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RESTAURANT REVIEW: Blue Hill at Stone Barns

For the past few months, Matthew has been taking a magic class on Thursday afternoons. When I pick up “Matthew the Magnificent,” as I now refer to him, he performs his new tricks for me before we even leave the classroom. As the weeks have gone on, he has gotten more adept at sleight-of-hand and his tricks have become more sophisticated. When he did the disappearing hanky trick last Thursday – over and over – I swear I had no idea how he did it. Like Matthew says, “A magician never reveals his secrets!” And to be honest, I really didn’t want to look too closely and ruin the magic!

Such was not the case, however, with the enchantingly magical…


Like Mother, Like Son

The older Ben gets, the more clear it becomes that I’ve given birth to the male version of myself. Yeah, sure, people used to stop me in the supermarket when he was an infant to remark how the sweet baby looked just like his mommy, and they still say he’s my spitting image today (albeit much cuter and with a bigger, watermelonier head!). But I’m talking about how similar our interests and natures are. It struck me again in the last couple of weeks.

Ben was assigned a project with two partners. They had each individually written a major paper on a topic of their choosing, and now they were matched up and assigned to create a PowerPoint and a…


Once again I celebrate my own personal Thanksgiving today – regardless of whether Simon Cowell would find it “a bit indulgent.” For today marks the second anniversary of my surgery.

So I vow to spend a little time today reflecting on life and personal growth over the past year. I suppose the measure I use is how fully I follow the revelation I awoke with in the hospital: create a life – don’t simply exist and wonder “what if?” If Year One was putting the pieces in place –deciding to up and move, making the move, getting started in a new community – Year Two has been spent making a home for our family and getting settled. It’s been…


Seeking seamstress skilled in stitching flesh wounds to be on call for two wacky families with a total of eight boys, ages 4 – 14. Job split between Westport, CT and Needham, MA. Love of twins required. Experience hemming jeans a plus.

Sweartogod. We wound up at the doctors’ office this morning with Zack, who had reached into his drawer to grab hair gel and was attacked by a ferocious razor that apparently had a score to settle. He didn’t tell anyone, self-treated with a band-aid, and merrily went off to school. I got a call from the school nurse less than an hour later that he had cut himself – at home – and needed stitches. Oh look –…


“And the Oscar Goes To…”

Okay, I have no clue who will win golden statuettes tonight, other than Heath Ledger, who seems to be a shoe-in. And though the road to hell is paved with good intentions, I’ve seen only one nominated film: “Vicky Christina Barcelona”-this afternoon, no less. All I know is that every year when the awards are doled out, I remember with fondness my very favorite Oscar telecast.

Board the way-back machine with me, if you will, to 1994. David and I had been married about six months and he had client business in Florida, so I flew down with him and stayed with my grandparents in Boca, to their great delight. This was back in the days when the Oscar telecast…


Insecure with School Security

There was an intruder in my boys’ middle school last week. How do I know? They told me about it. Yes, finally the story of the controversy that sparked my apoplexy on Facebook last week.

Early last Thursday evening, I picked up the three big boys at Hebrew School and started catching up on their days. Ben typically has a laundry list of stuff stuck in his craw, dominating the conversation, and that day was no exception. “French quiz this, position paper that, need money in my lunch account, math midterm tomorrow, yadda yadda yadda…”

All of a sudden from the back seat pipes up this little voice, “There was an intruder in the school on Tuesday,” announced Zack, almost matter-of-factly.

“EXCUSE…


Keeping Us in Stitches

When you’re the mom of four boys, it’s an unusual quarter that passes without a trip to the emergency room for a broken bone or stitches (or, as it’s happened, both at the same time). And when one of those boys is the quintessential “spotlight stealer,” eventually your car can auto-pilot itself to the local ER. The upside is that thanks to our curly-haired spotlight-stealer, we managed to satisfy our annual insurance deductible in one fell swoop before the end of January.

Yesterday, which was Ben’s birthday, suddenly became all about Matthew when he tried to impress a girlfriend who was visiting, and instead managed to split open his lip and just above. Once we could figure out where…


Cabin Fever

Alpha Kappa Reiser has been beset by the Tagteam Winter Plague.

Zack was kind enough to bring it home from a birthday party over the weekend (quél unique party favor!), from a friend who had been absent from school all week but ended up at Saturday evening’s festivities (This kid claimed he had had a temperature of 112°! I think he must’ve been cured with a prescription of hyperbole supplements.). Zack awoke Sunday feeling okay, but by afternoon, those big chocolate-pudding eyes with the Snuffleupagus lashes were glassy and droopy. When I removed the thermometer from his mouth, I burst into a chorus of “You’re hot-blooded, check it and see. You’ve got a fever of a-hundred-and three.” Being a…


When Manners Are a Lost Art

A week ago Friday as I was on my way out the door to run errands, the phone rang and I could see it was the Middle School. I answered the call, and Zack’s homeroom and science teacher introduced herself. I reflexively went to that “oh sh*t” place, although I quickly rationalized that being Zack’s teacher, she was more likely calling to report an errant homework assignment than any kind of misbehavior on Zack’s part.

Instead, she told me that even though she’s so busy that she rarely gets the opportunity to make positive phone calls, Zack was such a special kid she really wanted to make the time to let me know. She went on and on about what…


Who’s On First?

The funniest thing just happened. I was organizing a bunch of digital photos of Jake and Zack when they came up behind me and started watching over my shoulder. One of them pointed to a photo and said, “That’s me.” Except it wasn’t. It was his brother. This happened over and over, each incorrectly identifying himself more than half the time. They have no idea what they look like – because they spend more time looking at the other!

I never really stopped to think about it. When you see a photo of yourself, you generally know it’s you because there’s no one else who looks so much like you. But not these guys! Even though they’re genetically fraternal,…