A SHIFT IN DIRECTION

Well you're in your little room

and you're working on something good,

but if it's really good,

you're gonna need a bigger room.

And once you're in the bigger room

you might not know what to do,

you might have to think of

how you got started

sittin' in your little room.

la da da da da la da da da

-The White Stripes

Any time I have writer's block, or am seeking direction for a story or project, this song plays in my head.  There seem to be so many changes afoot in our lives right now, from jobs and schedules to future plans and dreams, that I thought, why not throw one more in? Why not switch up my blog?

As you've probably noticed, I've re-designed the layout of the blog; I've streamlined the navigation, changed the aesthetics a bit, and done away with my sponsors.  Months and months ago, I made the big decision to monetize Petite Biet and accept paid sponsors.  It was an exciting time of growth.  I connected with many amazing small shops and bloggers, partnered with corporate sponsors, and connected to a community of writers and advertisers.  It felt successful, rewarding, and good.. until, slowly, it didn't anymore.  Slowly I found myself obsessing more and more over page-views, post regularity, and comments.  I began to, rightfully, treat blogging as more of a business than a free place of expression.  Slowly I began to enjoy blogging less and less.  I felt a shift happening, which perhaps happens to anyone whose work is observed and sold, wherein my writing, which I still loved, began to be more for others than it was for myself.  I missed the carefree attitude and honesty of my early blogging days, before money and page-views were tied into everything, and I wanted to get back.

And so, I decided to demonetize the whole thing.  There are countless shops and brands out there that I adore, but Petite Biet won't be the place where they're showcased or reviewed, at least not deliberately.  After much thought, I've concluded that I really don't want my blog to be in the business of pushing products or page-views, nor in the market of selling advertising, nor in any "market" at all, actually.  This blog remains a place of joy, honesty, and creativity, and the only direction I aim to move in is towards the exploration of those things.  Petite Biet began as a blog on new motherhood and home birth.  It evolved into a documentation of time and family which I'm really connected to and proud of.  I now feel that it's time to let it grow even more.  I've been thinking about experimenting with subject matter, photography, and post styles in the months to come.

One thing I've always loved about blogging is that there are no rules.  You can post once a day, week, or month, and it's okay.  You can create a post with images and no words, and it's okay.  Or you can write a novel, and that's okay too.  And there will always be people who like what you do, and those who don't, and it's. all. okay.  A blog can be whatever you want it to be.   So in an effort to align this blog more with what's in my heart, more with my creative vision, and less with the "business" of blogging, I'm working on some soulful changes.  With all of my recent growth, both personally and as a family, I feel that an honest shift in direction is only natural.

So, thank you to everyone who's sponsored Petite Biet over the years.  Your support helped me to connect to an amazing community of bloggers and mothers around the world.  And thank you to everyone who reads here... or just comes for the pictures :) I hope you'll continue to enjoy this space.

xx
Belle

SUNDAY BRUNCH

In no other place is the eager anticipation and ritual of Sunday brunch more greatly appreciated and endorsed than in New York City.  On the day of rest, when the banks and the post offices are closed, when the city sleeps in an extra few hours and the streets are eerily quiet during the normal morning rush hour, when church bells echo across the five boroughs periodically throughout the day, New Yorkers roll out of bed and into the nearest cafe for drawn out and overly-indulgent breakfasts with friends.  The oft-anticpated ordeal of brunch is more than just a meal, you see; it is an event, right up there in status with Thursday night art openings, Friday night cocktails, and Saturday night dinners out.  A sort of mayhem descends upon the restaurant world each and every sunday during the New York brunch hours of late morning until early evening, involving long waits and endless beverages, friends and families and lovers squeezed into tiny tables, stories and adventure recaps from the night and week before, the twenty-pound Sunday edition of the New York Times being passed around from table to table, and laughter and people-watching and fantastic food all around.  No matter how stressful life may seem or how many things you have lingering on your to-do list, you take the time to invite a few friends, or to grab the family, and head out to Sunday brunch.  Such is the way of the city, quite simply.  It is a ritual I was eager to embrace upon finding myself in this great big metropolis, and one which I hope to continue to embrace with my children.

Of course, being both a mother of two and a veteran of the restaurant world, I know that the combination of small children, overcrowded spaces, and endless bloody-mary's for likely hungover patrons is not an ideal situation, ritual or not.  So Gaby and I skipped sleeping in (who am I kidding? Sleeping in hasn't exactly been an option for us since little Lou was born..) and arrived at the restaurant just as they were setting out the brunch menus.  We decided to take advantage of the fleeting last days of non-freezing weather and chose a spot with outdoor seating, as we knew that the fresh air would keep the kids happy and the street noise would undoubtedly muffle enthusiastic squeals.  Biet was so excited and animated as we ordered our coffee and eggs Benedict.  She inched the bottle of ketchup nearer and nearer to her place-setting and closely watched the waitress, waiting for her scrambled eggs to arrive.  She has begun to really relish having conversations, especially over meals.  She'll sit down and look up eagerly and say, "Ok, let's talk!", then proceed to tell stories about fictional characters, and about places she's been and place's she's going.  Sometimes she'll recap everything she's seen since the moment she woke up that morning, and sometimes she'll tell completely made-up tales of dancing and singing in the rain.  Then she'll pause, turn to me, and say, "Now Mama, you talk!".  I absolutely adore the way her mind works.

