I was just thinking last week that I should write a post on my obsession with the You’ve Got Mail apartment.
You know the one: Kathleen Kelly’s shabby chic brownstone walk-up, home to the lone reed and upright piano, walls covered in books and mementos, and open window overlooking a beautiful autumn New York City morning.
I’ve laid awake at night, trying to figure out this apartment’s dimensions (Is it a studio? U-shaped? Does the kitchen lead into the bathroom?), imagining where I would put my mother’s secretary or the wall shelf my husband built me six Christmases ago.
Read moreWhen the children say "I want to help you," I cringe.
I think to myself, "No, no, no, you'll wreck it," but I say outloud, "No thanks, sweetie, I got it."
The wee one repeats himself over and over, "I want to help you, I want to help you, I want to help you," grabbing a chair and rocking the table. The stove is hot and he spills the soup on the toast in the skillet, and I say, "No, no, no, you'll wreck it."
Read moreOne question has plagued us for the last two Christmases: what do you give the family, the children, the friends who are about to move?
We've been in a perpetual state of waiting to move for that long and even before that, were always searching out new, small, easy to pack yet meaningful treasures for our wee three.
With that in mind, I'd like to offer...
Read moreWe sit on the hardwood floor, facing eachother, surrounded by half-opened wedding gifts and torn pastel tissue paper. My pen in hand, he reads aloud to me: "Wine decanter," and who it is from. I write it down for the thank you list. We are...
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