I love croissants. I love chocolate croissants, I love almond croissants and I love chocolate-almond croissants. I love butter croissants, I love kouign amanns (which are made from the same laminated dough as croissants) and I love coffee and tea twice as much when it is paired with a good croissant. When the day is feeling long and I need a pick me up, one of my go-to treats is a fresh baked croissant from a local bakery. Something about those flaky, buttery layers just brings a smile to my face, my tummy, and yes- my heart.
Croissants might be one of my love languages (or maybe just one of my favorite gifts/acts of service to receive :)). When my friends go to Napa (Bouchon!) or SF (B. Patisserie!) or Marin (M.H. Bread and Butter!) and text if I want anything, I drop EVERYTHING to quickly text back as I try to remind myself that it’s probably rude to ask for a dozen croissants. Seriously. I’ll be like, “OOH BEN! JOYCE IS GOING TO BOUCHON TODAY-” and he knows that means I will be oblivious to the world around me for the next minute as I scurry to text back my request.
And when the yumminess is in my hands, I melt a little (a lot) and feel so so loved. THANKS GUYS. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. My suppliers <3. Sigh.
The original recipe with powdered sugar and almonds sprinkled on top.
Almost a year ago, my fellow croissant-loving friend Tiffany sent me a recipe to make almond croissants at home. I was a little skeptical of the recipe at first, but when I finally gave it a go a month ago, I was blown away! It was SO GOOD! WHY DID I WAIT SO LONG TO TRY IT?! I have since made them again and again, a dozen at a time, and found a delicious recipe that I know I will be looking up a lot in the future. So it definitely belongs here on my blog!
Since no one happened to get a clip of this particular moment a la Super Dads, I thought I’d illustrate it myself.
…and my work today is done. Time for macarons.
When we hear the garage door opening, it’s a flurry of activity. “PAPA’S HOME PAPA’S HOME PAPA’S HOME!!!” She drops everything and runs around like a chicken with its head cut off before she inevitably darts behind the kitchen counter and hides. I can feel excitement pulsing from her as she waits, holding her breath, reading to burst forth and surprise him with a hug.
He walks in, feigning confusion, “Hey, where is everybody? Oh, maybe they are all sleeping. I wondering where Mama is-”
“SUPWIZE!!!!!” she cries as she leaps out and bolts toward him with pounding little feet, “WELCOME HOME! I WAS HIDING, PAPA! I WAS HIDING THE WHOLE TIME!”
I can’t imagine a happier homecoming, and this is not an unusual scene at our home when Ben comes home. I love how she loves him, and I am over the moon for him as I see his face filled with warmth and love and delight in his child.
Everything started off similarly enough today. The garage opening, the open-mouthed excitement, the running around. But when he opened the door, she ran to him and I heard her cry out, “What fruit did you bring me today??”
I like that he knows which fork I like to eat dessert with.
I like that he knows how I like the blankets to be arranged when I nap.
I like that he urges me to shower earlier so I have time to let my hair air dry. Because he knows that’s a thing, and that sleeping with wet hair is annoying.
I don’t just like it. I love it. And I feel loved by it.
When we were dating in college, it was a delight to study my new boyfriend Ben and learn his likes and dislikes. When I found out he liked brownies with ice cream, I took the bus to Safeway and got ingredients and made it the first chance I could.
When I learned that he didn’t like corn, I decided I didn’t care much for it, either.
It was easy. It was fun. He brought me chocolate and I cooked him meat. It was bliss.
Our first year of marriage was a similar school of learning and joy, finding ways to delight one another and show love with our study of one another’s habits and preferences. Somehow, though, over the last decade, the novelty of studying my husband has become less thrilling. I figure we’ve been together for over ten years… I probably know him better than he knows himself, right?
In the beginning…
It all started at Alinna’s house. She inspires me to try new things a lot, like CSAs, hosting friends more frequently for dinners, baking bread, co-op preschools, and Dorie Greenspan. This visit was no exception. They had us over for dinner, and on the menu: grilled pizzas. By the time we left, I was determined to learn how to make artisan pizza at home, too.
When this family does food, they do food, and their pizza was no exception. Their sourdough pizza dough recipe came straight out of The Cheese Board Collective and I wouldn’t be surprised if they grew the kale in their own yard. I mean, they already have chickens back there.
Ben liked the pizza so much I decided I was gonna learn how to do it. Pizza nights were gonna be a thing in our house. I would sit back and drink some wine while the pizza baked, and we would have something DELICIOUS at the end of it. So I asked Alinna my 131 questions, studied as she built her pizzas, and tried to figure out how I was going to replicate this without a grill in the backyard.
Long story short, after much research and many rounds of improving my oven version, I am ready to share my Friday Night Pizza routine with you!
