I think Mark first made these pink peppercorn shortbread cookies 2 years ago. We instantly liked them. We liked the subtle peppery aftertaste (entirely different from black pepper, btw), and we liked the pink flecks on the cookie which is why we offered them during our first Valentine’s Day collection. It just goes to show you how long it takes sometimes for us to push cookies out into the world as their own package. They’ve gone through a few different incarnations, including a linzer cookie which we had available for a limited time, but we’ve finally settled on this final version of the cookie with a red currant chocolate filling from this year’s Valentine’s Day box. (As a related note, you may or may not remember that our Coconut 5 Spice White Chocolate Cookies also emerged from a few incarnations, first as a biscotti, then as a macaroon, and finally to the drop cookie).

They’re finally for sale on their own here or in our Etsy shop. Also, can I say how excited I am about our new website, which hopefully go live in the Spring?

And…new camera FTW!

Kept thinking it was Sunday yesterday. But no, it was Saturday and it kept throwing me off. I’m grateful for the extra weekend day. We don’t have day jobs and tend to work weekends anyway, so I don’t necessarily get that “sunday-pit-in-the-stomach” feeling as we head into the work week, but the kids go back to school tomorrow and we start the rushed morning routine all over again.

I don’t know a whole lot of people who live in Manhattan anymore – seems like most of my friends are in Brooklyn or move to Brooklyn eventually, but we did visit one of Mia’s old preschool friends who made that reverse move from Brooklyn a few months ago. Sometimes I try and imagine what it’s like to live in Manhattan again and I can’t really quite imagine it, not with kids. Aside from my nostalgic ramblings that I document here, I forget what it’s like day to day. We’re so used to living in Brooklyn, I guess.

While the kids and I were visiting with a friend, Mark spent the late afternoon hours at Dean & Deluca passing out samples of some of our products. Dean & Deluca in Soho now carries 8 of our items and they’ve become a consistently great retailer for us (although I found out that they mark up our prices, as I guess all stores do, ergh). We don’t focus on wholesale like some of our Brooklyn food colleagues, but we’ve been happy with the D&D business. (remember this post when we first heard that they were interested in carrying our products?) On a related note, Terrain in Philly is now carrying 3 of our cookies.

After the demo was over, we decided to take the kids to Chinatown for dinner. Mark and I were craving soup dumplings. This made Mia very happy since dumplings are Mia’s most favorite food ever. As we were sitting in a booth at Shanghai Cafe on Mott Street (sorry for the crappy photos – weird, purple lighting in there), it made me realize that we don’t really eat Chinese out very often. Once in a while we’ll do take out at home. Such a shame. While it’s not quite the same, I remember our dinners in Chinatown when I was a kid to be really special events. We’d drive in from Queens, park the car in a lot and walk over to the restaurant, which as I recall from my kid memory, was usually a large banquet-type space, basement level, a little mysterious, but always fancy, that you’d have to walk a few steps down to get to. It seemed like we would always go during the winter – I just remember walking in the cold, steam coming up from the manholes in the street, then walking into the restaurants with a welcome bowl of savory soups with bamboo shoots, crunchy fungus, pork and tofu.

We enjoyed our meal. Mia got her dumplings, Claudine got her noodle soup. She kept rubbing her tummy with her eyes closed. We’ll be back.

I think you know by now that my bedtime is late. It’s recently teetered over to the ridiculous hour of 2:30am again, sometimes even 3. Insomnia aside, I have a hard time making myself go to bed. I treasure those quiet hours when everyone’s asleep. I get most of my work done then too and it’s been this way for years.

So what happens in the morning? On school days I push my wake up time as late as I can, sometimes to the dangerous brink of being late for school, but in the end we never are. Still, it’s often a mad rush to get the girls fed, dressed, lunches made and out the door in 30 minutes by 8:20am. On days when there is no school, or if Mark decides he can go to the kitchen later rather than the early crack-of-dawn hours that he prefers, I can steal more sleep. I’ll admit there are days when I get up at 9. The girls wake up sometime between 6:30 and 7:30am. Since they share a room, I suspect they wake each other up, though Mia claims that she doesn’t if she sees that Claudine is asleep in her bunk. Sometimes Claudine is awake and playing with with her stuffed animals in bed, but Mia saids she is always the first to climb out of bed.

There’s been a new routine in the morning at our house the last few weeks. By the time I wake up, the girls will have already eaten breakfast. Sometimes the evidence of dirty dishes is in the sink, but often they’re left behind on the kitchen island counter, the dining room table or their art table. Mia’s been making breakfast for the two of them every morning, usually frozen waffles in the toaster, or cereal with milk or granola with yogurt. She’ll pour cups of milk and water for the two of them. She’ll drag a chair to reach the cabinets and the freezer. I know this because when I do get up and wander to the kitchen, the chair will always be left there; she never remembers to drag them back.

