Last year, I bought the MBT sneaker, which is supposed to tone your butt while you trot around town all day. Unfortunately, I wasn't coordinated enough for the curved wedge. On day 2, I stepped off a curb, fell on my face and broke my foot (as my children watched in awe.)  So much for a toned arse.

When my foot was better, I embraced ballet flats. Lovely, yes, but support-wise, they're pretty lousy. Now, I have become devotee of Hogan's "Interactive" sneakers -- so popular among NY's Upper East Side women that I've dubbed them "chic-ers."  I opt for gold or bronze and wear them only with bootleg jeans. Truly the most comfortable shoe I've ever worn. Too bad my husband thinks they're hideous.

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As a Cookie editor, the pressure to come bringing the coolest gift to a baby shower or kid's birthday party can be paralyzing. Do I drop a load of cash on some cute outfit that the child will wear for a second? Or on a toy more beautifully crafted than most of what I have in my own home? Fortunately, Target's in-house company makes amazing wooden toys that even my adult friends covet (and don't bankrupt me). Unfortunately, the selection online is limited, but go to the store and look for the Play Wonder brand. My favorites are the bowling set ($19.99) and any of the kitchenware and play food combos (all about $14.99). I've bought plastic versions of the bowling game, but Play Wonder's superior version has a heft and color palette that speaks not only to its quality but the brand's sensitivity to persnickety adults. My grownup friends also love the cookie baking kit, less for its look (which is still great) and more for its ability to occupy the kids just long enough to get dinner on the table.

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Newspaper serves dual purpose in my house...before recycling the Sunday New York Times, my son and I create swords, hats, oversize oragami, and tents from the paper, rather than just playing with just the usual board games or toys. It's a great outlet for our imaginations!

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When I was little I was obsessed with fairies. Probably because my mother taught me how to make fairy rings, which are a special places for fairies to dance and feast. Making a fairy ring is an easy and fun thing to do with a child: the idea is simply to put flower petals in a circle outside, preferably near moss, which my mom always said was "fairy grass." Then you add a snack to lure the fairies into your ring (breadcrumbs are perfect fairy food), and you leave the ring alone overnight. Important: you can't check to see if the fairies have come until the next morning. If they have come (and of course, they always do) the petals will be strewn in a haphazard fashion from all the dancing they got up to and the breadcrumbs will be gone.

Most important of all to any child, the fairies will leave a token of thanks: it's usually something as tiny as a single candy placed in the center of the ring under a petal or leaf. Frankly it doesn't matter what the fairies leave: anything looks wondrous when you've been anticipating it all night.

I made many fairy rings as a kid. Now that I have my own little girl I have an excuse to make them again. Granted ours are hardly ever nearly as elaborate as the fancy one pictured here (since I don't usually photograph them for Cookie!), but you can get as basic or as carried away as you want. For this one, we collected acorn caps for breadcrumb bowls and added tiny ceramic bonsai houses (for fairies to sleep in after all that partying). My daughter also placed a marble in the middle to make things extra-magical. Morning of course brought a fairy gift: a single strawberry Mentos in tin foil.

Even if you don't have a garden you can still make a fairy ring: I've made them on decks in deep winter (snow fairies also like to dance and feast); I've made them out of pine cones and stones...Not only do fairy rings play to kids' imaginations, but they also show that even the smallest present can be a treasure.

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Our bedtime routine with our older son Henry goes as follows: my husband, Chris, reads him a story or two and I make one up while tickling his back. My story always involves a character called the Baby Dragon, who is usually separated from his mom, and a boy named Henry, who becomes the dragon's guardian and savior and eventually reunites the Baby Dragon with his mother. The recurrence of "a boy named Henry," or the idea that his namesake could appear in the third-person, somehow never gets old. And whether the characters have to take a magic carpet ride or a dozen balloons to find the Mommy Dragon, I infuse the stories with enough details from Henry's real life that he recognizes them. I think I think the key is to give equal weight to the magical and the quotidian so that kids see their lives as something special.

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Maybe you know some of these books, but I'm guessing not as I don't hear much about them anymore. They're were my favorites growing up, so I thought I'd share the list in hopes that they become your kids' favorites, too.

The Tomten: This haunting adaptation of a Scandinavian poem about the Tomten - a little elfin creature who lives in a hayloft and is never seen by humans - will captivate children who are into that creepy/dreamy literature phase. (I think this can be read to a child 4 and over - I probably had it read to me at around age 6.)

The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes: This 1939 book about a country bunny who dreams of delivering Easter eggs but winds up with dozens of baby bunnies instead is a lovely feminist parable (she shows the doubting Jack Rabbits in the end). (The reading level is ages 4 to 8, but I think moms can read this to kids 2 and over.)

