You know what I mean, the kind that no matter how different you may become from each other in certain ways, you are the same in a million others. You love each other’s families. You can go months without talking or texting then spend an hour on the phone. You know each other’s life history so you don’t have to explain the back-story of a story. You can just tell it. I had the pleasure of spending time, whole weekends even, with a few of my forever friends over the past month-in-a-half, AND my mini me was along for the ride. My heart is overjoyed to watch and experience as those who are important in my life become important in Isaac’s life.Read More
I haven’t done a real hike since I was pregnant with Isaac and oh man did I forget how much my spirit sings atop vistas reached using my legs and lungs. Mountains are truly my church. It makes my heart hurt to realize so many make it through life never knowing the almost overwhelming emotional energy-boost offered up by the outdoors.Read More
I’ve been wanting to write a personal post about all the happy that occurred this spring (We moved to Maine! My nephew got into Bates! I became Anna Bullett, LLC! We planted a garden!). Then June came along and I’ve been wanting to write a post about all the sad that happened this summer (Our beloved, life-loving Aunt died unexpectedly. Unprepared for the loss would be an vast understatement. Not even two weeks later, our Grandfather passed away, while not unexpectedly, much more swiftly than we’d anticipated).
But other than the paragraph I just wrote – I cannot say more about my personal happiness and sadness at the moment – I am too haunted by overwhelming sadness at the state of the world and it’s people. Writing feels and is, at least in this case, ineffectual. I know I need to take action. But I am not there yet.
So. Let's talk about books and booze.Read More
At this point, you know how this story ends. And yet, some days I myself still can’t believe it. Still can’t believe that I actually got the call that brought me to my knees. The call that I swore would be another disappointment. But instead was the most joyful call I have ever received.Read More
Before the start of the New Year, the National Fruit & Vegetable Alliance released its 2015 American fruit and vegetable intake report card. The results, unfortunately, are pretty rotten. Yes fruit consumption (excluding juice) per capita for adults and children has risen 2% since 2009, but vegetable consumption (excluding fried potatoes) has decreased, decreased 6% since 2009. What gives?Read More
At work the other afternoon I laughed so hard I cried. Granted I'd just enjoyed two glasses of wine (because that's how my boss runs late in the day Friday meetings - yes it's awesome). My coworker Julie and I were having a totally cliché girly convo about birth control and periods and in addition to letting her make fun of my better-for-the-environment tampons, I shared a story about a NSFW present my dear friend, a woman who's antics inspire belly laughter even in the retelling, gifts me every few years. Of course other coworkers took note of the ridiculousness and shared in the laughter (admittedly a benefit of open concept work spaces). I wiped my tears, grabbed my coat and headed out on a high note, giggling all the way to the train.Read More
He doesn't. I haven't slept longer than three hours in a row (four if I am lucky) in over a year. I'm exhausted almost always. Thanks for the reminder. Sorry for the rude response. Like I said, I am tired.
From day one Isaac protested the whole solo sleep situation. He despised being on his back (huge happy dance when he started rolling over which meant we could let him sleep on his stomach). He had latch issues that went unaddressed for a painful six weeks; in the beginning the poor kid was constantly hungry. And for him, being born three weeks early made the fourth trimester very real - he needed the five S's and then some. Like his Mama, he is a high maintenance sleeper and never wants to miss a minute of what is surely a party (it isn't kid, I promise).
Before Pete Wells was PETE WELLS, he wrote an inspiring column in the New York Times Magazine about cooking with his son Dexter, who was born with food allergies. It was a touching combination of thoughts on working fatherhood and practical cooking advice. I loved this column for its honesty and respect for his wife, who shoulders the majority of the responsibility of feeding their family day-in and day-out, despite the fact that Mr. Wells was/is the parent waxing poetic about it to millions.
A newly-minted Brooklynite in my early 20’s, I would go for a long run on Sunday morning, grab the Times weekend edition from the bodega, shower, make myself a plate of eggs and a French press of hot coffee, then crawl back into bed and spend the remainder of the afternoon with newsprint smudged fingers, daydreaming about my New York City future, the highbrow stories in the iconic paper as my guide. I was unsure of the specifics, but I knew it would include children of my own, and of course, cooking.Read More
I've been a bit quiet. Typical start-with-a-blog-bang only to fizzle out fast? No. I am not, nor have I ever been, short on words. Excuses for not writing? I have plenty: Work trips, Thanksgiving, sick kid, sick husband. But the truth is -- I've been pondering how to approach this post for a while and am still unsure if I’m ready to write it.
Last month at a luncheon for Sweet Scarlett Grapefruits (I know, I know my day job is cool) I had the pleasure of hanging out with Haylie Duff. I didn't make the connection that she was the sister of Hillary and the girl from Napoleon Dynamite until in the cab back to the office but no matter. We were bonding over working mamahood, specifically breastfeeding, pumping, and traveling. When I disclosed that I was in the middle of weaning my son, she shared that she had just weaned her daughter. For a few moments her media-trained professional smile broke and she said "but I can't talk about it or I'll cry". Sensing the seriousness I kept up the mama talk but moved on to lighter fare. I feel similarly while writing this. The tears will come, maybe now, maybe later, and probably randomly when I am feeling just fine but like, an Adele song comes on or whatever. I am not necessarily sad, or necessarily happy, just feeling precarious as my body experiences yet another major postpartum hormone shift.
