Here, play with these measuring cups. Ok, open phone for recipe. Oh need to text mom back. Done. Where is my coffee? Where is… damn, coffee is gone. I would freakin’ LOVE some more coffee. Ah, no, WATER, drink water, haven’t done that in awhile. Wait I meant to pee like… 2 hours ago?! And I totally forgot. But first, put on that podcast that I paused when Claudia called. Ok. What am I doing. Why is my phone open. Right. A recipe. I’m baking a cake! Wait… what is she doing? No, don’t eat that. Here. Play with this. Why are you fussing? What’s up? Here, boob. Happy again! Wait… just realized I’M STARVING. Eat some cheese. Wow, how did I ever give up dairy? Just wild. Ok focus. CAKE! Cakecakecake. Got my podcast, got my recipe, ready to go, 2 cups of.. where is the measuring cup? What the hell? I just had it! Oh Addie has it. “I’ll take that, thank you!” Wait, you had to PEE, remember? Go pee with door open and hang onto her with one arm. Phew, better. Did I schedule with pelvic floor PT? Hm. Check calendar on phone. Yup. Ok, back to kitchen, because there was something I was doing in there and maybe if I go back I’ll remember. Where were we. Coffee. No no no, we need WATER. Gulp gulp. Good. I was doing something. What was I going to do? Right, cake! Here we gooooo! 2 cups of flour! Nope, BABY tugging on my leg. Squat down and play with her. Man, I love her so much. She is so beautiful and wise and funny.
Stand up, look around. What was I doing?
Baking a fucking cake.
recently:
Good Bones
by Maggie Smith
Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.
from The Atlantic: What Happens To A Woman’s Brain When She Becomes A Mother? “Becoming a mother is like discovering the existence of a strange new room in the house where you already live.”
Made this lemon mousse from the Moosewood cookbook for Father’s Day and remembered, staring at beautiful, stiff -whipped peaks, that cooking and baking for pleasure is an absolute non-negotiable for me.
Dropped by Frontiers this weekend🔥
My brother only ever gives me, at minimum, a day’s notice when he decides he is coming to visit me— these unexpected surprise visits from him are one of my favorite things in the world. Said goodbye to him this morning.
I like this song:
1. Thank you for sharing my writing
2. That “Good Bones” one gets me everytime I see it
3. I wrote about Biomilq on my IG probably about a year ago and hardly anyone seemed to share my outrage. Glad to see I’m not alone.