Farmers market + tennis + herb garden.



Peanut butter banana bread.



We spent last night with my brother, sister-in-law, and handsome nephew.  Watching Yo Gabba Gabba, playing mario kart and wii sports, and drinking wine and whiskey (thankfully not together). I made peanut butter banana bread for the occasion adapted from joythebaker

The bread is fantastic.  Even better with crunchy peanut butter spread on top (I imagine honey or butter would be sensational choices as well).  

Recipe makes one 9 x 5 loaf. 

Preheat oven to 350. 

2 very ripe, mashed bananas
1/3 cup vanilla yogurt (we used Mountain High) 
1/3 cup peanut butter
3 tablespoons melted butter 
2 large eggs 
1/2 cup brown sugar
generous 1/2 cup white sugar 
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon 
1/8 teaspoon allspice (turns out this is not just a combination of all the spices...) 

Whisk together mashed bananas, melted butter, peanut butter, and yogurt.  Add in eggs and sugars. Whisk till combined. 

In a separate larger bowl, blend together flour and other dry ingredients.  Pour wet ingredients into flour mixture, fold together with a spatula.  Be careful to reach all dry ingredients that hide out at the bottom of the mixing bowl.  Pour into greased loaf pan. 

Bake 55 min.  Watch that the edges don't start to burn.  Move to a lower rack if this unfortunate even occurs. 

A day at the office.



Welcome to Kakao.




Hot chocolate. For the first time in my adult life I chose hot chocolate over morning coffee.  I had hot chocolate twice yesterday. I've had it at least once a day for the last five days. I had it for dinner yesterday.  I want more right now. I day-dream about melting down the bar of chocolate sitting on my kitchen counter and mixing it with milk in a saucepan. What kind of person day-dreams about melting chocolate? 

On a different note... I've discovered a whole new medium of shopping.  Online shopping, with the option for home "try-on". 

Warby Parker not only designs and makes incredibly affordable eyewear, but you can order up to five pairs to try on at home for five days. The perfect antidote for indecision and anxiety when ordering something one hasn't seen in person.  Beyond being amazing in the first respect, Warby Parker's "buy a pair, give a pair" program takes a page out of the TOMs book.  For every pair of glasses they sell, they provide glasses to someone in need.

Play time.



"The boys took all of the animals," she leaned over and whispered to me. A blank, but serious, expression on her scrawny face. 

A few minutes later, I looked over to see her sitting protectively in front of nearly a dozen stuffed animals and balls.  A hoarder if I ever saw one.  What use were the toys sitting behind her back? 

Eliott, on the other hand, continued to shake his new found maraca, unaware that a ball had just bounced across his back.   One child in ignorant bliss, the other in a state of paranoia. 

Banish the blues: Monday


Sunday funday.



It was time to clean.

I was grumpy. My husband was grumpy. You could see it in our eyes. It was time to clean. 

Upside? We live in a small apartment. Downside? The dust-bunnies breed like rabbits. 

I came to-all-too-clear eye-opening revelation this evening while dusting Comet about the tub... I'm in need a new accessory.  Sadly not from Kate Spade.  

No, I need some rubber gloves. In all their glory (I hope my mother is reading this). Somehow this knowledge makes me feel more like an adult than any other milestone thus far.  Proof that life happens in the everyday, in such quiet and scrubby moments of Sunday housecleaning.  

Silence is a virtue...


... A virtue fortified by tap dancing, the charleston, short bobs, drop-waist dresses, dark lipstick, and fur coats. 


During an evening spent at the Harvard Exit Theater, among individuals who reeked of academia, KEXP, and NPR, we enjoyed two hours of beautifully inspired silence.  

We entered the quaint theater with retrained expectations.  We didn't know what to expect from a throwback to the silent movies and 'Hollywoodland'.  We honestly knew very little about The Artist but that it was the recipient of 'best picture' at the Golden Globes.  Lofty credentials to say the least.  And, as time would tell, an honor deserved in every right.  It was absolutely delightful.

Cabin fever.



Nike's arrived at my doorstep this afternoon.  Thank you Nordstrom.  Curling irons arrive from Amazon tomorrow.  Newly purchased items from Sephora rest at my feet on the coffee table.  We're in the mood for a little pampering.  A little pick-me-up.  A little "I can make it till spring" pep-talk.  Not an exact recipe by any means, but I find that retail therapy often does the trick.  Fortunately my indecisive nature protects me from frequent bouts of buyers remorse.  I strive for more decisive instincts in other areas of my life.  

Other forms of snow-induced cabin fever therapy include The House of Mirth, wine, and Valrhona chocolate. 

The snow, the sleet, and the day off.



It snowed.  We went on a stroll, to the deli, the grocery, and back home again. A lovely afternoon. 




“Style is a simple way of saying complicated things."

Jean Cocteau, 1936

an apple a day.



Life is filled with ups and downs. One minute good, the next bad.  Sometimes this unsuspecting shift can be traumatic, life altering, catastrophic.  Other times it's as innocent as slicing off a piece of flesh while washing an apple slicer.  The good in this situation? The beautiful snowfall outside, my cozy new orange knit headband (purchased from a winery in Temecula), and the prospect of an afternoon watching Mad Men. 

