Scenes from The Bean/Happy Birthday, Twin!

So, I’ve been keeping a bit of a secret from you.

Actually, it’s kind of big…

(…at least in this land….the Land of Mom, that is.)

2 weeks ago, I spent my first weekend away WOB (without babe).

It’s taken me this long to share because

a) I had to find the right words

b) I had to process all that it meant to me

c) I have been terribly homesick for the weekend, and I was not yet ready to tap into all of the emotions that came along with it

d) I had many missed baby hugs to make up for

So, let’s start with a little question:

You have a baby, you spend every moment with her (save a few 8-10 hour stretches) for 2 weeks shy of 2 years. It’s time to leave her for the very first time. Where do you go?

I know what you’re thinking.

Duh! So obvious! (In the words of my girl, A,) Obviduh! You go see Twin!

So, after months of planning, (with a few moments of agonizing sprinkled in there) and a six hour train ride,

the husband and I arrived in Boston,

and, more specifically, into the arms of Twinny and Go Go.

It was perfection.

It was so us;

Wandering through Harvard Square, arm-in-arm;

Sharing bites of Grape Nuts Ice Cream and Anadama Bread

and sips of sparkling sake and gourmet hot cocoa;

Lingering in the Poetry and Children’s Books sections of the book store, reading about Haiku and Miro and Eric Carle;

Midnight dance parties and morning ebelskivers;

Our weekend meant so much to us. To all of us.

Our weekend made me feel light

and made me feel happy

and made me feel proud.

But, there’s only so much I can say in words.

So, here they are; Some Scenes from The Bean (and by scenes, I mean iPhone pictures of the food we ate…because that’s what you peeps really care about, right?!):

When I say that our weekend was delicious, I am not just referring to all of the sushi and onion rings and burgers and treats we indulged in during our stay. They were all great, yes, but nothing compared to the pure bliss of 3 solid days with my Twin.

And while it was hard for me to be apart from my little girl

(I missed a whole day of her life,

as that Saturday was the very first and only day of her existence that I missed seeing her wake up in the morning. It was weird, I tell you.)

it was also important.

Important for us (relationship us)

important for us (friendship us)

important for us (Twinship us)

and important for me.

Being a mother (for me) has meant giving all of myself to my little mini. But, in doing that,

in living the life of my dreams,

I lost some of my independent self along the way.

From the moment I became pregnant, my life was lo longer my own. Everything about me began to revolve around my daughter.

And so, our trip to Boston was rejuvenating. It was re-me-venating.

It was just what we needed.

And on that note, I would like to take this opportunity to thank the woman who was not only the Hostess with the Mostest,

but who, in the past 7 years of our Twinship,

has taught me what it means to be a sister, a friend and a golden, genuine, top knotch human being.

Happy Birthday, to my girl, way up Nahth.

I hope that you know how much better you’ve made my life

just by being in it.

I love you and am honored today, and always, to call you my twin.

Happy birthday, Happy Everything,

Happiness Always.

 

 

Best. Note. Ever.

Found this on my way into my parents’ house on Sunday.

(We were sitting for the pups.)

This note tickled me.

My dad knows me so well.

Oh, and did you catch his reference to Tuesday night’s dinner? He was planning a Boys Night, with an extensive and oh-so-manly menu.

But, alas, one of the men fell ill and so I received a late in the game invite, asking if I’d like to slip into the vacated spot.

Um. Duh!

So, I’ll write more about that later*. I can’t write now.

But it’s not b/c I don’t love you.

*(Forreal, though,for the full recap, make sure to check back this evening in the Family Dinner section under Tuesday Dinners. And trust me, you’ll want to see what’s in store.)

A Date Night

Tonight, my man and I went on a date.

A real, honest to goodness date.

We traded our ripped jeans and converse sneaks, time constraints and rushed conversations

for a dim, cozy seat in a corner booth. And heels. High heels.

We went to this place.

We sat upstairs at the bar, and together we read every item on the menu, taking in each ingredient and each moment.

Now, ordinarily I’d post my dinner shots over there (up there, to the right. You got it, now?) in my Family Dinner spot. But this dinner deserves more. This dinner was something special.

We started with the Toro Tartare.

(Yes, I was the loon taking pictures of my food (not the only one, might I add) and yes, I was embarrassed, but hey. I did it for you. Don’t ever say I don’t love you.)

Let me just say, this was one of the best bites of food I’ve eaten. This dish was serious. It came with instructions.

Take your little spoon, add some coarse wasabi, take a scoop of the Toro with a bit of caviar, and then slide it into the Mirin and Dashi broth, and eat it all at once.

Ridiculously delicious.

And it came with these little Japanese pitted berries to eat afterwards as a palate cleanser.

And let me just tell you,

the snozberries tasted like snozberries. Magic.

  Next came the chef’s selection of sushi. A surprise! One of my favorite surprises ever.

Each bite was better than the last.

And I treated myself to one of these bad boys.

Ikura is not only my favorite piece of sushi, but it also has a special place in my heart.

And not because they look like Nemo.

Ikura was my very first taste of sushi.

I was in fourth grade, down the shore with my Nanny and Poppy. We walked the Ocean City boardwalk, and they decided to cool off with a sushi lunch. Although the idea of boardwalk sushi on a hot, summer day is somewhat repulsive, I fell in love with the delicacy that day, and will never, ever forget it.

Oh, so yeah, this Ikura tonight was badass. Almost as good as the one from the dirty boardwalk stand. Almost.

