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!

This was our yesterday. It’s one of the things I love about living in Florida. I like the idea of the beach, whether I go or not. I’ve always taken the ocean for granted, growing up in New York. But having lived in Texas this past six years, I’ve really ached for it. Don’t get me wrong, I hate the sun, cancer, all of it. But the ocean reminds me that I’m not here forever, that I’m not the only one here, that an entire ocean is out there to be lived. It somehow feels like returning. Not returning home or to the familiar, but returning to the source, to a stripped away me, the way I was meant to be. Some people feel at peace in the woods—note that in films, these characters are usually bearded fruitcakes short a nut and berry. I’ve never been a mountain goat or bird watcher, but I’ve always been drawn to the water. And to seafood.

I found my peeps in a consignment shop. A Madison Avenue consignment shop, but a used clothes store just the same. And, please. “Vintage” is to “Dried Pitted Plums” as “Pit & Crotch Clothes” is to “Prunes.” Get over it.

It’s not that I was actively looking to find another mother who tortures her children by putting herself first from time to time—in fact, I was looking for a new wallet with a used price tag—but there they were, mother monsters of my own kind, on the second floor of Michael’s, where the merchandise is real and the people are fake.

Earlier in the week, I’d hit up Canal Street in search of a real leather fakes. You don’t need to say it; irony suits me. I know. Bad bad very bad Stephanie. E-ville Stephanie. Now that that’s behind us… here’s where the real evil kicks in. I brought my kids with me.

There we are, winding our way through tourists and Asian Whisperers (Louis Vuitton, Tory Burch, Gucci, Fendi, Chloe, Coach, YSL )… 

Sidebar: How in the Jesus does COACH make that list? Who would want a knockoff Coach? I mean, if you’re going to carry a replica, don’t underestimate yourself. Aim high.

… searching for a storefront that seems to promise quality, and all the beans want is to hit up a toy store. “Yes, but this is Mama’s toyland. If you’re good, you can have a cheeseburger.” Oh, yes. Author of Moose, rewarding her children with quel kosher animal products as she shops for same.

I’m shown a laminated piece of paper with images of “it” bags, directed to point to the ones I want. Then, we’re instructed to wait, in the sun, while they get the goods from another location. Twenty minutes and several fits and whines later, the goods arrive in a black shopping bag. A forty-five-year-old man in flood pants waves me into a restaurant vestibule, so I can inspect the merchandise out of police view. None of the LV’s are cut off, and all the hardware says Louis Vuitton, but it feels like a lawn chair. It then occurs to me that I don’t even want an LV. It’s not a deal unless it’s something you actually want. Something you’ll feel confident, beautiful, important wearing. Something luxurious. But what’s luxurious about carrying a fake, wondering if anyone can tell? “No, thanks.”

So, do I quit there and then? Um, no. I’m lured in again by another Whisperer. She walks us down a block then whips out her cell and phones the next Whisperer, directing us to a storefront, “the one with the blue I heart NY tee-shirt.” I yank my kids onward, promising just five more minutes. Nothing in Chinatown takes five minutes, not even a happy ending. The new Whisperer greets us, gesturing to come closer, then ushers us through what can only be described as a shopping booth of a store. Then the seas part. The back wall of the store, pocked with horrendous knockoff bags, slides open, revealing two hidden rooms five times the size. Tory Burch. Chanel. Gucci. Wallets, wristlets, shopping totes, scarves, and bags bags bags. Come to Mama. No, no, you, “Kids, you sit here. Don’t move. Don’t touch anything.” ‘Cause that’ll work. Thankfully, my kid sister is also in tow, agreeing to entertain (read: bribe) the wees. 

And after all that, I get nada. I can’t bring myself to do it. NOT, by the way, a moral decision but an aesthetic one. What’s the point, really? I won’t feel good carrying it, and that’s the whole point. Buying confidence and quality, something I can hand off to my daughter one day.

Which brought me to the Upper Least Side, at the stairwell of Michael’s. And it was there, a day later, sans kids, where I saw another set of almost four-year-old twins pitching their own fit. One threatening to poop. “Mommyyyyy, I have to make DOODY!” she screamed. And her mother continued to examine the soles of Jimmy Choo’s as if her daughter wasn’t about to defecate. Instead of being appalled I thought, “Now, that’s my kind of woman.”

It’s not a pretty thing to admit, but at least I’m being authentic. I haven’t always owned it the way I do now. Once upon a life ago, I felt like the knock-off.

In the end, I paid full price for an old stand by. My tried and true love: Anya Hindmarch.

A mom’s gotta do what a mom’s gotta do. This mom had to peep. Slip into Little Miss’s ballet + tap dance class, through the crack in the blinds. I actually like the dream sequence feel the blinds add to the photographs. It’s enchanting. Well, the subjects might help there.

What? They lock parents out of the studio (which is actually a good thing). To watch our corps de ballet, we must view the class on a TV screen in the "waiting room." So, I did what any normal psycho would do: I aimed my camera between two uncooperative blinds on the window. Score. Peeping Mom Photos Here » (click slideshow)

I wouldn’t say that I’m a last-minute kind of girl, not aloud anyway. More like a last-month-of-the-year kind of girl. I wasn’t always like this, either. In school, I always finished all my homework on Friday night, so I’d have my weekend completely free of worry and stress. No Sunday night panic.

With December flurries still top of mind, I’m going into this year equipped, sleeves rolled. I’m all about planning. This might require a deep freezer. I want to be on top of things:

To begin hunting for gifts now, throughout the year, taking my time to wrap them. Birthday gifts for the children of my closest friends (complete with CD compilations of music, a book for children, and coordinating craft to match the book). Gifts for my family, for Mother’s Day, for Halloween, for no reason or theme at all. Start doing it now.