The apple slicer and I are no longer friends. 

We've had this run-in before. I gave it a second chance. He blew it. Destroyed my trust. Even the apple I used it for was mealy, fairly disgusting. I should have known. 

Perhaps not our last encounter, but another memorable encounter with the apple slicer occurred while my teenage brother was baby-sitting me.  I was 5.  And apparently at 5, one believes that one can handle an object with not one sharp edge, but 8.  Incidentally I wanted an apple for a snack, I grabbed the slicer, placed the apple on the counter, and gripped the slicer firmly with both hands.  One mistake... I gripped the slicer a little too tight.  My tiny 5 year-old finger placed directly under the blade. I cut the apple, and with it, I cut my finger.  Lesson learned?  Evidently not.  Se la vie.

perfection. in my humble opinion.



[lindsay schuette //]

Curing winter blues ...



...with rose blush, neon lips, and sunkissed skin.  I believe a trip to MAC is a necessary January antidote 


tinto de verano.



We've had a relatively mild winter, by most standards.  The typical rain.  The typical 42 degrees F.  The typical grey days.  We haven't been plagued by ice and sleet, slick roads and the like.  All in all, besides missing the wonder of a snowy night, I don't have many complaints. 

My two vacations this winter, having taken me to the island of Maui and the coast of San Diego, have left me longing for summer.  You would have thought these escapes from the drab of winter would've provided me with enough vitamin D and sandal wearing to tide-me-over. Not. 

In honor of my longing for summer, we made tinto de verano tonight. I can almost pretend it's July, and the sun hasn't gone down yet...  almost.

red wine + sanpellegrino + ice 

delightful.  And a perfectly indulgent drink to accompany The Bachelor.

quinoa salvaged. dinner redeemed.



Lesson learned this evening: 

One mustn't cry over burnt quinoa. 

You may however, slump to the floor in a pathetic pout while mourning the believed ruining of your new stainless steal sauce pan (no pans were actually hurt in the making of this dish... much to my relief).  You may also consider for a serious five seconds of throwing the whole thing away in the garbage with a dramatic and indignant flourish.  

Take a deep breath. You go on.

Stir the black beans into the quinoa. Chop the pepper. Juice the lime. Measure the cumin.  Shell out the avocado.  Press the garlic.  Shred the cilantro. There, you see? Dinner was not only salvaged. It was delicious.

Thank you dearly, to my new found blog Eating for England, and this delightful recipe

Ingredients (adapted): 

1 cup dried (pre-washed) quinoa
1 3/4 cup water 
1 TBSP olive oil 
1 can black beans 
1 clove garlic 
1 orange bell pepper 
2 avocados
generous handful of cilantro 
1/2 tsp Cumin (mixed with the juice of one lime, and 1 TBSP olive oil) 

salt & cayenne pepper to taste 

entertain us.



Midnight in Paris.  Such a glorious film.  One I could watch continuously, if only for the enchanting music and the beautiful cinematography.  White wine on the rocks, my interview behind me, and my cold slowly but promisingly packing up and moving out. An enjoyable evening to be sure.  

This little illness has made me so grateful for my normal stamina.  I am longing to go out.  To go on a walk without feeling like I'll collapse.  My new Wii fit is taunting me from the corner, yoga sounds fantastic. But mostly I'm running out of amusements to peruse on the internet, even Pinterest can't keep up with me... *refresh, refresh*.  Facebook updates are no longer alluring.  And I can only skim so far back into the blogs that I follow.  I can somewhat relate with the melodramatic words of Nirvana "i feel stupid and contagious, here we are now entertain us."

interview at high noon.



Tomorrow I have an interview for a very potential job. I'm trying not to become too emotionally invested in the option, but reality is, besides this I really have no more leads than craigslist can offer me  I also may or may not have bought a new pair of wool pants for the occasion.  Now if only my viral infested body would cooperate... nerves are bad enough without a runny nose and a phlegmy cough.

Tonight we (meaning my husband... who wouldn't let me near food preparation) made a yummy kale soup.  A combination of veggies, vitamin C, and tea is my defensive strategy. That and Sudafed.  




8 years a little late, but I'm finally concluding the second part of the sixth season of Sex and the City.  I know how the story ends, and I've indulged in the movies multiple times, but I can't help but feel a bit sad, as if I'm saying goodbye to old and dear, comfortable friends.  And it leaves me hoping, even longing for friends as close (albeit dependent) as the foursome in this chic and witty series.  Girlfriends to count on, to tell the most grotesque and graphic of secrets.  Friends who know what you need before you do. Perhaps this is unrealistic and I should set my sights on something more in-tune with reality than an acclaimed HBO comedy.  But I think what it reminds me of is the fact that we all want to be known.  

Or perhaps what makes it all the more alluring is the Chanel. The Dior.  The Louboutin's. The rationalizing of $500 shoes. 

Such a pretty pony.





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