At first, I had big dreams for all the traditions we would keep each year with each new holiday, season, and event. Balloons for birthdays, gingerbread houses each Christmas, planting seeds in the spring, camping every summer, pumpkin patches in the autumn. I had lists of food to go with each season, imagining a feast to ring in each bloom, sweltering afternoon, falling leaf, and raindrop (aka winter in California).
But Groundhog Day would come and go, and no garden would be planted. We have yet to go camping as a family, and we only finally made it out to a pumpkin patch this past autumn. I felt like I was failing at traditions, and didn’t want to set anymore tradition-y goals lest I disappoint anyone (mostly myself) by not continuing them the following year.
Then one cool autumn afternoon, I decided to set my bar to very achievable, but still delicious and came up with this idea: We’d celebrate every new season with a beverage! Lemonade for summer, spiced apple cider in the autumn, hot cocoa in the winter, and… I’m still working on the spring drink. Any suggestions? I only have a month left!
“She has unlocked the secret language of babies.”
“Five words that all babies say, regardless of race and culture.”
Okay, I totally thought this was bogus the first time I heard about it. But I was also expecting a baby and reading everything I could to prepare for her arrival, so I went ahead and watched the 17 minute clip on Oprah with Priscilla Dunstan.
And then I made Ben watch it, because I was sold.
“A universal secret language that babies use to talk to us.”
Babies only have a few basic needs, right? Eat, sleep, poop, repeat. It can’t be that hard- just try the next one, right? Well, if you really believe that, you clearly have no new parent friends, because if taking care of babies were that easy, your new parent friends wouldn’t all be exhausted and frustrated all the time.
A few months ago we were talking with some soon-to-be-parents about the different types of baby cries, and my husband half-jokingly suggested they tape a cheat sheet to the wall by the baby’s crib. And maybe outside the door and on their phones… and I joked that I’d even write a post about it so they could find it on my blog if they needed.
And then I wrote this post so they could find it on my blog if they ever needed :).
BABY CRIES CHEAT SHEET:
“NEH” = HUNGRY
“OWH” = SLEEPY
“HEH” = DISCOMFORT (like burping)
“EAIR” = LOWER GAS
“EH” = BURP
A long time ago, I set an alert to tell me when the OK to Wake clock went down in price. Then we went ahead and bought one before any sales happened and haven’t looked back since. But for the last week, camelcamelcamel.com has been alerting me of the latest low price, and I keep wanting to share this exciting sale with someone… but who? And then I thought of someone who might appreciate this information: YOU!
So today I’m here to share about this, and some other sanity savers that I hear myself talking about a lot. There are a gazillion amazing products for kids out there, but here are some of my unsung heroes. Some I came across by chance, and some are recommended by loads of people. What they all have in common is that they are beneficial for my children while also making my days smoother and happier.
We were at Home Depot a couple weeks ago checking out their after-Christmas sale. My 3-year-old daughter sat in the cart quietly waiting while I studied the options- there were many. I mean, everyone’s going with LED’s these days, but did that mean we’d have that “cool” glow happening, because I was really looking more for a “warm” gingerbread house kind of look. And what about light clips? Did I have to get those too, and which kind would work for our hou-
Something slammed so loud and hard that we both jumped. It was a big warehouse, and the sound resonated loudly and I felt my heart skip a beat. After my brain took a few milliseconds to assure me there was no danger at hand, I looked at my daughter and saw it on her face: WHAT WAS THAT, MAMA?!?!
Suddenly, BANG!! The loud crash happened again! It didn’t help that I jumped again. I’ve always been easily startled. This only added to her anxiety. I saw panic in her eyes and in a flash, I knew what she was going to do. She was going to throw her arms out for me to hold her, begging, Mamaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa hold me hold me I’m scaaaaaared!
Before she could say anything, I suddenly heard myself cut in with a lighthearted smile, “Oh!” I giggled in a high pitched voice, “That was loud!” I said, throwing my hands in the air in exaggerated surprise.
She laughed, so I did it again and then I told her to try it. She did.
Guys, I don’t giggle. I’m just not a giggler. Anyone who knows me can attest to that.
But I do it for the 3-year-old. Anything for the 3-year-old.
“See, this is a corner,” I say slowly, poking my finger against the point of the puzzle piece. “There are only four corners in this puzzle, so there are only four places th-”
“Here?” she interrupts, trying to shove the piece in, “Here?” she continues, trying another spot haphazardly.
“Well, look at the colors-”
“Here?” she says, sticking it on a non-corner spot.
Ugh. Okay, new strategy.
“Well, look there’s also a border. This line right here,” I pull her finger along the bright blue line, “This is a border. So turn the piece so the lines connect on the outside.”
I know I’m losing her, even as I’m trying to make it tactile for her.