It has been difficult to like living in New York this past month. I mean–it can be difficult to like living in New York under normal circumstances, but it has been particularly so in the context of this pandemic. We have no other options, of course: driving to my parents’ would have put them at risk; renting a house somewhere else seemed financially and logistically irresponsible given that we’d no sense for the duration of this situation; and we weren’t comfortable with the ethics of leaving the “epicenter” of the pandemic anyhow. But it has been tough. There have been strings of days where ambulances have careened down the street outside my window every other minute, en route to Mount Sinai. There have been heart-rending stories of how this virus has impacted loved ones and their loved ones. There have been desperate emails from doctors in our social network asking for spare PPE for their hospitals, and a particularly disheartening text from one dear doctor friend and former neighbor: “I’m just trying to survive.” On the self-pitying front, there have been limited trips to Central Park in weeks: we rarely leave our apartment unless to walk the dog or make an emergency food run. The Mayor insists exercise is essential to wellness but how on earth to balance with the narrowness of sidewalks and the lurking potential of contracting the virus from, say, the handrail in our lobby, at least during what seems to be the peak of this pandemic? There has been the startling, pit-forming realization that we are one of four units in our building that remains occupied. There have been moments of frustration when our groceries have not arrived, or we are unable to place a new order, and we are lingering over a few sad-looking strawberries and the last dregs of milk for mini. There have been very long days of entertaining two small children while running on fumes in under 2,000 square feet.
We have felt cooped up and desperate for sunshine and one afternoon I must have terrified my father when I went silent on the other end of the line before saying, through a wobbly voice: “This is hard.”
It is hard for everyone, everywhere. And it is very hard for some.
But I have been wondering why we live here right now.
And yet. New York always makes it up to you. More than that: she always makes it, period. She is tough. She hangs in there. Britain’s known for its stiff upper lip, but New York’s is nothing to shake a stick at. When you least expect it, she cheers you on through the text of a neighbor wishing you a Happy Easter! and inquiring after your children and you feel a new bloom of kinship with this city. And she still shows off in the spring, even when that spring can only be enjoyed from a window fourteen stories above a street on the Upper West Side, and reminds you, through the reverberating cheers that echo across her sixteen (?) avenues every night at 7 p.m., that she is sturdy, resilient, all-American grit and that she’s not going anywhere.
I miss seeing more of her than the ten or twelve windows in my apartment permit, but that day will come.
In the meantime, sending extra love to my fellow New Yorkers today–hang in there. We are, it seems, through the worst.
Post Scripts.
+Swings — a memory from Central Park in the not-so-distant past (though it feels like a different life, now).
+Have you stocked up on new loungewear? You deserve some.
By: Jen Shoop
Looking for light these days — lately, been inspired by a few lovely photos found on Pinterest. First: the above photo of the Kennedys. I used it as a sign to order this linen romper I’d been eyeing for micro forever (currently 25% off!). I added this gingham romper and coordinating hat (if you have a girl, this is precious, too!) and daydream of coordinating with him while wearing this. I also ordered him this preppy pullover to pair with white jeans.
Also deeply inspired by fresh produce — what a miracle! Among the many changes COVID19 has made in my life: a deep and abiding appreciation for fresh fruit and vegetables, which have been difficult to come by over the past few weeks, not so much because they aren’t available but because deliveries are increasingly challenging to sort out. (Mr. Magpie has gone to such extremes as attempting to legitimize the purchase of a bushel of artichokes for $54 from a restaurant supplier — ha!) Below, a few of our absolute favorite vegetable-forward cookbooks:
The above photo inspired me to re-think my bedside table–and my tray game. Such a clever way to introduce color/pattern and texture/depth to any vignette in your home — the sunny yellow scalloped tray above is such a fun surprise, and it draws out the yellow in that lovely pillowcase! A few other trays I love:
And if you need to upgrade your bedside table: I love this classic white style, especially with that genius pull-out tray for your nightly water (!) and this affordable steal (the scalloped detail is lovely).
Finally, inspired by the above photo of their royal highnesses Kate, William, and children, I am reminding myself to lean into the smallest and simplest of joys with my children. Building forts, lazy Sunday afternoon snuggles on the couch, infinity art projects, painfully slow-moving board games where rules are ignored and I suddenly find myself making weird, high-pitched voices to represent the characters on the board, hide and seek where certain participants don’t ever actually hide but simply cover their eyes with their hands…all treasures, really. Golden moments in the making. But don’t mistake me, friends: I, too, have tired of the messages that tell me to “savor this time at home with your children.” Let me be blunt: this is hard. It takes effort to elbow my way through the gloom and fear and exhaustion in order to recognize the sunny spots. This, from someone who is blessed in so many ways, including the fact that my work can be done late at night or in little bursts of productivity throughout the day and I am usually organized enough that I can go a stretch of days without sitting down at my computer if need be. I honestly cannot imagine how parents are getting through long days of child-rearing while shouldering more traditional, full-time jobs, with phone calls and deadlines and expectations from other people. Or parents with itty bitty babies and no sisters or mothers or babysitters to ease the burden! My God. I am so tired for you. Bless you. Take a deep breath. You can do this. But on the days where you find yourself lifted by God’s grace, breathing a little easier, maybe you, too, can find inspiration in the photo above.
