My father, a hard working lawyer, was always good about helping my mom with household stuff the years she stayed at home to raise us. He vacuumed, did laundry, and always, always did the dishes. But he was never interested in taking part in the preparation of dinner - after all, she was (is) a marvelous cook, and truly enjoys cooking. It’s one of her passions.
There is one exception to this rule, however, and that is Mother’s Day, when he is in charge of cleaning and making dinner.
Hence the following email, which I find really endearing, especially if you knew the way my mother cooks:
Next Sunday is Mother’s Day. I will be entirely in charge of the menu and will have hamburgers and hot dogs; baked beans; store bought, but delicious, potato salad; tomato and mozzarella; and cake and ice cream.
Dad
Have any two friends really ever gone to the gym and had a heart-to-heart alongside each other on cardio machines? Cause this happens kind of a lot in the movies. Asking from a cardio machine, solo, btw.
“Paper - because all this social media might be making us less social.” Nice try, paper.
and a man looked at my stomach and said: “Oh, boy.”
How did he know we’re having a boy? LOLLLL
Wearing lipstick makes me feel a little like a prostitute clown, even at 34!
My Six Months as a Dirty, Boob-Swinging Derelict -
Prior to giving birth six months ago, I was generally discreet when it came to nudity. I mostly kept my private parts private. I never flashed, I never sexted, and I even had a special way to change shirts in ladies locker rooms that I’d developed back in high school gym class and carried with me through life. Until I started breastfeeding. That’s when all bets and bras were off, as I morphed into a freewheeling, free-titted free spirit. Instead of weighing me down, my engorged breasts were like two personal hot air balloons that elevated me above the confines of such societal norms that dictate that you ought not have a conversation on the couch with your mother-in-law while completely naked.
I haven’t even finished but this:
“It’s funny how unimportant the concept of ‘pride’ becomes, in those initial post-partum weeks. I liken it to an animal at the zoo, quietly taking a dump in front of a group of tourists and a class trip of school children.”
LOL, and also why I don’t want any house guests to stay at our house immediately after I return home from the hospital.
If you are pregnant and wearing a floral dress on a beautiful spring day, it seems New Yorkers will make eye contact and smile at you. It’s fucked up.
From the second installment of Una LaMarche’s Brooklyn parenting column.
I found this piece about traveling with a baby pretty pitch perfect. Whereas everything else I’ve read about parenting online is just so, so bad. Unless I’m missing some amazing site? Please point me in that direction before June 1st. It’s depressing out there.
I bet you have all the ingredients for this. Active prep, less than 5 minutes.
http://www.food52.com/recipes/7645_david_eyres_pancake
Mike: this is the first time I’ve made one but next time apples are happening!
Misty morning sunrise, Casa Triangle (Matisse room roof deck if you stay here). (Taken with Instagram at Hix Island House)