WALKING, EATING, DREAMING

We walk along the avenue together, you and I. You like to skip ahead sometimes, rushing to see what's in a shop window or around the next corner, or just trying to initiate a game of inner-city chase with me. I smile, letting you wander down the street freely, keeping a close eye on your every move but trusting that you know when to stop and wait for me, and how to stay far enough away from the passing cabs. You know the rules of the sidewalks well and stop on every corner, proudly waiting to take my hand. I wrap my long fingers around your tiny palm and clasp tight, and your whole hand disappears into mine. If you only knew how much I love holding your little hand. If you could only remember forever what it feels like to be so small, to slip your tiny toddler hand into your Mama's as you cross the street..

We walk along the Bowery with its fleets of taxis barreling down the busy avenue and you proudly count them as they zoom by: "One, two, three, four, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, eighteen, nineteen, twenty!" I'm not sure if the taxis are flying by so quickly that you're forced to skip numbers, or if you are making one of your little jokes, counting in a funny way to see if anyone notices, but I sweep you up in my arms and lovingly growl, "That's not how it goes!" and you burst into laughter. We walk further downtown, block by block, pointing out the water towers and the fire escapes, the dogs and the bicycles, and the occasional brightly painted door or colorful piece of street art. You tell me about the book you are "reading", about how you're learning to jump so high you'll be in the sky, and about what you'd like to eat: pancakes. Always pancakes, these days.

We pass an old alleyway and pause for a moment to marvel at it's quiet, dirty, forgotten beauty. "I want to ride my tricycle there!" you exclaim. "Okay, we'll do that Biet, one day," I say. I really do mean it. Lately, I find myself telling you this quite often. Your imagination is developing at an exponential pace, and you often tell me in great detail all of the things you want to make, places you want to go, and adventures you want to embark upon. And as much as I try to make every day magical, I find myself often replying, "One day, baby." One day when the baby's a little bigger, or when your art supplies are out, or when Papa is not at work... one day when we go uptown again, or when the summer comes back, or when your friends come over, or, in this case, when you grow tall enough to reach the pedals of your tricycle. Then we shall come back to this alley, and you can ride.

You approach life with such gusto, such fearlessness, and such enthusiasm. You want to do it all, all of the time. I love that about you. And today- today you want pancakes, and I can do pancakes.

We arrive at the restaurant and find a little bistro table for two right by a big window facing the street. We order pancakes, sparkling water for you, and coffee for me, as per usual. Our conversation from earlier continues, evolving to include our plans and dreams for the future. You want a wall in your room that you can paint on, and I tell you that I think I can make that happen. If your easel is feeling a bit too small, I'm sure we can dedicate an entire wall to your artistic ventures. I mean, why not? We can always repaint it. Our pancakes arrive and we douse them in syrup. Our conversation slows and I sit back quietly, watching my daughter happily eat as the whole world buzzes by outside the window. I've always dreamt of a life that is free, yet structured; unconventional, yet full of tradition. I've always dreamt of a life that mirrored the creative kinetic energy of the city. In this moment, I'm struck by the realization that it's all happening now. Somehow, it's all coming true.

You leave the tip and wave goodbye to the entire restaurant, and we step back out into the brisk winter sunlight. I wonder to myself if you will remember these days that we spend together, walking and talking and dreaming together when you are so small. I hope that you will. You reach up and slip your hand in mine and pull me in the direction of the park.  And onwards we go.

A WEST VILLAGE PICNIC | A FILM

Nearly 9 months ago, just a few weeks after Lucien was born, the ladies of Small Fry teamed up with Jenner Brown of Lumineux Films to shoot a few NYC families, and we were chosen to participate! I've been looking forward to seeing this for months, and am so excited to finally be able to share it with you!

I can't get over how teeny tiny Baby Lou is (I think he was about 4 weeks old?!), and how chubby and wobbly little Biet was! For the film, we stopped by all of our favorite places in the village picking up supplies for a picnic, and ended the day at Washington Square Park. Gaby even wrote the soundtrack especially for the film, a fitting song called "Todo Por Ti."