In the afternoons, I put micro down for his second nap at 3 p.m. and then settle mini into the large striped armchair in her bedroom with her iPad for a cool hour of quiet. I am desperate to tidy, to clean, to put away, but I have learned in the past month that I am better to everyone — including myself — if I have absconded, selfishly, with my precious hour. Someone wrote, of parenting during this pandemic, that we would do well to remember the concept behind “In case of emergency, put on your own mask before assisting others.” That is to say that we must forgive ourselves if we turn on Frozen 2 for the umpteenth time in order to gather ourselves, or shower in isolation with Mariah Carey turned all the way up, or complete a yoga video, or read. In some irritating negotiation with mom guilt, I find that planning and supervising activities with mini in the mornings makes me feel better about giving her screen time in the afternoons in order to slip away with my hour. But the point is: many of you are being asked to do the impossible, and we must find ways to take care of ourselves lest we fray under the pressure.
And so, for the past week, during my quiet hour, I have been climbing into bed, closing my eyes, and listening to Tom Hanks narrate Ann Patchett’s The Dutch House in the bright light of the afternoon, windows open. It is, perhaps, the next best thing to a walk outside. It is restorative and escapist and there is something about Tom Hanks’ familiar and distinctive voice that reassures me.
A smart friend of mine described his narration of the book as “an obtuse male delivery of the obtuse male perspective on a history of a family.” I laughed at that. There is something blockish about the semi-rushed, uninflected way he speeds through segments of the book, but then I find his voice lingers and curls around some of the more poignant bits, like when describing the way young Maeve falls ill after her mother leaves or recounting the scene in which Danny sees Maeve in the school office after their father has passed, and the effect is heart-rending.
The imagery, the characters, the cinematic quality of the book: I am deeply in love and am dreading its end. The experience has been a godsend during these times where I find it difficult to focus on words on paper. (Though I have just started this chart-topping easy read and it is flying by.)
What other audiobooks do you recommend?
And what do you do during your quiet hour (if you can manage it)?
Post Scripts.
+The phrase “the quiet hour” reminds me of one of my favorite books from childhood: The Napping House, which I just ordered for mini. Who else remembers this? A few other books she is loving right now: Make Way for Ducklings, Caps for Sale, and this Peter Rabbit board book. I find her recreating the story of Peter Rabbit with her little toys — she is highly concerned with Mr. MacGregor.
+After noticing the moon still in the sky early one morning last week, mini has been very curious about space, so I’ve been serving up as many planet-related activities as I can find. She loves listening to this (irritating) planet song and we decorated print-outs of the planets and then taped them on the “house” Mr. Magpie created out of enormous boxes in her bedroom. (If you don’t have big boxes on hand, Amazon makes it easy with one of these adorable pre-fabbed houses.) I have to say the box house has been a huge hit — Mr. Magpie even created a tunnel entrance on one side of the house and micro LOVES crawling through it! And mini spends portions of every day coloring it, taping things to its sides, etc. So now we have her own solar system there. I also found her this dot marker activity book, this space sticker book, and this planet book.
+I am in love with Paravel’s new tote bag! I love it in either the domino black or paloma colorways.
+An elegant way to organize your linen closet or your changing table top or even your pantry (bulky things like bags of chips/pasta?). More organizing ideas here.
Do you remember my adorable Staud dress from earlier this year? I wore it shruggingly out of season in late January to celebrate Mr. Magpie’s birthday and it was a joy to wear. I’m here to say it is on sale in a different colorway here and available in a dreamy maxi-length variation here (seen above) and that either would make a charming addition to your summer wardrobe, even if that summer wardrobe will more likely be seen in 2021. I am further here to say that Saks is running an absolute INSANE sale on several Staud pieces — run, don’t walk:
Like all of you, I am inside and awash with the gamut of emotions this horrible situation elicits. I have taken deep comfort in the snippet of the meditation I shared here.
Today, digging into my steely determination to maintain perspective and optimism by sharing a roundup of items I am seriously eyeing (or have already purchased) for spring…
PLANTERS FOR THE ROYAL PALMS IN OUR DINING ROOM — DROOL OVER THESE BUT THEY DON’T QUITE FIT THE COLOR PALETTE; WILL LIKELY BUY THESE IN THE SPA OR TAUPE)
Below, 10 “It” dresses for spring/summer 2020 — pieces for special occasions like birthdays, weddings, or just celebrating your first few days out of isolation, whenever that day may come…
P.P.P.S. How are you doing? Some mood lifters here and organization ideas here, if you’re looking to distract yourself with a project.
By: Jen Shoop
My Latest Snags: Nicola Bathie Cameo Earrings.
If you’ve been following me for awhile, you know I am in love with the jewelry Nicola Bathie makes. I have several pairs and just added these stunning blue cameo earrings to my collection. Happy Easter to me!
