I don’t know what to say, really. I pressed the publish button on my last post with much hesitation. I’ve shared some tough moments here, but talking about my perceived faults as a mother was not easy. Regardless of how much I struggle with it, though, being a mom is the single most important thing I will ever do with my life. The Mr. used to often say a test should be required to have children. I knew exactly what he meant. It wasn’t about being perfect all the time, rather the ability to understand the overall responsibility. It’s so much easier to manage this delicate balance when you’re part of a team. You can hand over the baton when patience runs thin. There’s also someone else to remind you that one bad moment doesn’t erase the many good ones. Continue reading »
There’s simply no sweet way to sugar coat my behavior a few nights ago. I take my life into my hands every night I tuck my girls in. Maybe my drama is in overdrive, but have you ever stepped on a tiny Lego? If so, then you understand the pain it induces when it burrows itself deeply between your big toe and whatever we call the one next to it.
Almost three years ago my life fell apart. I’ve been struggling to put it together, piece by piece, but the reality is it can never go back to what it was. There are so many hard things about accepting this truth, but one of the most difficult is being thrown into single motherhood. I know women who have gone through extraordinary feats to become mothers. Their need to have a child was something so deep, they couldn’t imagine life without one. Continue reading »
Eating seasonally is food foreplay. As I slow-roasted my first batch of cherry tomatoes this weekend, I knew it would be the beginning of a tomato orgy. Two days in a row, I gorged on so much panzanella, my stomach ached. Two huge bowls of tomatoes sit on the dining room table, waiting to be canned (tomato jam or marinara sauce, is the dilemma). I know this affair is a short one, considering tomatoes are only in season two months out of twelve.
But the recipe I’m sharing today has nothing to do with tomatoes. I have nothing prolific to say about cantaloupe, or perhaps I had nothing to say until I started looking at it differently. Michael loved eating cubed cantaloupe. The girls follow in his footsteps. As for me, I never get a craving for it. It’s likely due to the fact that buying melons is like going to Vegas. You plunk your money down, hope for the best, and aren’t surprised at the dismal results. I’ve never gambled, even having been to Vegas twice for business, but imagine that’s how it goes. Continue reading »
I get a thrill every time I drive by the cornfields along the road into town. Years ago, that thrill would’ve been a chill thanks to the Stephen King horror movie. Now, the fields don’t scare me. They excite me with their endless possibilities once it comes into season. This isn’t to say I’ll be walking past any of those fields at night. I feel much safer tucked into my kitchen, making a batch of this ice cream. Since you’ll need to do something with the kernels (you only need the cobs for the ice cream), you’ll want to check out this easy recipe for creamed corn. It’s one of my favorites, and hard to stop eating once you start. Continue reading »
Where to begin? It has indeed been a while since I’ve been here. While the packing felt utterly overwhelming at times, the move was ultimately uneventful, and for that I’m eternally thankful. I’m sitting here with this silly grin, as I write in my backyard. The sun is strong, but the wind is an equal rival, and the trees provide a natural umbrella of shade. The wind chimes are softly dancing behind me. My smile is from the wonder as I pop my head up from the computer to gaze at the woods behind the house. Perhaps the property sounds grander than it is—I only own a 1/4 acre, but it’s my 1/4 acre. The woods behind the house are protected property, providing us with some extra peace and solace. To my right, is another 1/4 acre of field that belongs to my neighbor, and she kindly lets the kids play there. Continue reading »
My time in Brooklyn is down to single digit days. I seem to be walking in an alternate universe. Everything seems familiar, yet foreign. It’s in these moments that I feel greater confidence in the change we’re about to make. The conveniences of the city no longer outweigh the cravings of my mind and heart. Continue reading »
I need to apologize for being a pie tease, for those of you following along on Instagram. It’s downright awful to post this many photos of strawberry pie without sharing the recipe. The thing is, when I’m not in work mode, I just eyeball much of what I cook. When I’m stressed, the need to feel untethered is especially necessary. Needless to say, anxiety is my middle name these days as moving boxes pile higher, and higher…and higher.
My apartment in Brooklyn feels like a war zone. My hope is that things will get better after the apartment sale in a few days. Once the stuff I’m not taking with me is gone, perhaps I won’t feel so utterly overwhelmed at the amount of boxes to be loaded onto the truck in two weeks. Continue reading »
The girls are rather good at keeping tally over everything being even-Steven. Inevitably, the scales tip more in one’s favor on certain days, although I’m quite sure it will balance out to an equitable share over the longevity of our lives. Try explaining that to a six or eleven year old, though.
Most days, I’m pretty sure I’m messing everything up. I wasn’t always sure of what I was doing when we were a two-parent family. Now, on my own, left in charge of raising these girls into strong, confident, happy, loving young women—I think it’ll be okay, but sometimes I wonder. These last few weeks have left me sleep-deprived, anxious and short on patience as I watch moving boxes pile up, and ponder the change about to happen in less than three weeks. Continue reading »
You know that whole don’t judge a book by it’s cover theory? Well, today the perception I projected gave me just the boost I needed, even if it didn’t match exactly how I’m feeling these days. I met M’s best friend for breakfast. DL’s friendship has been one of the good things that came out of this often awful situation. Is it okay to admit that anything good actually grew from my husband’s passing? There goes that grief guilt vortex, opening, threatening to suck me in again…
My point is, when I sat down at Balthazar, DL said I looked dazzling. Inside, I felt like a wreck, Disheveled, exhausted, and aches in places I forgot you could get aches, from the physical work of packing boxes, working on the garden upstate, and an overall lack of sleep. There simply aren’t enough hours in the day to get it all done.
It was a rare moment to be in the city on a Saturday morning. We usually drive up to the country on Friday nights. Isabella had just come home from an overnight school trip Friday evening, so I decided we’d head up the next morning. My mind had settled on the idea of not rushing up, either, being well aware of the fact that in less than a month the country will be our home.
When I first bought the house many people asked if I was planning on moving up there. In truth, it was a back up plan, in the far reaches of my mind. A plan B of sorts for the future, if we needed a place to live. The peace and solitude that began to bloom here was honestly a surprise. I remember saying aloud as a teenager that I never wanted to live someplace where I couldn’t walk for a container of milk. I suppose if I’m up for a 15 mile round trip stroll, that’s still a possibility.