 Here is the introductory piece I wrote for Small Fry:

“Gaby and I met 11 years ago in the Lower East Side. I had just moved to NYC from the West coast and had gotten a job in a little French cafe on Ludlow Street. The cafe had these huge windows that looked out onto the street, and when business was slow I would sit and drink hot chocolate and watch the city going by. Ludlow Street was really neighborhood-y then, and everyone knew and took care of everyone else, and by watching the people go by I began to learn all of the characters and people and families of the block. One of those characters was Gaby.

Gaby worked across the street at at a venue that had live music and poetry and comedy every night. He was an Argentinean who had moved to NYC a decade earlier from Israel (our family is a crazy mix of cultures!) and made his career in music. He and his coworkers used to come into the cafe for sandwiches before work, and me and my coworkers used to go listen to music at the venue after work, so, over time, we all became good friends.  (Gaby still tells the story about the first night we met: He was working with his friend Paul, and I walked in with my coworker after we had closed up the cafe and we walked right up to them and introduced ourselves. We hung out all night listening to music and after my friend and I left, he turned to Paul and said “I’m gonna marry that girl one day.” Five years later, Paul married us.)

The longer I lived in the city, the more I experienced how everyone in the neighborhood, from the butcher to the deli guy to the waitress at the cafe (me) to the newspaper delivery guy, was a family of sorts. There are so many people in NYC with no roots or family close by, and over time they all band together and form an extended “family”, taking care of one another and growing together over the years, like you would expect of a small town. Its a really beautiful thing to experience and be a part of, and that’s what we wanted to convey with this film. You think of NYC as this big majestic metropolis, but it’s really a collection of small neighborhoods, like little villages.

Over time, Gaby and my friendship evolved from friends to best friends to boyfriend and girlfriend to, eventually, husband and wife. We were married in a park in the village, and all of our friends and people from the neighborhood came. Then we were blessed with a daughter, Biet, and a little less than two years later, a son, Lucien. Our community evolved and grew to include the West Village (where we shot the film) and now Brooklyn. It’s really important for us to teach our children the importance of growing your community, fostering relationships with friends and neighbors, supporting local businesses, and appreciating the history of the city. They don’t have any aunts, uncles, or grandparents here, but they have a loving family that we’ve built over time with friends and neighbors who love them dearly.”

Thank you so much Jenner & Small Fry! We really love it!
(pssst.. Daniel Day Lewis made a cameo in the film too! Can you spot him?!) :)

A New Year // Focus + Friendship

A new year is upon us, a new start, a renewal of all that we strive to be.  For the second year in a row, I reminisce: this past year was a very beautiful and very hard year.  I had high hopes, big dreams, and goals that soared above Manhattan's tallest buildings- and the funny thing is, they were all realized.  Somehow, through determination and unyielding belief, I accomplished more in this past year than I have in any year.  I had another baby.  I started a business.  I began exploring the worlds of professional writing and photography.  I learned how to make Sufganiyah for Channukah (that one's been on my list for a hot minute).  Did I mention that I had another baby?

And yet, this past year was trying, burdensome, and challenging beyond belief.  Jumping into the world of parenting two young children tests your relationship (and your tolerance of sleep-deprivation) like nothing else.   A start-up business takes every ounce of every second of every spare day that you've got, and still the work is never done.  Health issues arise.  Money comes, and goes, and sometimes waits in limbo just long enough to give you a panic attack.  Each step forward is paired with two leaps back, and we tread on.  There were times this past year when the going got so tough that I found it hard to see the light.  And just as the mounting uncertainty and fear would start to overwhelm me, an unexpected window would open and light would beam in from a most surprising source, and all would make sense once again.  But that uncertainty and fear was real, very real, and immensely challenging.  This past year was also filled with a tremendous amount of good- good opportunities, good times, and good people.  Sometimes, the only way I managed to keep on the sunny side of the street was by keeping grateful, for the good and the bad, and by accepting the help and support of the people around me.

