I dare you to watch this without crying. I dare you to live the rest of your day exactly as you did before watching this. It will sit with you on the commute home. It will make you want to be a better parent, or to better yourself, to want to raise someone, to raise yourself, to become someone who follows her dreams despite the obstacles. Dare. Dare yourself a lot more.

I loved taking the beans to the New York Public Library. We were walking across town from Grand Central Station, and when the library first came into view, I asked them if the area reminded them of any of the stories we’ve been reading at home. “Madeline,” Abigail said. Not exactly, but it is a metropolitan area similar enough to Paris, so she wasn’t too far off. Lucas was stumped, too. “A book about how sometimes it’s okay to break the rules,” I said. They looked at each other, then up at me, then at the statues of the LIONS on the steps of the library, then back up at me, their eyes wide. “Library Lion! Library Lion,” they cheered. I felt as if I’d just been lit up from the inside, watching their excitement. “Can we go inside?” We hadn’t planned this trip, which is perhaps the best way to navigate a city, so it was even more of a delight to find ourselves inside the New York Public Library, reading one of our favorite books, Library Lion.

A long-awaited dinner with family at North Hills. It’s so good to be home.

Last night we went to Piccola Venezia in Astoria, Queens to celebrate Phil’s mother’s 70th birthday!

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I took requests and cooked up some matzo ball soup for my taters.

Phil’s in New York for work again, another two weeks. I managed, quite nicely, to survive the first two weeks and can’t say that I missed him toward the end. But I can say that this time, day one, when he left Florida for New York, I missed him already.

Nothing specific, not his jokes or the way he’s so active with the children (always rough-housing with them, initiating riding bikes to the playground, whisking them off to the ocean so I can spend an afternoon writing), not his piles of “Important! It’s mess to you, but it’s orderly disorder to me.” Somehow I don’t miss him in the details. I don’t miss his TV, for sure. [And I swear I ADORE life without television during the week, especially because I believe it limits creativity and stunts originality in children. I so much prefer spending our nights playing "make believe."] Though I do miss cooking for him.

No, I miss the gesture, trying to delight him, despite the fact that, unless it involves my garlic bread, I rarely do. Or if I do, I rarely feel as if I have because, let’s face it, he rarely communicates as much. I know when I’ve done something wrong, and this paragraph might be heading there, too–to a place I hadn’t intended to go. Because what I was really trying to say is that I miss my husband. I miss his commentary when he’s forced into my world of girl.  I don’t know the specifics of my miss, only that I feel it.

I guess I’m realizing that I need to be better about appreciating him without reminding myself of another side. To truly allow myself to enjoy him without weighing his less comely qualities. I feel like gently turning my face to look up at me, to tell those eyes, “You know, it is okay to like him.”

He’s staying with his parents. His mother emailed me for meal ideas. What could she cook, she wanted to know, that he might like? I laughed and said, “Good luck with that, lady.” Unless it involves some slab of meat or his own chili recipe, you’re shit out of luck. Aside from garlic bread, I suggested:

Steamed mussels or clams
Any kind of pot pie (nothing w mashed potatoes) as long as there are big chunks of chicken
Macaroni & cheese (he loves it!) w a rotisserie chicken
Any sweet treat like choc chip cookies or brownies
A Marsala mushroom dish of some kind with chicken

Then I emailed her recipes for oven baked risotto and for sea scallops with ginger lime beurre blanc.

Other good things while he’s been gone, things to show for it:

I made sticky rice pudding bars with coconut milk (but I definitely prefer good old sweet sticky rice with mango. Also, I despise shredded coconut because it has the texture of dry chicken, but I could make out with coconut milk. Not often, but I could. Yes, I steam my rice on an oil splatter guard, making cleanup a non-issue.)

Fun birthday gifting to friends (which means I’m wrapping gifts). Though I kind of like taking a personalized handmade card and having them press and fold it into an accordion.

Art. I’ve been drawing more, mindless sketch work. I miss that arts & crafts, your hands full of life, without a care for mistakes. Onward ho!

Okay, not for making out. But I feel very sexy when I’m able to apply makeup, when my makeup is organized and duplicated between cars, so I’m never all, “Shit, it’s in the other car!” These are my some of my favorites. I filmed myself for close to twenty minutes, mind you. But, no, this video is NOT 20 minutes. Also, Phil gets an extras credit.