Sometimes I think that the kids probably gave up on me in the mornings and got too impatient and hungry while waiting for me to get up. Some mornings I’ll hear one of them come into the bedroom and say, “it’s time to wake up, mommy”, and I’ll mumble something like, “5 more minutes”, and then I can hear her report to the other, “mommy says 5 more minutes!”. But even if I were to wake up earlier and make them breakfast, Mia wants to do this herself. She says she looks forward to it every morning and she likes taking care of Claudine (at least in the morning. Other times? Not so much). It might just be a phase – I remember she started fixing breakfast for a week last year, but if it is, it’s lasted much longer than the first time around. Hey, I’m not complaining. Isn’t this one of those moments we wait for, as parents?

I’m not much of a party goer these days, but I was thinking about all the various parties that I went to when I was younger in school. Those all night parties were epic, particularly when you were 18 and living on your own. At the time, you felt like you knew it all at that age, but of course when you look back, 18 seems so young, a child really. I didn’t even intend on moving out of my childhood home in Queens when I first went to college. The intention was to commute every day with my best friend who had also gotten into the same art school as me. We would drive in her hand-me-down yellow car, park at a lot and take the train to the East Village the rest of the way in. The commute, however, was long and stressful. We’d sweat bullets every morning as we nervously stared at our watches, praying that we wouldn’t be late to our first class. The ride back home was often late, sometimes past 10pm as we’d have to stay in school to finish our projects due the next day. One day on the way home, we got off the train in the evening and looked for her car. We would always joke that maybe one day the car wouldn’t be there waiting for us. That evening we looked…and looked…but no car. Apparently it had been stolen. Our parents decided then that it was time we moved to Manhattan to be closer to school and so we did, to an apartment in Chinatown just 5 or so weeks into the school year.

I still remember the moment my mom called when she got home after helping me move my things. She was sitting on my bed sort of dazed. I can still even picture her sitting in that empty, black room (yes! I had black walls in my room in high school). Now that I have girls of my own, I can’t really imagine how weird that must have been for her. I, on the other, hand, felt a whole other range of emotions. I don’t think anyone ever forgets their “firsts” and I’ll certainly never forget the first time I stayed out all night with my art school friends till dawn, walking home at 5am towards the breaking sun rays over Lafayette Street one October morning. The city hadn’t quite woken up yet. The view down that street looking South bathed by those streaming sun rays is forever burned in memory and I don’t think I had ever felt more alive until that moment.

There would be many many, more parties and late nights after that. Some of those nights were spent at the studios up in school on the 6th floor as we worked on our color theory assignments. This usually involved painting color swatches and a lot of ColorAid paper. My friends and I would get some veggie sushi rolls at the Korean deli for dinner and work through the night. Sometimes we’d quit close to midnight and go skipping down Broadway like reckless idiots to Soho, back when Soho was still a gallery inhabited art haven, to bars and watch bands play music. Other nights we’d find ourselves on the Upper West Side in a grand Classic 7 apartment, at a party with the most eclectic mix of people who helped opened our eyes to the world.

And my first Halloween party? Theater for the New City’s annual Costume Ball, the first year and every year after that (and can I tell you how happy it makes me to see that it’s still being held to this day over 20 years later? Some East Village traditions have remained!). The Halloween party at the theater was this wild multi-level, multi performance, cabaret, art filled extravaganza. My friends and I would sneak in through the back door as we usually knew someone who was performing there that night. What I remember the most about these parties, however, is feeling so much like Alice in Wonderland wandering around the cavernous theater spaces and a maze of smaller, nested rooms full of colorful people and psychedelic colors. Sometimes I really miss the East Village of the late 80s.

What I was remembering today as I was flipping through some old photos were these mid-winter parties that took place at the Sideshow by the Seashore Building in Coney Island, a fun house of sorts. They would happen around this time of year, in February. Living in the East Village during those years, these parties were the only time I’d venture into Brooklyn until I moved there a few years later. There’s something about being on the beach in winter, looking at the horizon and seeing the long stretch of sand. I remember the seagulls were always really aggressive, as was the wind and the surf, but it felt so invigorating to be on the ocean in the dead of winter to wake yourself up from cabin fever and the winter blues.

It’s amazing how we could party almost every night back in those days, always seeking out the next show, the next party. Those parties have mostly been replaced now by pink sprinkles, balloons and cupcakes. Sometimes I have to laugh. When you’re 18, you never think that you’d end up here.