I step into this new year with a clearer focus of what I want my life to look like, and a deeper understanding of what I need my life to feel like.  I want to focus on two things: purposefully directing my attention and focus onto what I want to manifest and grow, and putting more time, effort, and love into my relationships.  I aim to ultimately get to a place where I can naturally focus all of my attention and thoughts on the good around me, stop worrying, and stop wasting any effort on that which I cannot control.  I know this is easier said than done, and I want to work on it one day at a time.  I hope that by giving myself the next 365 days to consciously work towards this goal, I'll be able to grow into a better woman and mother.  There's just too little time in this world to distress, and too much good and magic to live any other way, at least for me.

As an extension of that, I want to really work on cultivating my relationships with those who are dear to me.  I've begun to realize that with more children comes a greater need to schedule everything.  Friendships that I've had for years, which have always blossomed and grown on they're own without much conscious effort (mostly because we were all in the same city and in the same places most of the time and naturally spent a lot of time together) have unintentionally been pushed to the wayside in recent years.  Understandably, life became really busy.  But one too many times I've found myself saying to a dear friend, "Has it really been that long since we've seen each other?!"  And the answer is: yes, it has been that long.  Weeks turn to months, and months turn to years, and suddenly that person you used to talk to every day becomes your friend who has gotten married and moved three times and had an art opening since you last saw her.  Or it becomes your Aunt who you haven't called in a year, or your husband who you haven't been out on a date with in months.  Time has a way of slipping by while you're busy raising your brood, but I no longer want to let my relationships fall into the past.

So even if it means squeezing in coffee with a friend super early in the morning, or random playdates on the other side of town, or makeshift lunch dates in between meetings (and hopefully it also means more kid-friendly dinner parties and long evenings out and weekly playgroups!), I want to dedicate more time and energy to feeding my relationships and to building my community, which will in turn feed my soul. I feel so blessed to have so many amazing/crazy/supportive people in my life, and I want to take more time to nurture my relationships and to show people how much they mean to me.

So hello 2014.  I'm ready to focus on all of the good you have in store (over coffee and a  croissant with loved ones).  Let's go.

xx

44, 45, 46, + 47/52

44/52

Biet: Back on our old block in the East Village, the block on which she was born.  This old car has been parked on the block for as long as I can remember, and keeps getting stranger and stranger over the years.  On this day, to Biet's delight, a life-sized stuffed tiger occupied the driver's seat.  

Lucien: Apparently NOT a hat person, judging from the slim amount of time he'll allow anything to stay on his head.  Doesn't this boy know who his father is?!?

45/52

Biet: The daily war of curly-haired girl vs. tangles can be a bit of a nightmare sometimes.  I remember loathing hairbrushes as a kid almost as much as she. 

Lucien: The daily powwow of boy meets food can be a bit ridiculous sometimes.  Often times, everyone ends up eventually backing away from the table to avoid being splattered.  This boy certainly doesn't mind a mess. 

46/52

Biet: A hot chocolate with extra extra whipped cream at The Waverly Restaurant. 

Lucien: His fifth tooth broke through finally, meaning sleepless nights, yet unexpectedly cheerful days. 

47/52

I read a study once which followed siblings over decades and documented how their relationships changed over time.  The study concluded that the type of relationship they build and the roles they assume during their first year together ultimately end up remaining the same throughout their lives.  When I think of my children's future, this notion makes me happy.  This picture pretty much sums up her loving, caring, authoritative, & slightly overpowering self-appointed role as big sister, and his adoring, trusting, and curious role as little brother.  I'd love to look at this again in twenty years and see if they're the same.

//The 52 Project, a portrait of my children once a week, every week, in 2013/

AND SO THIS IS CHRISTMAS

We didn't expect it to be the best one yet.

We always try to celebrate the holidays simply, and to focus on tradition and experience over tangible things, but this year we had intended to have very simple Christmas.  Baby Lou's (it looks funny typing that but we really do all call him 'Baby Lou' at home! I'm beginning to fear that the name will really stick and that Biet will still call him that when he's twenty..) never-ending curiosity and reckless attempts at standing up on everything nixed the option of a big tree, so we brought home the prettiest little potted miniature tree we could find.  We kept the decorations simple this year, the Christmas outings to a minimum, and the gifts on a teeny tiny budget.  Focusing instead on music, food, and family time together around our little tree, we knew our simple Christmas would be warm and happy.  But we never expected it to be this amazing.