They are insane! I could not decide on which pair I wanted for about a week — I literally would stare at multiple different tabs in my browser debating. I whittled it down to these blue ones and these green ones, but in the end, I wear a lot more white and blue than I do green, so blue it was.
Love supporting this female entrepreneur during this difficult and uncertain time.
+These activity trays seem at first glance so frivolous, but they’ve been a gamechanger for me. I like to set up two options for activities for mini and let her pick what she’d like. Sometimes it’s just crayons and some new print-out coloring pages; sometimes it’s waterbeads; etc. It gives her some sense of choice and me peace of mind that crayons are less likely to go rogue. I think it also maps to her Montessori education, where each activity has its own tray and designated spot on the shelving.
#Turbothot: In Praise of a Normal Day.
I wrote about this lovely poem last July — nearly two months into caring for my second baby — and man does this supplication ring true now. Re-sharing it here as we all long for the return normal days.
Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure that you are. let me learn from you, love you, bless you before we depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. let me hold you while I may, for it may not be always so. one day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself tart, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.
+This dress (which gets great reviews), in the olive green, for $11?! Just added to my next order. Would pair with either GG sneaks or Hermes Oran sandals for a no-fuss summer look.
Q: Looking for a baby girl bonnet that isn’t $75. Suggestions?
A: Etsy to the rescue! These are a dead ringer for the Beaufort Bonnet Company ones I assume you’re referencing, and you can add a monogram. If you want something a little less frou-frou, these are precious and this floral is sweet (mini owned this exact style but in a different colorway — a solid chambray).
A: This roundup of gifts for babies (oriented around Christmas) is a perfect jumping-off point. I love to give a sweet pull-along that the baby can grow into as they learn to walk for first birthdays — this Brio is a classic, especially accompanied by this classic book (in hardcover). But I have to be honest and say that my favorite first birthday gifts Emory received were chic clothes! The babies are still so young and are generally more excited about the wrapping paper anyway…! A few lovely pieces:
Q: What are you making for Easter dinner? It will be just the three of us for the first time.
A: We had planned to have lamb but cannot find it from any of our butchers right now. We are going to have to wing it and make the occasion special by getting dressed up, setting the table, and drinking the nicest wine we have (luckily, alcohol delivery is still fairly easy to come by). We have a shipment of fish and meat coming on Saturday — my guess is that we will have something decidedly non-Easter-like for the occasion from this delivery.
If ingredients are more plentiful in your parts, here is a menu from a past Easter that we loved.
Q: Feelings and advice when you just found you are pregnant!
A: Wow! Congratulations! Will be thinking of you — I hope you can breathe easy in the optimistic view that the current chaos will be well behind us by the time you are delivering your little one.
Re: how I felt. I want to first underscore that you are allowed to feel however you are feeling. Pregnancy and motherhood are such complicated nests of emotions and hormones and expectations and realities. Just know you don’t need to feel like anyone else does — you are entitled to feel exactly the way you feel, and how you feel is exactly right.
For me, with both Emory and Hill’s pregnancies, I was in a kind of haze-y daze for the first few weeks. I felt a lightening bolt in my stomach every time I’d think about the fact that I was pregnant — and that was often. I was anxious during every stage of pregnancy to get to the next one. Early on, I just wanted to have the bump! Middle way through, I just wanted to be closer to the end! At the end, I just wanted to have the baby! I was always hyper nervous about the health and wellbeing of both my baby and myself, and so I often agonized over the faintest of twinges.
Everyone will tell you “just relax, rest, and enjoy this time with your husband” and though this is well-intentioned, it is 100% unpracticeable (or it was for me). I was so anxious and eager to get to the finish line through both pregnancies and winced every time someone would urge me to “just relax” or “enjoy sleep while you have it!” — grr! Instead, I downloaded an app that would tell me the size / developmental milestones of the baby each week and found that interesting and exciting — plus, I enjoyed the ritual of reading the new week’s details at the “turn” of each week. I spent a lot of sleepless nights researching baby gear (my full registry here, plus a few things I discovered with my second that I wish I’d had for my first) and decorating the nursery. And I also made a list of things I needed to do to get ready for the baby that my husband and I shared — everything from setting her up with insurance to planning birth announcements. The list was helpful for an anticipator like myself, and it meant I nearly always had something to “work on” when I’d find myself spiraling with nerves. I also took up long, tedious things like doing puzzles, taking baths, and watching entire seasons of shows to help pass the time — ha!
To summarize, I was excited and nervous. I was not one of those women who feels at her best while pregnant.
My advice? (Take it or leave it!) Listen to your body, identify your coping mechanisms (this includes identifying which people can you really lean on and who need to tune out — I had a few friends who would make me incredibly anxious about giving birth and I had to take a polite step back from them), and trust that you are strong and you can do this. I always took comfort in thinking of how many other millions of women were doing and had done what I was doing, and I also told myself (with regards to delivering the baby): “Jen, you can do anything for 24 hours.”
And treat yourself! A few of my favorite pregnancy things here. In particular, I cannot encourage you to buy a set of Cosabella maternity pajamas more. Wearing them was my favorite part of the day, and I owned a few pairs I wore through the second and third trimesters and then for at least six weeks postpartum (great for nursing).