Next, we shared the duck. Oh, the duck. While I forget the actual description, I can tell you that it was an incredible duck breast, with a side of duck confit fried rice, topped with a duck egg. And let me tell you, when we broke into that duck egg and all of the gooey yoke spread through the rich, savory rice, it felt, to me, how I imagine kids feel on Christmas morning. Pure bliss.

Full and happy, we scanned the dessert menu, only to find the perfect love child between the two of our palates: A tres leches cake (husband’s favorite) made with green tea, red beans and a honey butter ice cream (all me).

Yes, please.

And it was perfect.

But, the truth is, although our dinner was sensationally delicious, it didn’t really matter.

We were on a date. We talked about ourselves. We caught up. We kissed between bites. I had no one to feed but myself. And my husband.

I was able to give my husband advice on some projects he is working on. He was able to give me a hard time for over-sharing to our waitress.

It was lovely. It was delicious.

And while we love our little girl oh so much,

we knew she was in good hands.

She was busy dancing with Bubbie to her favorite song;

Having her nails painted hot pink by her Zeydie;

And having her Great-Aunt help her tuck Abby Cadabby into her new crib.

And by the time we came to pick her up, still on high from the wonder of our meal,

it was a bit late, and time to get her home, into the bath, jammies and bed.

But, as we were getting ready to head out, my baby’s Uncles showed up at the back door,

smiling ear to ear.

They decided to stop by on their way out on the town, just to give us all quick hellos and big hugs.

And somehow, those quick hellos turned into an hour of talking and laughing,

as we all ended up crowding into my parents’ bedroom, half of us snuggled up in their bed,

trying on clothing, howling at how silly we looked, reminiscing, taking pictures, telling stories and laughing at our inside jokes.

And it was delicious.

***

So, we got home late.

Way past all of our bedtimes.

But, a night out with the one I love,

followed by a night in with the ones we adore,

that is sweet, irreplaceable time

and the honey butter icing

on the green tea tres leches cake.

Oh, dad.

“So, if you had to choose, what would you say is your favorite Hugh Grant Movie?”

-My dad, tonight over dinner.

Some things never change.

(and for the record, his answer was “Love Actually”.

Just in case there was any confusion.)

Old and New.

Tonight, at sundown,  we said the Shehecheyanu, welcoming the promise of all that is new.

And you know I love the New.

But this week I have stumbled across some things,

some old things–

rich memories,

evocations,

emotional souvenirs–

that have left me feeling breathless.

Not only have I stumbled upon these remembrances, but I’ve also come across the words I’ve used to save them.

And so, while they may not have the same power over you,

and while they may not make your heart race,

or hurt,

or swell,

perhaps they’ll, at the very least, tell you a little more of my story.

So, here are a few of my oldies,

the ones that have tugged at me,

and because while their memories may rest deep within me,

for you

they could be

nothing but

new.

Memories

There’s Magic in the Night

“I Never Not Wanted It”

There’s No Place Like Home

A Time Out

Home

Shabbat Shalom and may peace be with you.

#febphotoaday/6

6. Dinner

I realize this may seem redundant, but this is the best I could do.

and p.s. if you haven’t started to stalk my daily dinners, you can do so by hovering over the Family Dinner column right up there (i’m pointing up and right, b.t.dubb.)

Something New!

My sister and I, like any two people, have strengths and weaknesses. She is not great at cutting with scissors. I am terrible at parking.

Weak.

Yet,

She is a Journalism whiz kid and I am an expert at Dirty Dancing.

But, one thing that we are both really, really talented in is

Blog Stalking.

We are total blog-o-holics. In fact, it was my baby sister who first introduced me to the blogosphere, back when she was a Sophomore in college. I gave one blog one hit

and I was hooked.

We talk about bloggers like they’re are friends.

We text, feverishly, about bloggers’ baby names,

outfits,

and what they just ate for lunch.

For me (for us), Blogs give us great, always-accessible reading material,

and, most compellingly, they give us the ability to be total voyeurs.

I should mention that along with Sex and the City and Essie nail colors,

we are also experts at stalking.

We just love to stalk.

And that’s what blogging is. Relishing in every anecdote,

every outfit,

every meal.

And, also, you know…I blog.

And I Mommy Blog.

So, as we sat yesterday, tapping our freshly painted Essie nails and discussing the merits of a certain blogger’s recently posted snack choice, I got to thinking.

I love blogging.

I love food. And though I am no Top Chef, I cook dinner for my family every night.

So, if you come here because you like to commiserate,

or you come here because you like to be a voyeur into my little world,

or if you come here because you’re related to me,

I figure you might enjoy this little bit of New.

So, here goes. I am going to try out a new page, and on it I will share our nightly Family Dinners.

Nothing fancy, just quick snapshots of what I am cooking and what we are eating.

You can use it to get ideas,

or you can use it to be a stalker in my kitchen,

or you can use it to judge me.

And, if you find it boring, skip it. And, if you think I’m a terrible looking cook, send me tips.

But, I suspect you might like this new glimpse into our little Land.

At least I hope you will.

And so, without further ado, I will begin posting on our Family Dinners tonight.

If I can figure it out.

Because I may be good with coming up with healthy, filling family dinners on the fly,

but I am not good at computers and websites. I’ll do my best.

And, at the very least, I know I’ll have one dedicated dinner stalker.

Sister, I’m looking at you.

Blog Appetit.