The deliveries started showing up a couple of weeks out.  First a tiny box, then a medium, and finally a HUGE one, all from my sisters.  My two sisters are a couple of crafting geniuses, baking enthusiasts, and holiday aficionados. One mention of a "simple Christmas" to them over the phone, and they began spinning their magical holiday web from which no one, and I mean no one, escapes.  Suddenly our "one gift per person" idea flew out of the window, and our kids once again had the luxury of being spoiled by their Aunties.  I miss my sisters terribly pretty much all of the time, but especially at the holidays.

Then a box arrived from Portland with my name on it.  I opened it to find a collection of old hand-sewn ornaments that my mother had made decades ago, when she was alive.  She used to hand-make everything, from paintings to food to art, and would singlehandedly turn every holiday into a whimsical dream for the kids.  I remember bits and pieces, glimpses and faded memories, from when I was small.  She was magic. That's most likely where my sisters get it from.  She used to sew beautiful stockings for everyone in the family too, usually shaped like a boot or whatever kind of shoe they fancied.  One year, when I was about three I think, she sewed my Dad an amazing intricate quilted stocking, and filled it, as a joke, with coal.  I remember us three girls thinking that was just the funniest thing in the world.  When I found in the box, underneath the ornaments in the very bottom, a faded red velvet stocking of hers, I began to tear up.  She had likely hand-sewed it about 40 years ago and holding it in my hands felt like she was with us again.  That stocking became Biet and Lou's this year to share.  It felt like a perfect way to give my own children a little piece of the magic that I remembered of my mom.

On Christmas morning Lucien awoke first, smiling and bouncing across the bed and climbing upon his Papa's head, as usual.  Then Biet yelled out from her room to announce to the world that she too was awake.  We swept them up and headed to the kitchen for orange juice and coffee, purposely avoiding the living room so that they wouldn't see the gifts before we had time to grab a camera to capture their reactions.  We told them that today was Christmas, and how excited we were to have presents to open under the  tree.  We let Biet lead the way, through our room, through her room, through the old wooden door, and into the living room.  The stocking, stuffed full, rested on Biet's little rocking chair, and the presents lay softly piled under the tree.  Hidden under a sheet on the floor was the wooden blue kitchenette which Gaby and I had spent hours putting together the night before.  While the kids were dreaming of sugarplums, we had carefully unpacked the boxes from my sisters, tightened bolts, aligned cupboards, and attached handles.  We were beyond excited to see Biet's face when she opened it.

In front of the tree, Gaby and I beamed at one another.  In that moment, as our kids experienced their first Christmas together, it really hit me: I was a mother of children, whipping up holiday magic and joy for my brood, just as my mother had.  And I was doing a good job at it.  These were the moments they would remember forever.  Baby Lou happily crawled around, pulled himself up on the rocking chair, and began to tug at the stocking.  Biet just stared, a bit confused.  Then her confusion turned to understanding, shock, and finally elation.  She pulled the sheet back and saw the tiny kitchen, and froze.  She started whispering, "what. what. what? what?!" and began slowly opening all of the cupboards and looking inside the shelves.  "Mama, its blue. Its BLUE! It's a kitchen! A kitchen for Biet!" she squealed.  My heart was bursting.  She had wanted a kitchen for so long.  When we revealed Lou's gift from his Aunties, a tiny red piano, I don't think you could find happier kids in the whole city.  Then a trumpet, the one thing Biet had asked Santa for when she sat on his lap for the first time earlier this month, and a jar of marmalade (like Paddington Bear's, which she had been requesting for weeks) joined the party, and things really got crazy.  A morning of cooking, singing, and music-playing commenced. And our first Christmas as a family of four became the best Christmas we've ever had.

