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Officially, the first day of spring is March 20. I don’t know about you, but a spring that involves snow in the air, wind chills and below freezing temps is no spring to me.

Spring means blossoms. The kind that look like Malcolm Gladwell tree wigs.

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Earthly blooms, bursting with color and pollen.

Long walks outside with shoes that don’t cover my ankles.

The absence of hot chocolate.

Skirts with no tights.

These things rightfully don’t happen in March. Unless there’s a freak warm weather system that gets Chad Myers’ underpants in a twist.

But April. We expect more of you.

Prolonged warm spells, not just pockets of heat.

I’m not offended by a pocket though. The weekend, for instance. Sandwich it between workweeks and the weekend is thrilling. Exhilarating. Titillating? All of those at once.

Imagine this: if every day were a weekend day, where would be the joy in approaching a weekend? Which may be a sensation even better than the weekend itself.

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It’s likely that I’m snorkeling off the shore of some Caribbean island right now. So to stave off any jealousy or daggers thrown in my general direction, let’s pretend that we’re still in New York contending with Month 5 of sleet and snow.

Though the temps may have been lower than hoped this spring, it hasn’t stopped us from getting out and exploring the city on foot.

Emma was off on Spring Break last week, a full week earlier than the other kids. And since we’re traveling this week, she gets to skip a full week of school. Translation: that is SO NOT fair MOM.

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I told Lauren that it wasn’t fair that she was born first and had my complete attention for the first two years of her life. And that she’ll get her driver’s license first. AKA zip it.

So back to last week. Emma knows not to broadcast what actually took place since it was nothing short of incredible.

Monday took this form: lunch–chocolate store–Sephora–nails. 

We took a breather on Tuesday, just enough rest to recharge the batteries and prepare our feet for another day of walking.

On Wednesday we spent the day on the Lower East Side doing the following:

Park visit:

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As if Monday’s visit to Lilac Chocolates didn’t provide us with enough sweets, we were determined to visit Economy Candy.

We headed off on Rivington and quickly realized that we were heading in the wrong direction. But in one of those fortuitous twists of fate, we ended up at the tip of the alley that leads down to Freemans Restaurant.

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Last week I wrote about Foragers Market in Chelsea, which is my go-to grocery store here in Manhattan and they were kind enough to share it on their own blog. Over the past few months, I’ve become friendly with Maggie, who runs their branding/social media and does all of the packaging design. You’ll hear more about Maggie in a few weeks when I unveil a top-secret new blog design. 

Not so top secret anymore. But I do have some great news. The blog is getting a facelift, and one of my key objectives is to remove all of the sidebar advertising. Because nobody should be forced to look at that nonsense when they’re trying to scrutinize a simple cocktail recipe. Correct?

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I’m so thrilled to have a touch of Foragers’ style in the new blog design. Before I met Maggie, who I consider to be a mega-talented illustrator and designer, I carried the packaging from a Foragers Market chocolate bar in my purse for a whole year. I just knew that somehow I wanted to infuse a little bit of hand-drawn illustration into the blog one day.

It was like meeting a celebrity when Maggie and I finally met – as in “YOU were the person who designed my favorite chocolate bar wrapper?” (followed by some mental weeping and bowing)

And next week – starting on March 9 I’ll be hosting Foragers’ Instagram feed for a week, sharing all kinds of products that I buy in the store, and what I make with them. If you’re on Instagram, you should check them out @foragersnyc.

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I got an email a few years ago from a friend who lives in Philly. She’d bought group tickets to see the Rockettes in New York City in December and one of the families had to pull out due to illness. She had a few extra tickets, would I care to join?

At that point, the only kid in the house was Lauren, age 1 year 11 months. It was a questionable move to bring a young toddler to a full-length performance, but I thought that she might be able to hack it. This, after all, was the child who could stare at a feather for 10 minutes straight, no doubt investigating its detailed ridges, contours and variegated colors.

We accepted the offer, and off we went, Lauren dressed in her best outfit – a mini dress and corresponding pair of faux Ugg boots. There might have been a hair flower (aka a barette) to finish the outfit; branding that way used to be the only way to a hair clip into that strawberry blonde fluff.

Hard to believe that we’ve been to the show for 6 years running. It’s become our annual tradition, which we celebrate in honor of Lauren’s birthday in December. For the first 4 years it was just the two of us. Last year we invited Sam, who’d just turned 4. Sam was devastated that we wouldn’t buy the $20 light-up whirling dervish sold in the lobby and could barely concentrate on the show without streaming tears of frustration. That was his last invitation. He was subsequently disinvited from watching Annie on Broadway, replaced by his 2-year-old sister, who was more than happy to swap in. Maybe he’ll get another Rockettes invite down the road, but first I need to get over the trauma, and I haven’t quite healed.

For now, I’m keeping the show sacred for those who will appreciate it. This year, it was Lauren’s best friend from school. Their personalities are aligned all the way down to their matching dimples.

Lauren was so excited for the show that she picked out her outfit the night before, and spent the morning decorating the apartment…

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The kids made Lauren cards….

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And we finished decorating our mini tree. With two weeks of active tree time before we head to the lake, it wasn’t worth it to haul in a beast.

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(hi!)

We headed up to the show, our first stop Rock Center to see the world famous tree…

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It was the Mister’s birthday last week. 5 golden years, how quickly they’ve gone. I can still remember the day he was born. I’d snuggled him close to my chest and that evening asked the nurse if all seemed OK. He hadn’t made a peep. Just slept and ate, slept and ate. In hindsight I should have recognized a little personality in the making: easygoing, not one to make a fuss.

It was with this no-nonsense attitude that he tagged along to Lauren’s doctor’s visit the day before his birthday. The older kids were off school that day, and it was a perfect opportunity to spend a few hours in Central Park…

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Eating Oreos. While wearing a Mustache sweater. It is Movember after all.

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Maybe one day his grill will look like that. For now we’ll chalk it up to a good case of Oreo teeth.

Central Park is so pretty at this time of year…..

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Did you know that wild cats live in the Park? Sam found a leopard and stalked it…

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