For something splurge-y, a De Buci baby bear personalized with baby’s name. I had one of these made for Hill and know I will treasure it forever.
Q: I’ve been looking for a black midi shirtdress with a full skirt and at least 3/4 sleeves. Any thoughts?
A: I think this might fit the bill perfectly. My other thought was DVF, doyenne of the shirtdress. She has a lovely one in crepe de chine but it’s pricey. Super elegant! If you can bear to go at knee/just above, this is perfect and well-priced.
Q: How has your everyday routine changed since COVID-19? Would love another day in the life post!
6:17 a.m. Thudding feet, then a door slams closed. Then our door swings open. More thudding feet. Breathing in my face. “Mama? I want bweck-fast.” Mr. Magpie and I have been alternating mornings with the children. Under normal circumstances, I get up most mornings with the children so he can sleep and get his day started — he has to be out the door by 8 and works long hours in the office. But right now we’re trading off and it’s honestly been the most delicious form of self-care now that our time to ourselves is whittled down to the two or three hours between their bedtime and ours. Two hours of alone time per day does not a satisfied introvert make.
6:19 a.m. I escort mini back to her room, where we play for a little bit. I read an article somewhere recently about “teaching your children to play by themselves.” We’ve been struggling with this a bit with mini — in part, I think, a reaction to all the changes going on in her daily life. She’s been a bit clingier than usual. But one suggestion from the article was that you set your timer for twenty minutes, put your phone away, sit down on the floor, and say: “I am yours for 20 minutes, and then I need to [go make breakfast]. What do you want to do?” Today, it’s “playing chef” with play food and her matching Disney game.
6:37 a.m. I hear micro over the monitor. It’s always a crap chute in terms of which child will wake us up first. Today, micro’s slept in. Mini loves to help “get baby brother up” by opening his door, turning off his sound machine, and switching on the light. I make him a bottle and mini a cup of milk, change his diaper, and get them situated. Micro will usually take his bottle while laying in his crib and then play with toys if mini is in his nursery with him, which is conveniently off the kitchen.
6:39 a.m. I make breakfast — this morning, muffins mini and I made a few days ago, some mandarin oranges, and Noosa yogurt — and empty the dishwasher. I used to listen to the news while doing this, but I find I can’t bear it these days and instead rely on CNN news alerts on my phone / whatever Mr. Magpie shares with me over the course of the day. I pop in to check on the children every few minutes, distributing new toys to micro and somehow redirecting mini’s incessant “but momma play with me” pleas.
6:55 a.m. I carry a tray of breakfast dishes and mini’s silicon placemat into the living room and set out mini’s breakfast. We let her watch one episode while she has breakfast — right now, she’s deep into vintage Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. I get her situated and then put micro in his “office.” I know he will not last long in the Office. He is so wildly mobile these days, and I cherish this period when he will still happily stay in there for stretches of 10 or 15 minutes. I use this time to make mini’s bed and tidy her room, check my email, and participate in the daily digital prayer circle my mom, sister, and I have started.
7:11 a.m. Micro has had it with The Office. I transfer him to his Ingenuity seat and feed him breakfast.
7:22 a.m. Mr. Magpie emerges from the bedroom. We chat; he eats breakfast; he makes coffee.
7:30 a.m. I clear the dishes, wipe down the table and booster seat, put away mini’s little bench, etc. We move to mini’s room for some free play.
8:25 a.m. I quickly run to micro’s nursery to change him for the day — a Kissy Kissy onesie and Rylee + Cru overalls. It is so, so hard to get him dressed at this age. I am wrangling him for a solid seven minutes and he’s screaming.
8:32 a.m. I sprint back to mini’s bedroom to set up the laptop so she can participate in the morning session for her school. Micro seems happy playing (precariously) with mini’s broom set, and I keep one eye on him as he nearly impales himself multiple times while singing the morning song to engage mini in the computer session.
9 a.m. After multiple unceremonious let’s-slam-the-laptop-closed incidents, the session is done and I have set up two activities in two different trays: one is filled with her necklace kit and the other is a few printed dot activities to complete with her dot markers. I check Instacart to see if there are any delivery windows. Nope.
9:05 a.m. I log in for a lesson from mini’s teacher — she’s been hosting caregiver sessions to teach us how to instruct our children in different Montessori-approved activities. Today’s is about helping them learn shapes and develop “lightness of touch” by tracing the shapes. I have micro back in The Office and then on my lap for most of this, while mini floats in and out of screen showing her handiwork to her teacher.
9:20 a.m. “I want a snack!” “Mama, can you do this for me!” “Mama, I need to use the toilet!” “Mama, play with me!” You get the drift…it’s a long session of free play, small activities, thuds, raisins, etc.
10 a.m. I put Hill down for his morning nap. Again check Instacart. Nada.
10:05 a.m. Time for mini’s main activity of the day. Today, we complete the activity her teacher shared with us by printing out shapes, cutting them, tracing them onto cardboard, and tracing those shapes onto paper. I have to admit I did not do a good job scaffolding this activity, as she seems fairly bored. She does enjoy scribbling all over all the pages and pieces of cardboard. I shift tacks and set her up with washable paint and paper in her bathroom, and she happily paints for a long while. (A roundup of more activities for toddlers here.)