The day drifted on happily in our little apartment with pots simmering, cookies baking, children playing, babies and dogs napping, parents relaxing, and everyone thinking about how fortunate we all are to have so much love, family, and generosity in our lives.  Throughout the day I kept thinking about how blessed we are, how truly blessed.

//last Christmas//  + //Biet's first Christmas//

41, 42, + 43/52

41/52

Enchanted by cartoons far too late into the night.  With us as parents, it's no surprise that we were dealt two night owl children. 

42/52

They almost have the same jewel blue eyes, although his shine bright with uninhibited joy, and hers watch carefully with a delicate seriousness. I'm absolutely smitten with my blue-eyed beauties.

43/52

She "helps" him with everything throughout the day, from diaper changes to feedings to figuring out new toys.  He constantly looks for her around the apartment and is always happy with her at his side.  He never complains when she accidentally roughs him up a bit or knocks him over in her attempts at helping, just smiles and sits back up next to her.   To witness the birth of their friendship is an amazing thing.

//The 52 Project, a portrait of my children once a week, every week, in 2013//

DOWNTOWN'S ROCKEFELLER

Merry Christmas!!  A couple of days ago, while Gaby was at work, I took the kids to see the BIG tree in the city.  No, not the Rockefeller tree, but the simply-lit, arch-framed beauty that goes up each year in the village.  While the tree at Rockefeller Center is undeniably majestic, going to see it usually entails intense crowds, police barricades, and an uncomfortable amount of pushing and shoving and picture-taking.  I've done it in the past, and will happily do it again in the years to come, but, this year,  I was simply not feeling it.  So instead, we wandered over to Biet's little home away from home, Washington Square Park.

We arrived a bit before dusk so that we could catch that day's tree lighting.  The park was buzzing with holiday energy, the weather was unseasonably tepid, and a light scent of hot cider lingered in the air.  Street musicians played with gusto, crooning upbeat big-band swing on the east side of the park, old-timey quartet Christmas carols on the north, and moody accordion tunes on the south.  Biet led the way as we made the rounds from show to show, dancing to all of the joyful music and, in the Christmas spirit, throwing a dollar into the hat of each performer.  Biet jumped and spun and swayed her arms over her head to the music.  Often times, she would be the only one dancing, and would proudly twirl into the center of the crowd to put on a show of her own, bowing for the audience as the song ended.  Her freedom around people blows me away sometimes.  Just as the sun was setting and we were arriving back at the tree after making our way through the entire park, we heard a collective gasp and looked up to see the tree lights all beam on!

We stood for a minute and gazed up in wonder.  Free of ornaments and decoration, the Washington Square tree is a simple beauty, standing tall against the city skyline with a million little white lights.  Its simplicity is what makes it so special, to me, anyway.  While many parts of the city are engulfed in shopping mayhem, shop windows are filled with wrapping paper, sparking lights, and fake snow, store aisles are overflowing with red and green and gold and silver everything, and the street corners are inhabited by hundreds of Santa's ringing bells and hustling, the tree at Washington Square stands as a beacon of the true simplicity and joy of the holiday season.  It's so easy to get caught up in the frenzy of Christmas, especially in a big city where a certain frenzy exists out on the streets year-round anyway.  I try to stay focused on the love, tradition, and simple pleasures of the holidays, and I hope to instill those values in my children as well.  So it was so wonderful to find this little corner of the city- this peaceful and creative park with a quietly majestic Christmas tree- that seemed to mirror my idea of what Christmas can be.

As the skies darkened and the tree shone brighter and brighter, my two babies, both tuckered out from their park shenanigans, fell asleep in their stroller (goodness, how I've needed a double stroller! We finally took the plunge and it is amazing!), so I continued to wander through the village.  When it began to rain, I ducked into a little pastry shop with my slumbering kiddos and enjoyed a chocolate mousse all alone.  Sitting there by myself, while my babies slept next to me, the city swarmed just outside the window, the rain pounded down, and the holidays crept closer, the whole world suddenly felt right.  I think that was the moment that I finally caught the holiday spirit, which for some reason had been eluding me this year, and started really getting excited for Christmas and for the approaching new year.
It was a truly beautiful day.

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