I’m really missing some friends lately, friendships that have drifted apart. Nothing may have happened…but sometimes you end up not spending as much time with someone as you once did. You may not even notice, but then one day you realize that it’s been a month, 5 months, a year. How did this happen? And enough time has lapsed that when you need a friend, they no longer become the first person you reach out to.

It’s unrealistic to expect any friendship to stay intact exactly as they are. It’ll evolve as its meant to and people really do outgrow each other, so I’m guessing that when I’m missing a friend, it’s not only about that person, but a particular time in my life associated with that friendship. Sometimes it’s best to leave some friendships alone in whatever state they end up and maybe it takes a certain level of maturity to accept that. But I wonder, with all this linking and following and reaching out to the past, does social media make us feel less lonely? Or more?

That’s right, it snowed last night. Not a whole lot – it was pretty much all melted by evening – but enough to make you curse at the world when you got up Monday morning, particularly when we enjoyed 63 degree temps on Thursday and Friday. Winter’s not over, in case you were wondering.

Speaking of winter, the kids are on vacation for winter break. Never mind that we only had Christmas break 7 weeks ago. Apparently I was in denial about it, seeing as how I didn’t think ahead about childcare. Mark and I are winging it this week with work like we always do. I am, however, jealous of just about everyone who is away for Winter break which includes most of our neighbors and friends. Somehow this makes me feel like a loser. It’s gonna be a long week.

I’m battling a mysterious ailment right now that I’ve had for a few days. It’s more uncomfortable than painful, but it makes me super tired feeling all day. I made a doctor’s appointment for Wednesday. Of course all I can think about is the fact that our new, higher deductible health insurance plan kicks in March 1st and that I might have some kind of terrible illness. *faceplant*

What’s that you say? A cheeseover is when your friends Nichole and Evan invite you over to their weekly Friday cheese nights, but then you sleep over because it would be a pain to drive back to Brooklyn from New Jersey. In reality, it was actually hell to get there Friday night. What should have been about a 45 minute drive took us over 3 hours. 2 of those hours were spent crawling at a painfully slow pace through Soho. We drove 3 blocks in an hour and a half. I had to use the bathroom and considered jumping out to go to the Apple store on Prince Street and Mark thought about getting food from a sidewalk vendor. We chose to stay put in the car, but I did teach Mia how to do long division for the first time and Claudine how to spell 10 words (hey, why not?). It was cool to see them totally get it too, like little lightbulbs going off.

For cheese week, Mark put in a call with his contact at Murray’s Cheese and picked out some of his all time favorite cheeses for this week’s cheesefest: a mild blue cheese, an aged gouda, and a creamy goat cheese. We also brought over a carton of homemade condensed milk ice cream and a dessert Mark was playing around with at his restaurant consulting job. Nichole and Evan provided the rest of the food and the wine and then the 2 of us stayed up till 4:30 in the morning and talked like only girlfriends can do. I don’t think any of us even opened a computer or checked our email until about 1pm the next day. It was also Mark’s full day off in almost a month. Leisurely Saturdays with friends are the best.

You guys are all enablers. Get the camera! Get the camera! And I’ve decided that I will, but I’m just sort of letting the price tag simmer in my head so that it’s not quite such a shock when I get handed back the receipt. It’s the same price as my computer, a MacBook Pro, but it’s interesting that I perceive it differently. When I needed a new computer I rushed out to get one, no questions asked, but a new camera? Isn’t it just a tool, just like the computer, that I use everyday? Then why is it so hard to pull the trigger on the “buy” button?

Which brings me to this question. How do you say yes to a purchase that you’ve been on the fence for so long? I’m not talking everyday things, but big purchases. It could be a vacation, or a new shiny toy, or even a car. I know anything can be rationalized to death, but how to you pull that trigger?

It’s always been hard to make big purchases on a variable, self employed income, but through discipline and budgeting, we’ve managed to save up a nice little nest egg, aside from retirement and a bit of college savings for the girls over the past 8 years. Mark and I have always made modest to decent salaries, but we’ve made saving a priority so I’m really proud of what’s sitting in the bank. It’s a security blanket in case times are tough, but sometimes I wonder what we’re saving for.

I wasn’t taught to save when I was a kid. I wish I had been, but it wasn’t the way my parents grew up so they didn’t pass those values on to me and my brother. My parents were born into the Korean War and grew up poor. When they say stuff like “I used to walk miles and miles in cold, bitter winter weather with a thin pair of worn out shoes and a light jacket”, they really meant it. They came from large broken families and were often hungry. They didn’t own any possessions and there wasn’t any money to save so I don’t blame them for not teaching us the value of saving. The American dream is real for some people. It’s amazing how they, like other immigrants, have come here and made something from literally nothing. While they may not have taught us to save, we learned about survival, tenacity and determination, albeit from more privileged circumstances from their own childhoods. Still, the concept of saving and managing money was something my brother and I have had to learn entirely on our own.