11:20 a.m. Micro is up. We transfer playtime to his nursery. I check Instacart — nope, still no delivery windows.
11:40 a.m. I make lunch — we’ve been doing a lot of PB&J or cinnamon raisin bread with cream cheese on it. I serve it with berries and snap peas for the children and then reheat yesterday’s Peruvian chicken delivery with rice and beans for myself.
12:02 p.m. Mr. Magpie breaks to eat lunch with us and I relish the companionship. We all sit around the dining room table, breaking in and out of conversation and sing-song, and sporadically texting with two of my sisters.
12:34 p.m. Lunch abruptly ends with micro shrieking to be let out from his high chair, mini mashing raspberry into the carpet, and Mr. Magpie running off for a call. I transfer micro into his crib to play with some spatulas (the world’s best baby toy), set mini up with a sticker book, and clean the kitchen, mentally mapping out dinner — tonight, it’s going to be fish sticks, rice, and peas for the children. Mr. Magpie is thawing some corned beef he made himself for St. Pats for us — it’s been frozen in the most delicious broth with cabbage, carrots, and potatoes, so it’s sort a delightfully easy one-pot dinner for us with no effort thanks to his earlier elbow grease.
12:45 p.m. Normally, we return to mini’s room to play, but today I suggest baking chocolate chip cookies. Mini’s all in before the word “chocolate” can even leave my lips. I install micro in the booster seat on the floor of the kitchen and off we go.
1 p.m. Mini has licked the flour keeper’s lid, dragged her fingers through raw egg, rubbed dough in her hair, and eaten about forty chocolate chips. I am smiling awkwardly to mask my distaste for the entire scenario. I have got to learn to let go. Some days I am more relaxed than others…
1:05 p.m. It’s a multiple-activity kind of day. Thankfully, I’d frozen her sea animals (description of activity here) into an ice cube the night before, so I set her up with this on the kitchen floor. She’s now done this activity at least three times in the past month, but has not shown any signs of boredom with it. She’s become more dextrous with the dropper and more patient with the thawing of the cube, and this brings me a small measure of pride. Today, she makes my heart swell when I ask her: “And now why are you adding salt to the ice cube?” and she says: “Salt makes ice into water.” Science! Facts! Yes!
1:15 p.m. Micro has been fussing to get out of his seat for awhile as I’ve rapidly cleaned the kitchen and placed the second batch of cookies in the oven. I retrieve him and let him crawl freely for a spell, walking behind him to prevent stray objects from entering his mouth.
1:30 p.m. Mr. Magpie taps in and I retreat to the bedroom to take a deep, cleansing breath before diving into writing.
4:20 p.m. I emerge to help with the most trying portion of the day. Micro is now up from his second nap, and we have time to kill until dinner and bedtime. Mini has about an hour of iPad time from around 3-4 or sometimes 4:30 and she is not pleased when you pry it out of her hands. I distract her with her Frozen colorforms. The next hour is a blur of moving parts, fetching snacks, playing on the floor.
5:00 p.m. Happy hour has arrived. Mr. Magpie makes himself an artisan cocktail and I pour myself a glass of wine. I put out some cheez-its in a bowl, which mini promptly avails herself of. I start the rice cooker, put the fish sticks in the oven, and start a pot of water for the peas.
5:25 p.m. Both children are seated at the table, eating/complaining/screaming/laughing. Mini is very into singing “Down by the bay” these days and will laugh hysterically coming up with her own variations: “Have you ever seen a goose eating a pumpkin?” Etc. We play this with her for a long while, too, and then FaceTime two aunts.
6:03 p.m. We are only doing baths every other night (unless needed) during COVID19 because they aren’t really going outside or getting into much trouble anyway. It’s one less task to worry about, too. So tonight we all go into mini’s bedroom to play after dinner.
6:41 p.m. I’ve made it. I put micro down to sleep while Landon handles mini. She has always been very good about bedtime, once we’re over the hurdle of convincing her to get into her pajamas. Still, now that she’s in a big girl bed, she routinely gets out of bed two times after she’s been put down — once to ask for “one more hug” and once to go to the bathroom. It’s fine now that we’ve all accepted this is the process. After that second visit, she’s lights out.
7:00 p.m. I cheer on the essential workers out my window, along with the rest of Manhattan. This makes me teary-eyed nearly every night.
7:02 p.m. I call my mom. I used to call her during the day but things are usually too busy now.
7:15 p.m. Mr. Magpie returns from walking the dog. He’s been doing 100% of dog walks lately. I jump in the shower while he finishes heating/prepping dinner.
7:45 p.m. I pour another glass of wine and sit down to dinner. Tonight, we decided to watch the new Jumanji movie, in search of some levity. It’s horrible. I spend a lot of the movie texting two girlfriends and my sisters.
9:15 p.m. I clear the dishes and clean the kitchen, then make myself a cup of peppermint tea before retreating to my bedroom. I read and scroll through my phone for about thirty minutes before washing my face and going to bed.
