The end to a very good, if somewhat rainy, day is spelled p-a-n-c-a-k-e-s-a-n-d-b-a-c-o-n. Which Neil is in the kitchen making right now. For me. Because it wasn’t enough that I had my hair cut (thank the good god), lunch out with my mom, and ice cream for no good reason. Not enough by a longshot. The man knows that I haven’t slept more than two consecutive hours since Dash was born and require a little extra care and attention to keep me from losing my mind entirely.

Just a thought… do they make an infant Ambien formula? Is that Dr. Sears sanctioned?
‘Cuz I’d buy it.

But back to the food, we’ve been making these multi-grain pancakes for a few years now with little deviation. Occasionally, a Martha Stewart recipe tempts me enough to give it a go, but not even her recipes are as good as this one. You’re dying to know what’s in them aren’t you? Stick with me a little longer, gentle reader. I might start posting some recipes, but I haven’t decided on that yet. Besides, I’m keeping this one under wraps for a while. It’s that good.
Plus, organic bacon? Um, yum.

Time for me to slip away to my dream world for a few syrup-covered moments. One where babies sleep alllllll night.

Look out, NY! Here we come. Wah hoo.
I can’t believe that I haven’t been back to the city since I left in 2003. I’ve been upstate (that’s where we got married, after all) but just haven’t made it back to the city proper. I’ve missed it and I’ve really wanted to share my old neighborhood and drink beer from a styrofoam cup with Neil, but something has always come up to keep us from driving down there.
But it’s all official-like now. We’re coming in August, which gives me about a month to plan the trip. Where to stay (friends, that’s your cue to volunteer your fold-out couch), what to see….

For sure:
Take Neil to Brooklyn via the F train. Walk around Park Slope to see what’s new, buy ravioli at that little Italian deli on 7th (sooo good and creamy), expect around every corner we will run smack-dab into ex-boyfriends, shop and meander our way up towards the park and on to Farrell’s for some take-out beer to get us through the last push into my old neighborhood. Mission: relive the past and try not to be too sad about it. There’s a lot of memories there. Good and bad, but mostly good.

Hmm… well that just covers one corner of Brooklyn and I imagine we’ll spend a little time in the actual city too. Show him where I used to work? I have to take him to Jimmy’s Corner, that’s not even up for debate. A lot of time and money was spent here, back when it was still filled with smoke even! I wonder if this is why I could always pay my rent but never seemed to be able to save any money…

Where else? What else? Got any good ideas Internet?

I routinely find newspaper articles unintentionally hilarious. So hilarious that I can’t even read them to Neil for I am caught up with the tears in my eyes and the snorts of laughter.

When was the last time it happened, you ask? Why just the other day.

Ok, so this guy’s name is a tough one- I’ve known someone with a very similar last name so I know the teasing that’s inevitable. That didn’t stop me from laughing this time.
But read on for the contest he won.

Seriously? For real? How many really inappropriate video submissions do you suppose they got?

Buh-bye.

Oh yeah. The secret life of the Suburban Sattin family is beyond thrilling. Seriously. I should have started this blog back when I lived in Brooklyn and did moderately entertaining things. Because now, there’s this:

I’ve discovered a love of yard work, specifically mowing our postage stamp lawn with a reel mower. Aside from the blisters I got on both thumbs the first time I used it I now really love to mow the lawn. You’re welcome, Neil. One more yard task you don’t have to do. I love you, too.
But seriously, it takes about an hour to mow our lawn. Back and forth, back and forth, rinse and repeat. It’s the perfect form of meditation for me. The kind where I don’t have to sit around doing nothing, because anyone who knows me knows that is something I’m incapable of. So, meditation that enables me to get things done around the house? Perfect.

And then there was this.

Dear weed: I know you’re feeling pretty good about yourself. Ha ha, you say. I’ve won this round.
Well, you obviously don’t know me very well, weed. I don’t like to lose and I am notoriously cold-hearted. In fact, I was once granted the indian name Hurts Feelings. And rightly so. Let’s just say, weed, this is not over.

Anyway, this weekend was pretty full of activity for the Sattin clan. I mowed the lawn (what? sick of hearing about that? bah.), we went to Maple’s TWICE and almost three times but thank god we have some restraint. Seriously, that is some good ice cream.

Sunday saw us heading off to Massachusetts to visit Aunt Ethel, but not before a quick breakfast at the Good Egg Cafe which I have a hard time not calling the Pepperclub which is what it’s called when you go there for dinner. No matter the name, it’s always delish and we love everyone who works there. Not only do we get a good meal, but we get free babysitting by the waitresses! Score! Actually, we’ve also gotten a regular babysitter and a pet sitter from that place. Not on the menu, but every bit as welcome as my multi-grain pancake with blueberries.
I had one of those experiences while we were there that everyone who is approaching thirty (or who may have turned thirty in the past year but we don’t have to talk about that) has at one point or another. Two sort of dirty hipsters dragged themselves in and sat at the booth next to us. Neil knew them so our tables had an ongoing open conversation. Nothing makes you feel like you’re getting older like hearing about how these two were out all night at a club, then a party after, and still they had not gone to bed. I haven’t had a night like that since, um, see! I don’t even remember when. It’s kind of sad. And yet, here I am at 30 with an amazing husband and quite possibly the world’s cutest baby.

Not such a bad trade off at all.