A Pasta Dish for Busy Hands | @thefauxmartha

You know her as Naturally Ella. I know her as Erin, my business partner, my friend, the person I talk with most these days. Hallie knows her as “Enin!”. She hasn’t found her Rs yet. She also knows her as the author of The Easy Vegetarian Kitchen—the book she affectionately wrote notes in while her father wasn’t looking. The book that makes her new favorite meal—fried rice. In a few short weeks, one lucky little boy will know her as mama. Erin is having a baby (!), which is cause for a celebration sans wine. So a bunch of lovely people have gathered via the WWW to send Erin off into motherhood with quick and easy vegetarian recipes.  Read more

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Strawberry Puff Pastry Bites  | @thefuaxmartha

At one of my final appointments before having Hallie, my doctor asked if I worked. I told her that I work from home designing blogs and writing one myself. She then asked if I had adequate childcare lined up. “Well…me,” I replied. She snickered and told me to line up extra care stat. She also told me how to up my dessert game with a newborn. Her secret: puff pastry. Read more

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Carrot Cake Baked Oatmeal | @thefauxmartha

I didn’t go to school to study it. I’m guessing you didn’t either. (On the off chance that you did and can somehow still tolerate this space, I apologize for all the cringe-worthy sentence structures.) Yet somehow we’re all editors. I guess we’ve always been editors to a degree—choosing what we share and what we don’t. But now it’s forever stained into the internet—into your blog, your Instagram feed, and Facebook wall. It’s neatly housed in one space—to be read, to be enjoyed, to be critiqued as a body of work reflecting your life. Read more

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Sun-dried Tomato Bowl | @thefauxmartha

It’s rhythmic. It’s predictable. Seven days a week, it’s the same song streaming in the background. As much as I want to hate it, I love it. Let’s be honest, I crave it. She craves it too. Hallie’s little 1-year-old body, always in search of a new adventure, craves the rhythm of everything else. The rhythm of breakfast, lunch, and dinnertime. Of naptime, though we can’t seem to hold a decent beat here. Of school time and bath time. The rhythm informs. It lets us know where we are and what’s coming next. The rhythm is a schedule begging to be filled in. Read more

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Sun-dried Tomato Dressing | @thefauxmartha

Who first believed in you? Family members don’t count. For me, it was Mr. Serie. He was my 8th grade art teacher. Art was a 6-week elective then. Or was it 12-weeks? I can’t remember. But despite all my goofing off in the class, he pulled me aside and told me I was good at art. He didn’t have to do that. And I probably wasn’t all that good. But I went on to paint lots of pictures, take lots of art classes, and major in graphic design. All because Mr. Serie told me I was good at something. Words are powerful. Read more

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“Be somebody who makes everybody feel like a somebody.” —Kid President

I need to tattoo this to the inside of my hand. Most days I’m just making sure I feel like a somebody. We have two mirrors in our tiny apartment—one that’s covered in so much dust I don’t have to worry about the reflection as I pass. The other, in the bathroom, I quickly skirt by until the end of the day. That’s when I usually catch a glimpse of the disheveled person walking by. Read more

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Baked Blueberry Cake Donuts | @thefauxmartha

“Take a step back. You’re standing too close,” I texted my mom. She sent me a picture of a painting she was working on, worried that she’d added too much detail to the foreground. It’s a line I’d learned from my art teachers over the years. I’d heard it so often, it involuntarily came out. “It looks fine. Just take a step back. You’re standing too close.” Read more

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