It was a Sunday at 5pm and I only had a relative idea of where my husband and child were.
And I mean that in the best way possible.
We’d gone out for an afternoon walk, mostly to enjoy the beautiful weather and step out from under the gravitational pull of the 12th episode of Bluey.
As we rounded the final corner of our stroll, we ran into a neighbor sitting outside, needlepointing (what a freaking dream, right?!). We said hello, then Bonnie started chatting with another neighbor’s kid, and the two of them hopped off to play.
At which point I remembered the raw chicken sitting on my counter, edging dangerously past “coming to room temp” and into “you should probably deal with this, Katie” territory.
So I went home with the pup. Nathan and Bonnie stayed.
About an hour into juggling the chicken and a loaf of bread, I sat down by the kitchen window with a rare pocket of quiet to listen to my course.
When I looked up, I realized we’d entered back into the 90s sweet spot. That perfect window of childhood freedom where parents have a general idea of where their kid is and trust that the village is doing its thing.
Nathan didn’t have his phone. I almost texted a neighbor to say dinner was 30 minutes out. And then, like he’d read my mind, a text came through from a neighbor: alive, well, heading home soon.
Really disconnecting for a bit and being with your community is so good for the soul. We are very lucky to have great neighbors.
I hope that’s part of what my art does too. It pulls you out of the grind and into a space where you’re fully engaged in play.
Art is also a small act of how you are in a space, and with the people in it. Your child isn’t the only one in the playroom or nursery. You are also there, looking at it. It’s a representation of yourself as much as it is of them.
Inside My Studio
This week, I’m in the middle layer of my woodland scenes. The part nobody really sees but everyone feels.
Last week, I painted the backgrounds: trees, mountains, soft layered washes. From a distance, you barely register them. Up close, they’re what makes the whole piece feel grounded, like a room with the right lighting before any of the furniture goes in.
This week, I’m bringing in the main characters. I’ve sketched out roughly a dozen woodland animals and split them between two illustrations:
- wolves
- owls
- loons
- foxes
- raccoons
- (and a few more…10?... friends to be revealed)
The two pieces are designed to work as a pair or as standalones, so you can hang one in a nursery and the other in a hallway, or grab them together and let them tell one bigger story.
Right now I’m carefully placing the larger animals so each scene feels complete on its own. Nothing should feel like it’s missing the other half.
What I’m Cooking
I went full insane-mode and made three lasagnas in one week.
In the name of science, of course.
You may recall I made a giant batch of Samin’s lazy sugo from Good Things for Christmas dinner. I doubled the recipe and froze half.
At the time, I went with premade pappardelle because it was simple, no extra assembly required, and honestly? It was perfect.
Cut to a random Monday where I thought it would be a brilliant idea to defrost the leftover sugo and lasagna-test my way through the afternoon. Each version had sugo and mozzarella as the base. The variable was the second layer:
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Béchamel
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Béchamel and ricotta
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Ricotta only
Reader: I am team ricotta.
Here’s the rabbit hole I went down, though. My palate leans bright, acidic, basil-forward. Nathan leans cozy, slow-simmered, comfort-forward.
Turns out, that’s not a personality difference so much as a regional one.
Béchamel lasagna comes from Northern Italy. Heavier sauces, richer cuts, meat-and-potatoes territory. Ricotta lasagna is Southern Italy. Brighter, more acidic, basil everywhere. And because most Italian-Americans came from the south, the ricotta version is the one that became “American lasagna” in our cultural memory.
So my ricotta loyalty is basically heritage. Nathan’s béchamel love is just refined taste. Bonnie ate all three with no notes (a generous reviewer).
Christmas dinner is staying as sugo and pappardelle, no notes, no changes. Sometimes the simple version is the right version.
What’s Inspiring Me
A small Lego plant that Nathan left on my desk.
That’s it. That’s the whole section.
The weather is beautiful. We’ve been outside more, together more. And then yesterday I walked into my studio and found this little Lego succulent perched on my desk. No occasion, no reason.
Just a small surprise from someone who was thinking of me on an ordinary Tuesday.
I’m trying to keep that alive. The Lego plant. The “I picked up your favorite cookies on the way home.” The text that says thinking of you on a random Wednesday. Small acts of being thought of, on days that don’t require it.
What I’m Reading
I finished Poison Daughter and officially clocked it at a 3.5/5, but I tend to round up, so we’ll call it a 4. My initial assessment stands: it’s a smashburger with too much bun. A solid concept, but you spend half the read picking off bread to get to the good part.
Now, can we have a collective moment for what’s coming this fall? Because we have not one, not two, but THREE massive series updates finally landing:
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ACOTAR 6 by Sarah J. Maas
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Quicksilver 3 by Callie Hart
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Burn of the Everflame by Penn Cole
There’s also a mystery book by Yarros (some suspect it’s the Book of Brennan), but until we know what it is, I’m withholding excitement. I’m still mildly disgruntled about ACOTAR 4 being a fluff/income generator, and I have a sneaking suspicion this Yarros announcement may be the same. We shall see.
Coming Up
A few things I’m noodling on for the coming weeks: a finished pair of woodland prints, more cooking experiments (less lasagna, probably), and hopefully more Sundays where I lose track of my family in the best way.
Until next time,
Katie
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