The Garden of Abdul Gasazi: Not everything is what it seems in this tale of a young boy and a dog who wander into a magician's garden. (This one is a bit haunting and more sophisticated. I think my parents read it to me when I was 5, and I probably reread it myself at 7 or 8.)

The Wolves of Willoughby Chase: Why does no one read this anymore? The best of the orphan books, in my opinion, this chapter book is about kids, an evil uncle, and wolves! (Kids can read this at age 9 or 10. I think I read it when I was 11.)

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I remember getting my very first manicure. I ruined it within five minutes. (I was a kindergartner getting my nails polished for a charity fashion show and I decided to ruffle my fingers through the salon's shag carpet before they were dry.) Decades later I'm still incredibly impatient when it comes to manicures, so I was thrilled when my oh-so wise mother gave me a bottle of OPI Drip Dry. You just squeeze a drop on each nail within a minute of applying your last coat and the polish will be set in a minute and completely dry within five. So now I don't have to worry about smudging my nails with keys, coffee mugs...or shag carpet.

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All the kids on my block called my mom Wonder Woman. She had the black hair, the blue eyes, the waist the size of some women's thighs, the invisible jet... But her true superpower was her green thumb, which was to me kryptonite. We lived in the city with a small yard but she managed to garden most of our veggies, grapes, honeysuckle, sunflowers, a gorgeous rose garden and dozens of other seemingly exotic varieties...it was her passion. She even composted!!

When I moved to NYC in the early '90s I announced to her that I was sharing a little plot in a public east village garden. She reminded me that the last time she saw me "gardening" was around 1982, lying in the tall grass in HER orange bikini, telephone cord stretched to the max, gardening shears tossed somewhere in the vicinity. (I missed my allowance that week but my tan was savage.)

Time passed and I abandoned my gardening fantasies considering them in the same way I thought of fashion...maybe you just had to get new stuff every season. So when they stopped looking fresh and fashionable I tossed them and bought more. (The only plant this doesn't apply to is the cactus, the "little black dress" of plant life because you really can't kill it...although I have.)

There is a lot of pressure on date night, and, the truth is sometimes it's the "night" part that seems untenable for new parents. We are simply too damn tired! When my younger son was born and my husband and I were wading through those first days of sleeplessness, we would enlist grandparents or hire a babysitter to come for a couple of hours during the day on the weekend so that we could have an outing together without yawning. The "day date," as we call it, takes the pressure off getting weekend night reservations (it's far easier to get into a good restaurant for lunch or to a bar at 4 pm for a late afternoon beer).  Perhaps the biggest bonus is that strolling around aimlessly during the day with your mate will unearth your carefree childless early adulthood.

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My husband, Matthew, and I are seltzer fiends. We were going through about 15 liter bottles of Poland Spring seltzer each week. This alarming consumption has made me feel guilty for a couple of reasons. First off, my apartment is on the fourth floor of typical New York City walk-up, so I'd always feel like a total crumb making the Fresh Direct delivery guy lug all that water up all those stairs. Secondly, such a large pile of plastic bottles makes for an embarrassment of waste. But my options seemed limited: Stop liking seltzer? Sell my apartment and move to an elevator building? For Christmas, Matthew surprised me with the third (and winning) option: a seltzer maker! He schlepped all the way out to Borough Park, Brooklyn, and brought home the Soda Club Home Soda Maker. It just takes a few tries before you're cranking out the seltzer like a pro. Now we have an endless supply of bubbly water. I'm a total convert and a proselytizer. I even got my brother-in-law into it (you can read his testimonial on his blog).

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When we were growing up, my mom taught us a special phrase. If we had something weighing on our little minds, we would simply have to say, "I need some private time." Then, she would take the worried child into her bedroom to sit on her bed with her and talk about whatever was the troubling matter at hand. We could tell her anything, even if it made us feel embarrassed, sad or scared. She would listen very seriously, rub our backs and make us feel better. I remember it quite fondly. And even though I'm almost 30, if I were to need some "private time," I'm sure she would still honor the request.

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Just the thought of dieting sends me into anaphylactic shock (OK, that may be a slight exaggeration, but you get my point). So you can imagine my surprise when I not only attempted a detox but ended up loving it and wanting more. My detox of choice is Blueprint Cleanse, which offers different types of programs depending on how serious you are and how long you want to cleanse (read: not eat). At each of the three levels, you drink six prepared juices per day. Most of the juices are very green (spinach, kale, parsley, etc.) The evening "juice" is really a cashew nut milk that tastes divine.