So I can understand my hesitation for pulling the trigger. I can also totally justify the purchase as a business expense. I’m in the process of redesigning our website which I hope will launch in the Spring and I see the dire need to update our photos – most of those product shots were taken 3 years ago with a point and shoot! But the real reason I’m willing to take a chance on that purchase? I haven’t been inspired to take any photos in a few weeks. I haven’t felt any joy in it for quite some time. I think that is far scarier than the money spent.

Claudine tells me this all the time. What does it mean?

Sometimes after I pick her up from school, we’ll sit in a cafe and have refreshments while we wait to pick up Mia from school. It’s nice (and I had the first iced coffee of the year!). It made me realize, however, that because of logistics in schedule, I don’t ever get to have one on one excursions with Mia. Will have to try and fix that.

Have I told you that Claudine now goes to the bathroom by herself? Not that you would really care, but it’s an event that’s as momentous as getting rid of the stroller, in my mind at least. And it just happens one day. You might not even be aware when it first happens, but somewhere along the line you realize that you haven’t heard cries of “Mommmmmyy, I have to peeee”. Or maybe you notice that your kid is in the bathroom by herself, door closed, and you hear the toilet flush. And then you do a happy dance because you realize that after 7 years, it’s nice that you don’t have to wipe anyone’s butt anymore.

Remember when I wrote that post about not being sure how to dress my age anymore? It is so freaking craaazay that the post is almost 2 years old because I feel like I just wrote it yesterday. It’s funny, but I haven’t thought much about the whole clothes situation since then. I think I’m figuring out what works for me and what doesn’t and I don’t stress about what’s age appropriate and what isn’t. As long as I don’t look too ridiculous, or feel uncomfortable or – and this is the absolute worst – look like I’m trying too hard to be hip and relevant (seriously, someone slap me if I look like I’m desperately trying to stay young), then it’s all good. I still shop at all those stores I’ve questioned before. I realize that the person standing next to me at checkout might very well be more than half my age. I could even be old enough to be their mother, yeah, uh huh. But it’s all about selective editing, preferably with a good dose of common sense.

Since those 2 years, I’ve fallen into a look that’s worked for me and I’ve realized a few things too. As much as I really really like the girly dresses and heels and florals and dainty pretty things, dude, that is so not me. I’ve tried. While I may look okay and can maybe pull it off, I feel ridiculous on the inside. Like I feel as uncomfortable as I would be if I were wearing a Jessica McClintock prom dress. Like I’m trying to be someone I’m not. There was a time when I didn’t own any dresses (I’d wear skirts though), but over the years I’ve amassed a small collection of them and I do wear them now, particularly in warmer weather, so I’m not saying that I don’t wear dresses. I’ve made a conscious effort to wear them since that post and it’s been ok, but it’s not what I’m most comfortable in.

I think it’s an interesting idea to pick a style muse as a reference for inspiration. I’ve always loved Francoise Hardy, always. Seriously, how chic is this woman? And if you’ve seen a recent photo of her, you’ll know that she’s still chic. So these days I’ve been wearing a lot of skinny jeans tucked into boots, school boy blazers with scarves, hats (I’m always into hats), tunic-length tops, stripes (god, what a blogger cliche. It almost makes me not want to wear stripes, but I just can’t quit the stripes), and long cardigans. When it starts getting warmer, I’ll start wearing more dresses (but unfussy dresses), ballet flats, wedge sandals, loose and long t-shirts over shorts with some great jewelry and belts – I still have an affinity for studded and grommet belts.

I haven’t bought any piece of clothing in a few months, but see those black boots up there? I’ve been looking for another pair of black boots with a bit of a heel all season and I found these vintage pair on ebay for $50. They’re exactly what I wanted. But hands down the best purchase of the season were these Frye engineer boots (see below). Frye’s aren’t cheap, but it’s the best $200 I spent all year. I wear them almost every day and even I’m surprised about that. I wasn’t sure about them at first and waffled about it for a month, but I wanted some big, short boots to stomp around in and they literally go with everything, including dresses (no really, I swear).

So I really like clothes. I always have. It’s important that I wear stuff I like, but more importantly, stuff that looks good on me right now. What anybody else thinks doesn’t really matter. The only oddball equation in all of this is that I just can’t seem to resist anything shiny, sequined or beaded. Not that I’ll necessarily buy or wear it, but get me in a store and I swear I’ll make a beeline for the shiniest, most blinged out item in the store, hold it up and admire it, and maybe even carry it around with me in the store. What is that about? It’s like I was a drag queen in a past life. Step slowly away from the sequins, seriously.