Oh, hi, life update time. Summer is over, fall is here. So as I wait for Amazon Prime to deliver a stack of pumpkin puree cans, let me chime in with a little 'hello, how are you, what's new with life?' check in..

I'm here, yes. I’ve been posting recipes and toys and movies and Vegas mom trips and random things I’m obsessed with lately, but haven’t actually said much about me. So hi. I’m 45. I have a six-year-old. We moved this summer. I have three cats, approximately 900 ideas at any given moment and an ongoing internal argument about what exactly I want to be when I grow up.

And yes, I apparently forgot to order my kid hot lunch today - two days in a row I am told - so my mom guilt soaring right about now. Won't make that mistake again! Oh my. So...

Life update

Happy fall. Warm, spiced apples have happened. Try them. Summer weather is still lingering in LA, but sweaters have been fluffed on my shelf. Because come October, I will absolutely wear a sweater, even in 80 degree heat.

Mom things

I also have one child. ONE. And every time I go to a back-to-school night or parent meeting, someone introduces themselves and casually says, “Oh yes, we have three kids here,” and I’m like, I’m sorry, THREE? You have three children and you showered and arrived here on time? Meanwhile, I have one child and some mornings getting out the door feels like we are evacuating a small country. And yes, sometimes I genuinely feel bad about this. Like everyone else somehow figured out how to have these giant families and handle everything beautifully and I am completely maxed out by one tiny person who cannot find her shoes.

But then Saturday morning comes and my one little girl and I walk to the farmers market and get pancakes. We wander around. She tells me an extremely long story. We can decide to go somewhere afterward and just… go. And I have these moments where I think, Oh. This is perfect. One kid is almost kind of chic? And then thirty seconds later I think, God, I wish I could have done this three more times. I would have loved to meet those other little people too. And there it is again—that weird little place where gratitude and grief live right next door to each other.

I saw that cheesy quote recently that says, “her childhood is my motherhood,” and unfortunately it got me. Because all the sparkly, magical stuff I’m always trying to create isn’t really me doing something for her. We’re living it together. Her childhood is happening at exactly the same time as my motherhood, and neither of us gets another one. So yes, I’m going to make the fairy garden and buy the glittery blocks and make Saturday morning pancakes feel special and take way too many pictures because sometimes I swear I feel like if I close my eyes for one second I’m going to miss something.

PHOTOGRAPHY PASSION

Which probably explains the photography.

If I could wake up every morning and someone said, “Your job today is to dream up a photo shoot around your family, your daughter, your house, something beautiful you saw, some weird idea you had at 11 p.m. last night,” I would be like, GREAT. DREAM CAREER. I will also accept a secondary position that involves sending voice notes, talking to myself and having long conversations with my cats.

Unfortunately no one has offered me either of these positions.

So I’m still over here on the internet trying to figure out how to make money while keeping enough space in my life to actually be creative. I think that’s probably the eternal artist problem. I love making things. And I love following whatever I’m interested in. I love taking pictures and writing and cooking and making ordinary things look a little more beautiful than they did five minutes ago. I’m considerably less excited by the part where somebody asks me to define my revenue model.

But photography lately has made me ridiculously happy. I’ve been photographing my daughter, myself, our life, random corners of California, light coming through the house, whatever catches my eye. Not because I necessarily need the picture for anything. Just because I want to make it. And that feels really good. I’ve been sharing more of it on Instagram if you want to follow along over there. Apparently I’m also in a phase where I change my profile picture every twelve minutes, so that’s going well.

MR.WHITE CAT

Then last week Mr. White got sick and suddenly I did not care about any of this. Yes, he's the same cat who decided to get lost a few years back.This guy loves to emotionally destroy me, apparently. I basically cried for a week. Golf-ball eyes, head in my hands, barely eating, staring at a bowl of cat food willing him to please just take one bite. If you have loved an animal into old age, you know. Everything starts getting complicated. Tests and medications and emergency hospitals and trying to interpret whether the way your cat walked across the room means something.

Right now, miraculously, he is doing a little better. He’s on a steroid, which is a whole other story, and I am cautiously grateful and trying not to get twelve emotional steps ahead of today. It’s amazing how quickly the giant existential questions disappear when somebody you love is sick. Suddenly the entire universe is: THE CAT ATE BREAKFAST.

NEW KITTEN: WAFFLE

Oh I also apparently decided that two cats were not enough chaos and adopted a kitten for my six-year-old this summer. She begged. I gave in. I regretted that decision almost instantly and probably continued regretting it for the first month. But now I’m finally leaning into this tiny fuzzy thing named Waffle, who looks like a miniature version of Mr. White and spends most of his waking hours terrorizing our two older cats. He’s black and tiny and has the energy of someone who drank six espressos and was then released into a house full of expensive furniture and senior cats who absolutely do not want to be touched by claws or paws that move that fast.

He spends his days launching himself at things, dangling from couches, rolling around in sunbeams, discovering pieces of string and generally acting like he has absolutely no idea that everyone else in this house already had a perfectly functional routine before he arrived. But there is something ridiculously joyful about having a kitten flying through the house again, especially alongside my older cats. And the biggest thing is: this kitten is hers, not mine. Yes, I scoop the poop and clean and feed this thing every day, obviously, but Waffle is my daughter’s cat. I love that she has this little creature to call her own, to take care of and love and, perhaps most importantly, to boss around since she is completely devoid of younger siblings. 

MOTHERING

So that’s sort of where I am. Mothering. Photographing everything. Moving furniture around our new house. Making recipes. Writing. Trying to make money without making myself insane. Having too many ideas. Talking to my cats. Watching my six-year-old become more herself by the day and trying to remember that I am allowed to be inside this experience too.

I don’t really have a grand conclusion except that life feels very full right now. Beautiful and exhausting and occasionally heartbreaking and really, really funny. I want to make things. And I want to make money. I want to make fluffy pancakes. And yes, I want my cats to live forever. I want time to slow down approximately 40%.

And since none of those things seem particularly negotiable, I guess I’ll just keep taking photos, talking to myself and turning it all into captions and blog posts. With the occasional recipe, obviously.

FOLLOW ALONG, FRIENDS

And per usual, if you want to follow along with the chaos, keep popping in here for the long version of whatever little clips and images I’m sharing on Instagram.. And if I ever find the time to sit down and talk into a microphone again, you can find my podcast updates here too. Yes, I have a podcast, notes with Kathy Patalsky.

Basically, I’m around. Probably talking to myself somewhere on the internet. Nothing has changed since 2006, friends. xoxoxo ~ K