My first cleanse was a bit of a shock to my system. I did Level 2 for five days and by day three, I was so cold and hungry that I drank the cashew milk for breakfast. I felt so amazing by the end of it, though, that I made plans to try one of the other programs two months later.

My second time around, I chose Level 3 for three days. Cleansing at higher level for less time seemed much more manageable to me. At Level 3, the drinks containing fruit with a high glycemic index (pineapple, apple) are replaced with green drinks, so I didn't have the sugar cravings and hunger pangs that characterized my first go.

I've learned that detox is a multi-layered process. Sure, some of it is simply not eating, but an even bigger part of it is about not polluting your body with flours, sugars and (for me) Diet Coke. Both during and after the exercise, I felt like I could fly.

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My mom's meals always had a bay leaf or two. Growing up, I just accepted this as a given without much thought as to why. It wasn't until I started cooking on my own as an adult that I really understood the bay leaf's incredible culinary value. Now, it's a must in almost every dish I make, from short ribs braised in beer to my mom's chicken adobo.

I find that bay leaves add a slightly bitter yet fragrant complexity to dishes that are already packed with flavor. And, wherever there's a hint of sweet in a savory dish, I often use bay leaves as a counterpoint. (When I make short ribs braised in beer, for example, the bay leaf complements the sweet carmelized onions). Try out my mom's Filipino-style chicken adobo...

Even though I had made big strides in helping my two-year-old, Alex, adjust to his newborn brother, Ben (see here and here), I still felt like I had a long way to go. For several weeks after we'd brought Ben home, I was constantly telling Alex to "be nice," "be gentle," and "be careful" around the baby. I felt like this shaming cross between a broken record and a watchdog, and it only made Alex feel angrier and more jealous of Ben.

I decided to shift gears in my approach. Instead of instructing just Alex on how to act around the baby, I started to "direct" the baby on how to behave around Alex. I'd say things like "Ben, please don't cry so loudly. Alex and I are trying to read a story." Or sometimes, I'd go with "Ben, you be nice to Alex, too. Please be nice to each other." These days I say things like, "Ben, I am going to put you down for your nap now so I can play with Alex for a whole hour and you won't interrupt us!" It's worked beautifully for everyone: Alex feels special; Ben gets attention (even though he has no idea what I'm saying); and I feel better all around-less nervous about the baby getting hurt, less guilty about Alex's rattled state, and more present as a parent juggling these two little boys:

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My best girlfriend just moved back to New York City, and we celebrated with our favorite college pastime:  talking into the wee hours over cocktails of our own creation (which we surely would have patented back then had we recalled the recipes come morning). Luckily, I do remember the clever concoction we shook up for our recent reunion. With little more than condiments in my bachelorette fridge, we opted for vodka and bottled organic lemon juice over ice. The drink was so simple, refreshing, and deliciously not-too-sweet that we each had three. Oy.

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My family fell into a dinner rut, and it wasn't pretty. Family meals became a real drag with my three boys grumbling and moaning at yet another menu of baked salmon or spaghetti with meatballs. Yet, whenever I suggested a new dish, they'd respond with a chorus of "Ick! Yuck! No Way!" What gives?!

I breathed a sigh relief (and almost cried) when I read Jenny Rosenstrach's article, "30 Meals in 30 Days." On a whim, I showed the boys the pictures of her dinners, and the weirdest thing happened: They LOVED looking at the photos and wanted to discuss each dish in detail. After much deliberation and debate, they agreed on six of the featured dishes to try (it's amazing when they agree on anything - much less six meals!)  Now, we're integrating two new dinners each week, and the boys have to find something new to complain about.

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When we brought our new baby, Ben, home from the hospital, our two-year-old, Alex, was utterly distraught (despite their smooth introduction detailed in "Adjusting to the New Baby / Part 1"). Feeling abandoned, he acted out his jealousy in ways both naughty and heart-wrenchingly sad. When I was able to pull myself together a few weeks later (though I wish it had been sooner), I left the baby with our nanny and took Alex out alone. We only had about an hour before I had to get back for more nursing, but it didn't matter. The two of us walked to a nearby pet store to survey the fish, lizards, and turtles, then shared a croissant on the way home. I hadn't seen Alex so happy in months. The twinkle in his eyes (that had disappeared in recent weeks) was back. And I was happy, too, for a few reasons. First, it was wonderful to be out with a toddler who could walk and talk, versus a mysterious all-I-do-is-eat-sleep-cry-and-poop newborn in a stroller. I also realized how much I had missed him--that it's a two way street, and I need to be with him as much as he needs to be with me. Finally, I saw how resilient children are--just an hour of alone time made up for weeks of feeling disconnected. I think we both felt totally energized after our outing. I didn't even care that I hadn't slept at all the night before!

