "different" isn't an impediment--or an excuse. And for that I have immense pride.

Happy Halloween

Every day on the way to work, I pass a children's hospital. This morning, I happened to glance into one of its windows. Parted drapes revealed a little chapel--stained glass windows, a tiny altar, and several chairs lined up solemnly in a room no bigger than my office. Something about the sight of it just overwhelmed me. I literally had to stop and collect myself before I could keep walking. To ever have to beg for the things the parents there must pray for--it's too much to even imagine. So today I am working hard to be grateful for every good thing I have, but most especially for my healthy, growing, amazing kids. I am going to dress them up in silly costumes and stuff their little bellies full of candy and be thankful for every single second of it.

We're Back!

We're back from an amazing week in Florida. Beautiful beach, gorgeous weather, great friends. We even missed out on the blusterings of Hurricane Faye. All in all, a perfect week that went way too quickly!

Summer Sangria

A few months ago, Natalie, Yuri, Eric, and I went to Nolita House. The food was heavenly but even more unforgettable was the sangria, which we chugged down like juice. In fact, it was so unforgettable that I started looking for recipes so I could make some at home. I was a bit tipsy at the time, but I swear that the waitress had said that there was Prosecco in the Nolita House sangria, but no recipe I found used the bubbly stuff. Most combinations I saw were for straight-up red sangria or white. What I was after was a hybrid. So I made my own. And, if I do say so myself, it turned out pretty darn well. It's bubbly, yummy, and not too sweet. Even my dad approved--and he should know his way around sangria after a few years in Spain! Anyway, feel free to give it a spin and let me know what you think!

2 cups sliced strawberries

1 cup pitted fresh cherries

1 large diced orange

2 sliced fresh peaches

1/2 cup Cointreau (orange liquor)

1/4 cup brandy

3 cups cherry juice OR 1 bottle Stirrings Red Sangria mixer

1 cup 7 Up

1 bottle Prosecco

Soak the fruit in a mixture of the brandy, Cointreau, and 1 cup cherry juice, preferably overnight. When the fruit is good and liquored up, pour it into a pitcher with some ice. Add the whole bottle of Prosecco. Top off the pitcher with a splash of 7 Up to taste and the remainder of the cherry juice or sangria mix. Pour into tall glasses of ice. Don't forget to include lots of fruit in each glass. Enjoy!

Happy Birthday, Maddie Q

Even in the first minutes of her brand new life, Madeline was completely and totally aware. The eyes looking up at me from that tightly-swaddled hospital blanket were sizing me up. She was, as they say, born ready. Four years later, and she continues to astound and delight me with the intensity of her intelligence, her will, her humor, and her charm. Some days with her are a challenge, others a delight--but every single one has been a blessing. My baby is a force in every way. Don’t let the beautiful blond curls and sweet, cherubic face fool you. Underneath, there’s a girl who knows what she wants. And, quite frankly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Happy birthday, precious Budgie Bird.

SpongeBob CrazyCake

Madeline's birthday party was on Sunday and Eric and I got a bit (OK, way more than a bit) carried away with the cake. Madeline loves Spongebob. How hard could it be to make a square cake? As it turns out, not hard at all...and actually very fun. We started with a huge, rectangular cake pan and several cans of store-bought frosting. Micheal's sells Spongebob-themed food coloring packs, so we used that for his body. Rolls of fondant made his legs, tie, mouth, and part of his eyes. Sugar cookies made his teeth, nose, and the rest of his eyes. His pant legs were Ring Dings cut in half, his shoes were Yodels and his shoulders were frosted Twinkies. His eyelashes and belt were black licorice and his tongue a melted Starburst. We were up until all hours on Saturday and our pantry still looks like a junk food addict's dream, but it was totally worth it. The birthday girl loved it!

DIY Decorating

Since we moved into the house, our back room has been a combination storage space, playroom, and office. Needless to say, it's the junkiest room in the house. A few weekends ago, we decided to take the problem in hand. In addition to buying two huge IKEA bookshelves and more than a dozen storage bins to go in them, we also decided to make a giant memo board for one wall. (Well, I decided to make it, and I forced Eric to help!) The project was fun, easy, and cheap and the end result is perfect for all those random pieces of paper that seem to float around our house.

