As I was nursing Miss T to sleep this afternoon, I thought about the amazing project I participated in during the holidays “12 days of love letter writing” (thanks Angie Mizzell), and I thought….ok, I have to continue this in my daily life.

I like the thought of leaving little pick me up, make me feel good, put a smile on your face notes to total strangers.  Moreloveletters.com is the catalyst for this, I encourage you to check them out.  But then, as my precious little one closed her eyes……I thought, how easy it is for me to extend words of encouragement to others but not to myself.  This last year has been a whirlwind of change for my family and a much needed introspective time for me.  We made the move up to Oregon in May of 2011, and I went from working full-time as a Private Chef & running my small company, to full-time mom and pushing my company to the next level.   It is a big change, for the way our family runs, schedules and environment.  We are working on building the “Sweet Pea” kitchen but it is a little slow going and in turn I find myself a bit on the down side.  So I decided to spread a little love, Post It Note style in my home.  Not only will it help me to get out of this funk, (my husband will probably think they are for him) but can get the kids noticing and asking…..and in turn feeling a bit of extra love themselves.

I have discovered taking care of kids is a full-time job…..I am in awe of all you mama’s out there that get the job done…and run a business too.  I guess I thought it would be easier not working outside the home, but for some reason it isn’t, there’s just more stuff to do.  I’m hoping I am still in the learning curve, and soon, very soon will be able to juggle all with the best of them.  For now, my Post It Note project will just have to do.

Some days I have so much fun playing in bed with the kids before getting up and starting the chore of making the bed, getting breakfast started… I am in awe of how amazing these two human beings are and how different but how much the same. Then there are days where I cannot wait to get to work. Am I a bad mother? Sometimes I wonder, after 3 long days, lots of time outs and constant clinging of a one year old… I am excited it is Sunday, and I am starting my week at work again. Because I am a chef, I work strange hours, but since having my son (who is now 3) I only work 4 days a week. They are sometimes quite long days… but come Wednesday night… I am off… then I don’t head back until Sunday.

Sometimes Sunday comes too fast… I fight back a tear as I say goodbye to the kids and head out the door… others times… I’m running and not even looking back. I don’t know if it is lack of me time… or what..I am constantly in a battle over this.

…a friend told me today that I should write a blog… I explained to her that I am not really that good with words, and I speak more with my food. It got me to thinking… thinking that I have come a long way.

I don’t think anyone that knows me now, would ever have thought that I was plagued with eating disorders when I was a teenager. Imagine that, a chef, someone who works with food everyday… being at times anorexic and bulemic (more anorexic). I think it is a bit ironic, and empowering. I know now that my food issues when I was young were more about having control in my life (which with two young children of my own right now) I have come to realize there is no such thing…

I have a good relationship with food now, and I enjoy cooking it, eating it and more importantly preparing it for others. I find it therapeutic to knead dough to make beautiful loaves of bread, or to whip sugar and butter to a perfect “creaming method” till the butter turns white and the sugar has almost dissolved, or to slowly sauté a mirepoix to bring out the best flavor in a soup… it is a relaxing therapy of senses that I have come to enjoy over the years.

If you were to ask me when did it all change, when did the switch go off in my head, I really couldn’t tell you… all I know is, I can make a kick ass Italian butter cream, and I’ll even lick the beaters.