In my defense, she was technically tall enough - the extremely disinterested teenager in charge of the massive piece of machinery that would be dropping my offspring from enormous heights said so - and she insisted she wanted to go on this ride. And yes, she was POSITIVE.
Oops.
My children have officially entered a picky phase. But their version of pickiness is so bizarre and selective: they will happily put whatever slimy/raw/completely insane piece of food I offer them - oysters, grilled octopus tentacles, salmon roe, you name it - directly into their mouths (PLEASE look at the pics at the bottom of this post, because omgggg), but drink a glass of milk?
Abso-freaking-lutely NOT.
My son won’t drink milk at all. Like, not a single drop of the stuff has touched his lips since the day he gave up drinking from a bottle. My daughter will drink it, but only if it is on top of cereal, and in a bowl that either my husband or myself are at that moment trying to eat from, because when she sees us eating something she realizes that she must eat it herself RIGHT NOW.
Image via
Five years after every other blogger on the planet decided to own a fiddle leaf fig, I decided I wanted to own one, too. (I am nothing if not consistent in my late-to-the-game-ness.)
Remember the kitchen island that I bought? The one I needed your advice on stools for? It arrived, and I put it together...and then I decided that I hated it (too bulky for the space; totally not barstool-friendly thanks to the shelves that I totally neglected to consider; too dark of a tabletop for the room). And sold it. And then I searched online for the kind of table I wanted, couldn't find it, and decided to just go to Lowe's and buy a whole bunch of plumbing pipes and make one myself.
This post has nothing to do with ice cream.
I'm just trying to make an unpretty story...prettier.
Something has been going on with my skin these past few months, and I haven't written about it because...well, because I've been freaked out about it. And you know how when you're freaked out about something you sometimes actively try to ignore it and just hope it'll...go away? That's what I was doing.
Graduation Day, 2015
Both my husband and I went back to school "later in life" - for me, it was an abortive (but still hugely impactful) stint at NYU to study hospitality management, and for Kendrick, it was Yale Business School. Making the decision for him to attend a school located an hour and a half away from our Westchester home and spend days at a time away from his two-year-old son and pregnant wife (and later infant daughter) - not to mention move from being a two-income family to a one-income family for the duration - was, as you can imagine, a big deal.
But we did it. And we'd do it again.