My whole life I have been a marathon reader. Once I am in it, I prefer to be IN IT, and not put down a book until the very last word has been read. Other people read to fall asleep. Not me, if I know I need a good night’s rest I must steer clear of books, especially richly-written, historical novels. A night owl by nature, the act of staying awake until the diurnal birds started chirping became such a normal part of my childhood routine that by the time I was ten my dear parents entirely abandoned all attempts to enforce bedtime. Once I’d mastered the ability to devour chapter books and began to fall in love with individual authors, usually of the lady variety (I’m looking at you Laura Ingalls Wilder), my mom would simply stop by my room on her way to bed, offering a reminder that school was indeed happening the next day, whether I slept or not.
I continued to read like this for years. Time would stand still as I immersed myself in the worlds of Louisa May Alcott, J.K. Rowling, Anne McCaffrey, Marion Zimmer Bradley, and Madeleine L’Engle, then later as an older teen and young adult, in the worlds of Laura Esquivel, Barbara Kingsolver, Isabel Allende, Toni Morrison, Geraldine Brooks, and Nadine Gordimer. Bathing, conversing with other people, and being anywhere but the couch, my bed, or a blanket in the backyard were unnecessary during these times of solitary novel consumption. Meals consisted of nut, vegetable, cracker, and cheese plates and big bowls of popcorn. (And once I was an adult living on my own, bottles of wine).Read More
In early September I completed my double bridge run (Manhattan Bridge to Chinatown, Brooklyn Bridge back to Downtown BK) for the first time in over a year. It felt terrible and amazing at the same time. I haven't been chubby since college, when sophomore year I lost 30 pounds by teaching upwards of 10 aerobics classes a week, packing my meals out of necessity and by well, being nineteen. I had completely forgotten what it felt like to run (and breathe) while carrying the equivalent of a toddler. Exercising while chubby and out of shape is different than exercising while pregnant, which I did until the week I gave birth. I’ve managed to run an average of once a week since returning to work post maternity leave. I am slow, and the stroller limits my route options (no bridge run with my Craigslist behemoth BOB that’s for sure), but I run when I find the time and the energy, which unfortunately, isn’t that often. I am trying my best to be okay with being a little big and less cardio-active. I remind myself that two miles are better than no miles and in the meantime I get to feed my kid dinner and give him a bath after work and nurse and snuggle in the middle of the night and enjoy all the precious moments instead of leaving him yet again after a long day of daycare so I can go struggle to get skinny.Read More
With regard to the holidays and traditions – I consider myself VERY lucky. Not sure if it because my parents are divorced, or because my husband and I come from different faiths, or if it is because both of us have relatively “chill” families but when it comes to our holiday plans, no two years are alike, ever. Granted that might sound a little sad, or stress some people out, but I LOVE it. We are always with family come Christmas morning, but it might be mine, it might be his, and we might be in New York, or in Maine, or in Massachusetts.Read More
Eating (and instagraming) the perfect weekend brunch is practically a sport among young, well-heeled New Yorkers. Some have gone so far as to say brunch is for jerks.
When I first moved to New York City the brunch trend of the moment was indeed for jerks; meatpacking district hot spots were filled with over-paid 20-somethings at bottle service mandatory, all-day, booze-fueled dance parties. As you might imagine, I had absolutely zero interest in the party like its 2am brunch trend. Yes, brunch may mean booze, but more importantly it means eggs and bacon and waffles, or pancakes, or both. And I’d like to squeeze a morning run in first, kthanks.
These days, brunch in the city is of the farm-to-table, fresh juice mocktail, house-made doughnut, hipster wait staff, $800 stroller parked at the table variety. And oh man, is brunch popular in my borough. So much so that there are lines after 11am because OF COURSE hardly any of the restaurants you read about on the food blogs take reservations.
My solution to avoid headaches and the hoops though which one has to jump for a plate of over-priced eggs is of course, to COOK.Read More
Suggested summer reading lists are often full of lighter fare and easy-to-follow stories, "beach reads" if you will. During my Maine vacation in July I quickly sped through J. Courtney Sullivan's Maine (fitting, I know). During the sticky summer months I sipped my way through light and easy-to-drink beverages, including more than a few bottles of rosé, specifically a sparkling offering from the Loire Valley, Rosa, Rosé, Rosam, my seasonal fave two years running.
But now it is September and I am ready to dig out the scarves and tights and settle in with something more substantial on the page, and almost more importantly, in my wine glass.Read More
It has been a long time coming.
We are making the leap beyond our respective locations (Sarah, Southern Maine and Anna, New York City) and vocations (Sarah, floral & event design and Anna, culinary development & food media) to the big, wide world of the interweb.
We know the last thing the internet needs is another lifestyle blog. Yet....Read More