We compiled all Magpie recipes into beautiful cards for your kitchen! Get the recipe card collection in your inbox here.
Shucking a blue crab takes time and two hands. You sit there, picking out the little morsels of sweet lump crab between bits of shell and casing and time evaporates. Your fingers are caked in Old Bay — they’ll smell for a good day — and so there’s no chance you’ll reach for your phone to check something or idle over instagram. Instead, conversation ebbs and flows. A cicada’s buzz crescendoes, then abruptly disappears. Mosquitos nip at the ankles and elbows and beads of condensation drip down the side of your beer. It is hot and humid and the air swells thick around you — but you don’t much mind: you’ve grown up in this sticky-thick heat and it feels like home. Your husband and father-in-law are such die-hard fans of the Washington Nationals that they play the games over a small, dated radio with long rabbit ear antenna wedged into a boxwood bush right by the outdoor table around which you are all sprawled, some pausing from the feast to lean back and make a half-formed comment about the neighbors’ new addition, others reaching for a fresh crab. And so the crack of a ball hitting a bat, the muted roar of the crowd, the torpid song of cicadas, the rise and fall of conversation become the soundtrack to summer evenings spent around blue crabs in the mid-Atlantic. Your in-laws are such purists in the art of the blue crab that they refuse to serve anything alongside them — no potatoes, no bread, no hush puppies, no nothing. Just a bushel or two of blue crabs, the bigger and the later in the season the better, and little cups of malt vinegar and excess Old Bay to further dress the already deeply-seasoned steamed crabs. (“No self-respecting Virginian puts drawn butter on a blue crab,” I learned from them. Lobster, yes. King crab, yes. Blue crab, no.) You don’t use mallets — that’s for tourists. You use the dull edge of a knife to help with some aspects of separating and cleaning the shell, and crackers for the claws, but mainly it’s finger-work, and it’s learned and tedious and — in the way of all handiwork — vaguely therapeutic.
I am missing a blue crab dinner right now. I am missing all pastimes that happen out of doors and most especially with family. And man what I’d give for a freshly-steamed blue crab.
In absentia, a damn good substitute: a recipe from my mother-in-law that we’ve always called “BBQ shrimp,” but that is nearer in ethos to an indoor crab boil. We can’t be purists about this, though: you’ll need lots of crusty bread to soak up the pan juice. Aside from the bread, this can principally be made with items in your pantry, some bacon, and a big bag of frozen shrimp (all stuff that will keep well in the current situation — bacon freezes beautifully, too). It’s best eaten right out of the baking dish, possibly seated on the floor around a coffee table, with a couple cold beers and your significant other.
BBQ Shrimp
Preheat oven to 375. Fry three slices chopped bacon. Add two sticks butter, 2 tablespoons dijon mustard, 1.5 teaspoons chili powder, ¼ teaspoon dried basil, ¼ teaspoon dried thyme, 1 teaspoons pepper, ½ teaspoon dried oregano, 2 cloves crushed garlic, 2 tablespoons Old Bay, and ½ teaspoon Tabasco.
Place 1.5 pounds of shell-on shrimp in baking dish. Coat with sauce and bake 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Serve with crusty bread and paper towels.
P.S. Old Bay seasoning is a pantry staple for those of us from the mid-Atlantic, but you can order it on Amazon if you don’t have it on hand. It’s essential to the dish. It’s also great on roasted potatoes/fries and lots of fish/chicken dishes. I used to sneak it into everything, but I particularly remember spiking my homemade chex mix with it, much to the delight of my fellow Washingtonian friends.
+One thing this pandemic has taught us: resourcefulness in the kitchen and how to be even more organized around meal-planning. Food has been a bit challenging to come by in Manhattan. We are trying desperately not to leave our apartment but food delivery services are overburdened, and we’re lucky to get a delivery once every seven to ten days at the moment. I’m reminded of my former tremendous, gluttonous privilege in being able to stop by the grocery any time of day to pick up last minute ingredients or to idle over the produce section. And I consider us fairly well-practiced at planning ahead! This is how it happens, indeed…
+Mr. Magpie’s two quarantine splurges have been a new set of fancy speakers for our living room TV from Kef (he’s kind of an audio geek, and these are crazy fancy) and a Cuckoo rice cooker. I love him so much for deriving so much joy from these purchases — they really give you a window into his personality, don’t they?
+Recent Amazon order: Bambas peanut puffs (both my children love these), a Frozen doll for mini (not slated to arrive until the end of the month and not sure when I’ll give this to her but she loves her Elsa doll so much that this will be just the best, greatest windfall of her life the day I decide she needs a special treat…which I’m estimating will be around the end of the month, when we will have been quarantined for over six weeks), left-handed children’s scissors for mini, Muji facial cotton (I’m normally a die-hard fan of Shiseido’s stuff, but had to try this per the rec of a reader!), and a second mini-cutting board, which sounds crazy but Mr. Magpie and I are nearly always competing for its use, as he’s nearly always prepping a cocktail and in need of a small cutting board for citrus and I’m nearly always prepping the children’s dinners, and need to dice things into small pieces.