To start my holiday baking. Seriously, I know they say things last in the freezer 3-6 months, depending on how they’re wrapped, what it is, but have you ever found a frozen crumb bar you haven’t liked? Ever? The shelf life is what you make of it, dammit.

After just completing my year in review of Two turning 3, I now plan on culling a few of our favorite photographs in a special folder titled "FOR 2010 YEAR IN REVIEW," where I’ll store copies of our faves.

I’m totally buying this, too: A Year In The Life eBook companion. I want to create an album, online or otherwise, one just for me, based on all the everyday things I love, observe, want, notice, think about. And also one that summarizes the lives of the bean sprouts. If I could marry crafty projects, I’d bed ‘em down now, no planned parenting required.

QUESTION FROM A GREEK TRAGEDY READER: I love photography and have been a photo freak since I was little. My dad always had camera on hand, and I got that from him. Now, I’m not a pro by any means, but I take pretty good pictures. I always wonder, how did you get started in photography? Did you take classes or have to read books to refine your talent? Are you strictly on digital now, or do you still use film? What editing software do you use? When you do outdoor shoots, do you use additional lighting? They are just so perfect and crisp. I would love to use my photography skills to develop a career, etc. I see so many friends that are hiring professionals to take photos of their family events, and it makes me wonder if that’s something I could do?

Photography is storytelling. Sometimes it’s our memory dipped in ink. It’s about capturing gestures the way we see them and replicating what we see and feel at that exact moment. The actual "capturing" is about technique. And that, you’ve got to learn. It isn’t about talent or instinct; it’s about learning how to use a flash in conjunction with shutter speed, or when to not use a steady hand and to pan instead. When to step closer to your subject, which lens to grab if you want the foreground to be prominent, which to flatten or flatter.

It’s ironic that I fell into photography as a way to get the fcuk out of my own head, and then had to spend so much brain time taking notes and reading about depth of field—to get out of my own head just to get back in it again. I write about my actual journey into professional photography in Straight Up And Dirty (where each chapter begins with a photograph of mine), how I began to shoot red carpet events, and for The Hotel Gansevoort. I took night classes at ICP in NYC. I learned on film—well, I really learned by shooting color slide transparencies. But it’s far more cost-efficient to learn on a digital SLR. That’s key. You need an SLR. Canon or Nikon. Once you’re in bed with your camera base, you’re in bed forever and get to keep things freaky with new lenses. You purchase lenses as the years pass, and you cannot use the same lens you would on a Nikon on any other type of camera, so they’ve got you by what’s left after your bikini wax.

So here’s what I recommend:
Invest in a digital SLR with removable lenses. Then read your owners manual to the point where you could be on The Newlywed Game with it. Then take either a one-day or weekend intensive class, or invest in a real class. Or, quite frankly, if you can’t afford a class or one isn’t available near you, I seriously suggest pairing up with a friend who also might like to learn (or finding someone online who’s also interesting in learning), and you meet up and do assignments. You know your learning style best, so go with what works for you. Personally, I think you can absolutely teach yourself with your owner’s manual and online sites that actually give assignments, paired with online forums where you can ask for help. But if you need a formal hands-on class to keep you commited, then do that. I think giving classes is possibly the best gift you can give someone.

I used to spend nights at home, with a glass of red, classical music piped in, under a blanket, reading about photography after class. I figured I could be out dating, but all those guys I was putting energy into meeting, analyzing, was energy better spent on me… better spent on something no one could ever take away from me: knowledge. If I learned photography, put in the time and effort, no one could take that away with a, "Sorry, this just isn’t working" talk. I took notes on everything I learned at class and then taught/reviewed everything I learned with my friend who couldn’t afford the class. Teaching someone else, even as you’re learning, is the best way to really learn and know that you understand the material.

Are you strictly digital now?
Yes, except when I’m asked to photograph a wedding. I shot all the photographs for The Hotel Gansevoort on film because I knew the prints were going to be very large, so I needed the quality. Film is just romantic, really. Silky.

Which editing software do you use?

Adobe Bridge mostly (which is part of Adobe Photoshop). Sometimes I’ll open a batch of photos in Photoshop and try out a new action set/ filter, like Lomoize, which makes photos look as if they’ve been shot with a Lomo camera. Best bet is to try to get the photo as close to the way you want it on the actual camera, so there’s less work in the digital darkroom.

Do You ever use additional lighting for outdoor shots?
Hell, no. I’m not that dedicated. When photographers come to shoot me for magazines or newspapers, they do bring many extra lights for outdoor shots, and they look… like they’re real professional magazine ads. I don’t have time, or the knowledge, or even the desire to learn about lighting technique outdoors… though photographing food… that kind of lighting can be simple or hardcore, and it fascinates me. When it comes to outdoor shots, I use a low ISP (400) if I can, and I use all natural light. The best time of day is when you can look into the sun, and if forced, could try not to squint for a second or two.

BOTTOM LINE: It’s a new year (soon enough), follow your nose!
As for your wondering if it’s something you can do, I say, life leaps! Go chase it! Curiosity and a love of learning is what keeps life exciting. Learning new skills makes me as giddy as a matinee of Annie with Abigail on my lap (one of my most treasured moments).  

GOT QUESTIONS? NEED ADVICE?
If you have questions or need advice on anything from where to eat to how to get over the bastard, just email your question to my advice email address.