To make the board, we recycled an ugly painting of mine done on a huge canvas from Michael's. I bought one yard of upholstery fabric from Mood in NYC, as well as seven yards of grosgrain ribbon and a cheap pack of painted thumbtacks. I also bought about two yards of thin batting. To make the boards, we used a staple gun to attach the batting to the wooden frame of the canvas. Then we did the same with the fabric. We measured roughly where we wanted the ribbon, then hot glued it to the back of the canvas. We put tacks at the points where two ribbons intersected. We hung it on a nail and--voila! Cheap, easy, functional wall art.

Happy Birthday, Cheeks

Day after tomorrow, my baby will be one year old. It’s almost impossible to believe that a year ago, I was huge and miserable and achy. More impossible yet, the thought that, during those last heavy days of pregnancy, one single, crazy worry consumed me: Would I be able to love this kid? It sounds wicked to say it now, but I spent the better part of 40 weeks worried that I made a mistake. How would I have the time and the heart and the energy left in my life to love another kid as much as I adore Madeline? It didn’t seem possible, and I truly felt, in my secret heart, less glad than nervous, less excited than scared, even on that final bumpy ride to the hospital.

And then he was born.

How can words express how wrong I was? That I loved him instantly and completely is, of course, the truth—but perhaps a simplified version of the truth. Because how could I predict, on that very first day, that he would grow to become this happy, unflappable little guy that knows no stranger and never stops smiling? I didn’t guess then that he would blossom into a child who stops what he is doing to crawl into my lap for a kiss, or to lay his head on my shoulder for a long, delicious minute. I couldn’t know that he would be this easy, loving kid who lets himself be carried along on every kind of adventure, who delights in whatever crazy game his sister invents, even if it ends with him being covered in pillows or closed up in a cardboard box. On that first day, I loved him as fully as I believed I could love anyone—yet, somehow, today, I love him a millionfold more.

Sunday marks the first of many birthdays for my Sammy. I’ll try not to think of it as the end of his babyhood, but instead as the beginning of another year, another 365 days to watch as he reveals his true, amazing self to the world.

Happy birthday, my beautiful baby.

Spring, Finally.

I just saw a man walking down Fifth Avenue wearing purple underwear, grey socks, a pair of running shoes and absolutely nothing else. It must be springtime in New York.

Other signs of the changing season: the gorgeous tree in our front yard is budding, a dove is building its nest in our pine, and I am so sick of my winter coat that I would rather freeze my ass off than put that stinking rag on my body even one more time.

Just in time for the newly-warm(ish) weather, I finished a sweater. It’s Rusted Root from the girls at Zephyr knits. I am still iffy on the fit. I might have made it smaller at the waist and gone longer and less puffy on the sleeves. I don’t need added puffiness anywhere on this bod. But I like the color, and the pattern was a blast to knit. It’s my first top-down raglan, which means it was all knitted in one big piece—no sewing needed. I am not great at seaming, so that was a treat. I am doing a smaller version for Denise for her birthday, then on to a few new projects, including a some holiday gifts. I figure that Christmas isn't so far away now. I know that my handmade gifts might not be the most beautiful things in the world, but I hope that they convey my love to the recipient.

A few years ago, when Madeline was just a baby, Aunt Dolores sent me a little jacket that my Nana had made years ago for one of my cousins. When I opened the box, which had arrived unexpectedly, I cried for about ten minutes without coming up for air. I sent poor Eric into a panic. He had no idea why a sweet fleecy white jacket with flowered ribbon trim had sent me into hysterics. In truth, it was because I really felt my grandmother in that jacket. I could see her sitting at her sewing machine, making it with love for her precious grandbaby. Holding it was like having a part of her with me. Every time that Madeline wore it, it was like Nana was sharing a little part of herself with a great-grandchild that she never knew, but would have adored. So that, in a small way, is why I enjoy making things. It carries on an important family tradition--crafting things with love.