+A Staub cocotte is a must-have in our kitchen, used at least once a week I want to say? Maybe more often. Currently on insane sale for $100, down from $400+.
+While we’re looking at SLT, also in love with these melamine trays and bowls (great for toddler snacks) for summer.
+The cutest nursing pillow covers — I got several from here for micro and mini. Love this and this in particular. I’m feeling wistful about this as just yesterday I was in Hill’s nursery and I realized I still have his Boppy in there and it should be tossed, because we haven’t used it for months. For awhile, I liked to feed him his bottles nestled in there, but no more. I also cannot bear to get rid of his wubbanubs though he hasn’t used those since he was maybe three months. Oh, I am a basket case about him getting older…
Hanging in there? Nearly a month in, my magpie friends. We got this. Let’s get through this week, apparently meant to be one of the worst, and take a deep breath.
In the meantime, the words I repeated to myself while undergoing the c-section that brought Hill into this world nearly a year ago feel just as important and powerful now as they did then. Focus on me, not on the storm.
And also in the meantime: distraction. I was laying in bed trying to fall asleep the other night and a little poetry lint drifted my way out of the ether: the first line of a French poem I was tasked with mastering my second year of high school, Ronsard’s “Allons voir si la rose.” I could not believe myself as I recited line after line perfectly, twenty years later. (Twenty years! It’s been twenty years since I was a little foal in high school!) This should not be taken as a humble brag about my mental dexterity but rather proof of my extreme shyness as a young girl, as we were all required to recite the poem aloud to the rest of the class, and I was horrified at not only having to speak something from memory in front of the rest of my class but to do it in French, which, though I practiced in private with exaggerated and accented flourish, I felt I had to perform badly in the presence of classmates. (For reasons unclear to me now, it was uncool to be seen trying to speak with a proper accent, except for a classmate named Sophie whose mother, I believe, spoke native French to her.) At any rate, I worked on memorizing that poem so vigorously and under such duress that I don’t believe I’ll ever forget it — such was the extent of my stage fright. It’s burned in my brain along with the smell of my grandmother’s perfume (Quelques Fleurs — if you know, you know) and the thwirly sound my mother’s desk drawer made as she’d draw it out and in, taking prodigious notes in her filled planner, details stuck in my memory as in resin for the rest of my life. May I suggest a similar nighttime activity if you share my predisposition for bouts of insomnia? Draw up an old poem or song and think through all the lyrics you can, in agonizing detail. I assure you there is nothing more transportive than returning to a moment of tremendous stage fright from your youth and somehow piecing together the lines of a poem so ancient as to seem virtually illegible:
Mignonne, allons voir si la rose
qui ce matin avait declose
sa robe de pourpre au soleil…
This kind of forced memory-digging unleashes for me an imaginative prehensility that sends me drifting off to sleep…
And if that doesn’t work, maybe some of these will.
Or, retail therapy! Presenting quelques jolies for you today:
+I love the floral pattern on this affordable blouse ($36 with code!) so much. I’d wear with white jeans.
+Or, I’d wear it under my go-to white joveralls, very similar to these.
+I have always absolutely adored Matouk’s Charlotte bedding set, and it is currently 30% off. Would be so elegant in a guest room.
+Precious denim shortalls for a Tom Sawyer summer look. (Style with nothing else but sandy feet and wind-blown hair.)
+Update: these trays are a God-send for those of you attempting to entertain little ones. I like them for my own sanity (keeping loose markers and stray play dough bits corraled in one space) and have also found that setting up two trays with two different potential activities — say, necklace-making in one and play-dough in the other, or printed-out coloring pages with crayons in one and waterbeads in the other — is very exciting to Emory and gives her the impression of choice and freedom. (A round up of activities for little ones here!)
In graduate school, I passed most of my mornings seated at a little white desk in the garden apartment of a classic red brick row house on R Street in Georgetown, reading or writing or staring idly out the squat rectangular windows that let in light from the small square of backyard just outside them, fumbling with words while making my way through a bowl of Rainier cherries or a tart Pink Lady apple, fruit being my favorite mid-morning snack. My desk was by a little windowed door that led to a short flight of steps up to the patio area owned by the old French woman who lived upstairs. She was frail and hard of hearing but with a warm smile and I would on occasion, when the weather was too beautiful to bear, venture out the door and steal a couple of hours sitting in a little shaft of sunlight on the steps as close to my door as possible, moving every twenty minutes or so to follow the sun. A moveable feast. One morning, mid-trespass, I saw her looking out one of the windows on the second floor, a broad face with glassy eyes looking past dark, brocaded drapery. I jumped up and made to look as though I was clearing my belongings — the small striped beach towel I’d purchased in Nice, the tube of sunscreen, whatever overly-thick and overly-dense book I was reading at the time. She held up her hand in a kind of papal wave, absolving me, and disappeared.