After our food was finished, a half bottle of ketchup had been dispensed on Biet's plate,  and the bunch of us had had a good long-winded brunch discussion, we sat back and relaxed for a minute and watched the people and cars go by.  Biet unwrapped her lollipop that the man at the deli had so kindly given her (the girl has an uncanny way of charming a lollipop out of almost anyone who has one stashed away!), Lucien basked in the cool morning sun and, as always, played adoringly with his sister, and Gaby and I lingered for as long as we could at our corner table overlooking the park.  Then we paid our check, let Biet leave the tip, and made our way across the street to the playground.  Brunch these days is certainly quite different than it used to be, but the ceremonial morning feast celebrating the close of the weekend is one I am so happy and proud to share with my children.

Also, its pretty nice to have someone else to the cooking and cleaning every once in awhile. :)

ALONE IN FALL IN BRYANT PARK

What's a girl to do when she finds herself in midtown, in autumn, sans baby, husband-free, with her errands finished and a moment to herself?  Why, run off to the park of course! Hot tea and camera in hand, I found a quiet spot at the abandoned tables by the carousel and sat for a minute, alone.   The clouded sky reflected off of the tall buildings lining Bryant park, casting a quiet cold light over the mid-afternoon bustle, while the plants and trees within brimmed with the colors and smells of fall. The park was in a rare state of transition, preparing for the icy magical days ahead, but not quite ready to let go of the warmth of seasons past.  The infamous central yard, where I've watched old movies at dusk each summer at the park's Summer Film Festival (one of the highlights of my summertime!), was in the midst of transforming into the annual ice skating rink.  I first came to this park with my sisters, on my first visit to NYC at sixteen years old.  We took the F train up from downtown, had a picnic on the grass, and drank fancy sparkling lemonade from glass bottles.  I remember sitting in that patch of grass sipping lemonade from the prettiest bottles I'd ever seen, watching the whole world, so fashionable and busy and excited, buzz around me, and thinking, "this is where I need to be."  And now, twelve years later, I sat here in silence, sipped my tea, and humbly watched as the park-goers frolicked, the businessmen buzzed, the carousel spun, the taxi cabs honked, and the workers worked to build an immaculate winter ice-skating rink.  This city keeps moving, keeps evolving, season to season, year to year.  Nothing stays the same for too long, eras pass, people come and people go, and it is bittersweet.  But that is what keeps it alive, and that is why I love it.  The parallels to watching your children grow are undeniable. You miss your tiny baby of yesterday, are eager for your child of tomorrow, and try your very best to soak up every single moment of your little one today.  And the magic is in the perpetual change and constant newness of it all.

And on this day I was lucky enough to have time alone, to reflect and explore and remember. I finished my tea and took a walk around the park, realizing that this was the first time that I had ever peeked behind the scenes of a New York City ice-skating rink- how lucky of me to wander by on such a rare day.  So I turned on my camera and tiptoed onto the construction site, because a girl's got to break the rules every once in awhile... 

WAITING

The house is tidy, the cupboards are stocked, and the fridge is full to the brim.  A little ledge is the hallway holds double A batteries, triple A batteries, flashlights, tea candles, and glass-jarred prayer candles. Bottles of water rest in the corner of the kitchen, next to a full bag of organic dog food and a bowl of fresh fruit.

Hurricane Sandy will be here soon.  We have bunkered down in our top-floor apartment with food and blankets, books and games, and plenty of good music.  We've more or less prepared ourselves for three days of seclusion from the world, and we're hoping that it ends up being more of a stay-cation than an actual disaster..

We spent all day out and about, at the farmers market, at the playground, taking Nico to run in the field... walking all throughout Brooklyn.  We wanted to get in as much walking as we could before the rain began.  Aside from stocking up on food and supplies, we hadn't really worried too much about the impending storm.  But out in the streets of Brooklyn today, you could feel that something was different. People were a bit anxious, frantic, perhaps even fearful... they walked a little faster, smiled a little less, and furrowed their brows just a bit too much.  And to notice this about fast-talking, straight faced, eternally serious New Yorkers is saying something.  Then the farmers market closed up early, followed by the supermarkets and delis. Then the city closed down the subways. Then they stopped running the buses.  And thats when Gaby and I realized that maybe we better get home.

Let's hope that this whole ordeal ends up resembling the last hurricane (when Biet was still so small, and this blog was brand new!) and that everyone remains safe.  We are ready for you, Sandy, but please be kind.

(p.s.- my cozy yellow neck cowl is c/o Flutter by Hannah. Thank you Hannah!)