Rhubarb Pie

A stucco Arts & Crafts house built in 1926.

It's not for everyone, but rhubarb pie is the favorite of a select group of adamant pie lovers. It's also the code name of my new house project, chosen because any house I was going to move into would feel warm and homemade, and be suited for not just anyone. My brother coached me on the project and just giving it a name that resonated for me was a huge help in keeping my excitement going and my motivations present while confronting the fear of uprooting into the unknown. And the paperwork, don't forget the paperwork!

My brother, who gets paid large amounts of money to coach Fortune 500 executives, will always tell you, you have to know the future -- what you want -- and leave figuring out "how to" for later. We created an aggressive date of July 1st when we'd be in our new house. And we came pretty damn close. Our house was on the market on April 21st, we closed on our new place on July 11th, and were sleeping there a day later. The house we are selling is currently under contract and *fingers crossed* will be sold before September is out!

And it's awesome! There is still a lot to do, but Mr. SevPrez and I both feel like we found our dream home. We each got what we wanted. I got a historic home with architectural detail and good bones in a nice neighborhood. He got a huge yard (it's a triple lot -- so much to landscape and room for a big garden) and a town that he feels is keeping it real. 

I was really nervous about moving the Little One. Every time I brought it up she would say "NO! We are NOT moving to a new house!" Seriously, for weeks I tried. My mom (the child whisperer) recommended we find a library book about moving, then upped the ante and said she was going to write a book about us, with pictures and everything. Only my mother.

I gave it one more try, before we started packing boxes on the 4th of July, and told her that her birthday party would be at the big new house. And don't you know it, she changed her tune! I gave her a box to decorate and she became part of the process. My mom delivered the book a few days later and she was filled with authentic excitement and a better understanding of what was about to happen.

She had a brief moment of yearning for the old house before bed on our first night, but when she woke up on Sunday morning, we heard her step into the hallway and say to no one in particular, "I love my new house!" 

And the project was complete.

On Spirea

I fell in love with spirea as a young kid. My neighbor had a bush on the side of her house that faced ours and I spent a lot of time alone running around the yard, looking at stuff, concocting teleplays in my head and taking special notice of anything remotely exceptional. I loved its unassuming profile, just a run-of-the-mill green bush most of the year, but for a month in the spring, it took on the most magical, lacy, bright pink blooms. Mrs. Havisham in magenta. 

At some point that bush either died off or was removed, along with a lilac and a bridal wreath on the border of our properties. The old woman who lived in the house passed away. 

I always held a candle for that ethereal pink plant. It was imprinted on my memory like a lost stuffed animal, the smell of my Grammy's back pantry, a favorite cartoon long off the air. It was decades before I ever saw one again, fleeting at first, then they started popping up. When I dropped my water bill payment off at the municipal building, then shopping at the supermarket. I learned their name: spirea. I told my husband that we needed these in our newly landscaped lawn. An absolute must. Once we found them at the nursery he loved them too.  

Now they are everywhere, if you know what to look for. But I took special pride when both our mothers asked to cut a small bouquet from our blooming bushes before they left Fathers Day brunch at our house. They had never noticed, or never heard of spirea, my long lost friend. 

Summer Day of Fun 2014

Adventure attire: check. 

Elberon > Belmar: choo choo!

Kleins to watch the boats go by. 

Strollos for an ice cream cone with sprinkles!

And back again. 

MDW

Happy Memorial Day from the Jersey Shore. We're not quite at the beach yet but it feels like we'll get there soon.

Brought my first mixed berry pie (blueberry/blackberry/strawberry) to Lobsterfest. Stole the pie crust star topper from Martha Stewart. It's a crowd pleaser and you'll be seeing it again on the 4th of July, no doubt.

Speaking of tarts (badum ching) I finally started reading Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch. It's extremely long but after 150 pages I can say that so far it is living up to the hype.

I'm currently blogging from under the umbrella on my deck while Lil SP naps on the couch inside. She's all tuckered out from a visit to the Mount Mitchell Scenic Overlook and lunch in Atlantic Highlands. It's a perfect day and I can't wait to read some more of my book before heading to my mom's for lobster rolls. 

This is what I thought motherhood was going to be like before it happened to me - easy breezy afternoons spent satisfying my spiritual and intellectual needs, waiting for my angelic baby to wake up and coo. It may be slightly different in actuality.

Oh, and if you're a Masterpiece Mystery person like myself, Mrs. Fisher's Mysteries is the new hot property on Netflix. 

Enjoy!

Growing Up

Time is a vortex that presents fleeting moments of clarity. All of the sudden my daughter three feet tall, going tinkle on the potty, and taking showers all by herself. It seems like it happened all in a week. We were getting nowhere and then BAM! She grew so much in a moment.

Then I trimmed her hair ever so slightly one day to reduce the tangles. Then I cut her bangs. A watershed moment. She now looks so much like me at that age. She lost her baby face. She's a kid. For all intents and purposes, she might as well be three. Six? Twelve? It's crazy.

Another thing. We are house shopping, and trying to have an open mind, so we've looked at a lot of properties in a lot of towns. Some houses I refer to as "grown up houses," not for me. Someone could have a nice life here, but not me. A perfectly perfect house, with all the bedrooms, closets, appliances, and bathrooms a sensible person would need. But I'd be living someone else's life.

We found a dream home for a great price. An estate home. After a few false starts, we went under contract and into attorney review. Then, at 4:45pm on a Friday, their lawyer sent a letter via email to my realtor canceling contract. I was so looking forward to celebrating Mother's Day triumphantly with our new house all queued up, that it's a bit of a let down. But that's the way the real estate cookie crumbles. We'll live to fight another day on Monday and see what the lawyers have to say.

More updates as we get them. Cross your fingers.