“Thank you,” I shouted. “No — merci.” As I issued the correction, I winced at the fact that I’d not yet ventured upstairs to visit with her, especially since I spoke fairly fluent French and anticipated this might please her. But I was 24 and selfish and unsure of myself. The amount of energy and self-assurance it might have taken to initiate such an excursion felt beyond my grasp, though I could hear my mother tsk-ing in my ear. I turned my cheek. It was easier to do nothing. I returned to my perch, leaning my face back into the warmth of the sun. There is a feeling when you are out of doors, bathing in sunlight, drinking the fresh air, attending to the march of ants or the song of birds or the idle drip-drop of water from the outdoor hose spigot, of expansiveness — of being filled and full. Even at 24, when I knew close to nothing about anything, I saw the near-immediate transformation of the atrophying words on paper issued from my indoor desk once outside: blooming fuller, taking on new meaning, shed of the stale turns of phrases I usually leaned on. I was thinking a lot about Romantic poets at the time thanks to a seminar led by a drill sergeant-type professor, and I recall a particularly fecund afternoon writing about a Coleridge poem on those steps, though even the fresh air and chirping birds around me could not instill a love of the poetry.
Upstairs, Madame grew increasingly frail during my tenancy. For a time, I would occasionally see her brought outside to her courtyard by her caregiver, on a brief tour of the terra cotta pots that lined its perimeter. Those excursions grew fewer and further between and, encouraged by her gracious wave that one morning, I increasingly availed myself of her absence by making bolder and bolder use of the steps, and then a slight square of red brick patio, and finally one morning laid my entire towel out to sunbathe. I could not focus on my reading that morning, though: I continued to glance up at the windows, expecting her face in one of them with a look of disapproval. Or perhaps she might dispatch her caregiver to shoo me away. Or —
Finally, I stood and rolled up my towel and sat on the steps, feeling more comfortable with the modesty it entailed.
I never did ask for her permission for the use of the backyard, and because of her kind smile and because I am older now and understand that sometimes watching others enjoy what we cannot can be fulfilling, I presume that she would have generously invited me to use it as I pleased had I asked, and that my uneasiness was likely all for nought.
Nor did I apologize for my halfway trespass, or thank her for the acknowledging wave she’d issued in my direction that one morning.
Instead, I lived there in indecision, drinking in the sunlight hungrily, furtively, with likely undue guilt.
I have been thinking a lot about this dynamic as I sit here indoors, indefinitely, looking out the window with envy. I still write at the same little white desk from my graduate school years, now repositioned under a very broad set of windows that look out across a street in the upper ’80s through which I can see the slenderest wisp of hope: a flowering tree wedged between tall red brick buildings from whose windows, every night at 7 pm, tough Manhattanites cheer and whistle and bang pots to recognize the tremendous heroism of our essential workers and especially our frontline medical staff during this horrific pandemic. I think about the fact that I was not particularly neighborly as a 24 year old, and am ashamed that I borrowed from Madame without returning the favor with a visit. And I think about the fact that she was increasingly confined to her house, and that she must have been lonely and hungry for not only companionship but sunshine. And I think about — even when not under circumstances of deprivation — how delicious that sunshine felt, how thoughts came alive in it, how full I felt in its embrace. And I regret not spending more time outside earlier this year, even in the cold and gray early March, almost as much as I regret not visiting her.
But we learn from our mistakes. And so I have been reaching out to my own neighbors — physical and otherwise — in the best and safest ways I know how, in her memory, in a gesture somewhere between atonement and common decency. And I intend to spend the entirety of July or August — or whenever we are set free — out of doors, also in her memory and in the memory of the many New Yorkers — my neighbors here in this resilient city — who have passed on and will not be able to see Central Park in mid-May bloom or languid August heat or russet October chill or snow-blanketed December repose.
+Mi Golondrina is running a limited-time sale — 30% off sitewide. Trust me when I say they never put their merchandise on sale and I, for one, will be supporting this lovely woman-owned small business during this difficult financial time. Seriously considering this but there are so many beautiful options. A great idea to order one of these for your mother in advance of mother’s day (not too far away now)! I gave one to my mother a couple of years ago for the occasion and she loves hers.
+Don’t ask me why but I find something very appealing about this traditional-looking laundry basket. Maybe because I’m desperate for fresh air, I am fantasizing about clipping clothes to a laundry line outside with it.
+Adore this sweet smocked dress for a little one in all its colorways, but especially that cheery orange print!
+Recently ordered this for micro and this for mini. By the same label (one of my all-time favorites!!): this is the updated version of mini’s birthday dress!
+In that vein, I am so, so obsessed with this upholstered headboard. I wish I had a reason to buy it — ugh! It would be too perfect for a little girl’s room. If only I had a basement or attic to stow it in, or a guest room to outfit…I would so love to build mini’s “big girl” room around this!
+This is perfection. (More amazing swimsuits at all pricepoints here — in case you have a backyard to sunbathe in!)
RECLINER PAJAMAS (IF YOU CLICK THIS LINK, YOU WILL GET $20 OFF YOUR FIRST ORDER…I JUST ORDERED A PAIR OF THEIR SLEEP PANTS AND AM EAGERLY AWAITING THE RESTOCK OF JAMS IN MY SIZE!)