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I check out my friend Hollister's blog every day because she has amazing taste, and her finger's always on the pulse (but never in an obvious way). Hollister and her sister, Porter, seem to have endless time and energy, and I simply love spending time in their world. They're like two fabulous-looking crazy aunts, both old-soul romantic and completely current, who frolic around in clothes that are at once nostalgic and glamorous. I never know quite what to expect when I enter Holly's orbit - I could very well be headed on safari, wearing (what else, but) YSL, or bidding maniacally on some eBay treasure she's discovered or is trying to sell. Come join in the fun!

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I will most likely never make a baby book for either of my kids. I wish I were that kind of mom, but I'm not, and I've decided not to beat myself up about it. That said, I was thrilled to read Dan Ferraro's piece (in the second issue of Cookie) on setting up Gmail accounts for his babies to record their formative years. I took his advice and, for the past three years, have been sending emails to my boys (Henry, 4, and Willem, 2) in hopes that they'll someday read them and keep them as artifacts of their childhoods. My messages to them range from multi-paragraph love letters on their birthdays to one-liners that document a particularly funny or poignant phrase that comes out of their mouths-like the time a friend of ours was staying with us and woke up to Henry (an inch from his face) exclaiming, "Can you believe it's morning already?" Sometimes I'll send them pictures from the day's events.  I've also asked grandparents and loved ones to email them after visits. It's the new, modernized baby scrapbook, I think, that will give them an even clearer mental snapshot of who they were at the age of 4 when they review this stuff at age 20, 30, 40...

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I was just about to give birth to my second son, and I wasn't sure how to handle the new baby and my two-year-old, Alex, meeting for the first time. I'd heard about giving the older child a present from the new baby, which seemed like a sound idea. But then our doctor suggested a couple of details to add to that concept, which were especially sweet and successful. She told us to put the present in the hospital bassinet (there's usually a compartment down below), to place a picture of Alex inside the bassinet wall for the baby to "look at," and to NOT have the baby in the room when Alex walked in for the first time. The introduction couldn't have gone more smoothly: When Alex arrived, my husband and I took him to the nursery to pick up the baby. He was so excited to see his own photo in the bassinet and even more psyched about the giant stuffed Nemo underneath. More importantly, he felt like a real insider-like we were all going to accept this new creature into our life together, and like the baby knew about his big brother just as Alex knew about his little brother.

The bliss continued for a couple of days before there were new growing pains to remedy. Stay tuned for more "adjusting to the new baby" adventures.

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My husband and I recently cleaned out our storage space and among the items we uncovered was a 1952 first edition of the children's book A Hole Is to Dig written by Ruth Krauss and illustrated by Maurice Sendak. It has quickly become our family's favorite book. The thumbnail illustrations of children are so sweet and gleeful that you're immediately absorbed into their carefree world of play. Even more endearing is how the book invites you to see the world through a child's eyes: It's touted as  "A First Book of First Definitions," and its "definitions" clearly have been created by children--"arms are for hugging" is exactly how a cuddly child would make sense of arms, for example.

This is a refreshingly simple, poetic, and timeless book that your kids will ask you to read over and over and over again (in one sitting). Check out a few more of my favorite definitions.

My four-year-old, Abby, and I make our own paper dolls. She tells me what she wants (princess, artist, cook, ballerina, "sporty girl"...). Then, I draw the outline (note: some doodling skills help), she colors it in, and I cut it out. Here's "Fairy Queen":

I'm not quite sure why these paper figures are so enthralling, but they are; she plays with them by herself for hours on end. I have about 80,000 of them in my house now. She's obsessed. Click below to see "Proper Lady" and "School Girl."

Trail mix usually makes me gag, but I can't get enough of Trader Joe's  "Nuts about Antioxidants." It's full of big fat dried raspberries and blueberries, not dusty cubes of mystery fruit. I don't have kids to test it out on, but I discovered it through a parent friend of mine who feeds it to her child. And, I figure if I can be converted, can't a small, picky eater?

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The buzz of my Sonicare toothbrush is my guilt-free Do Not Disturb sign. The toothbrush is pre-programmed to shut off after two minutes, so every night I take a magazine into the bathroom with me and, while I brush my teeth, I sit on the edge of the tub and read a quick article or leaf through a fashion spread. Believe it or not, two uninterrupted minutes feels pretty long!

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Whenever and wherever I travel, I pack my jump rope so I make sure to get some good cardio in (no, sightseeing doesn't count). Jumping rope is an excellent form of exercise in any setting (as I learned from Momover columnist, Dana Wood, in her piece "Jumping for Joy"), but it's especially ideal when on the road because the rope is light and soft enough to throw in your purse and you can break a solid sweat in the privacy of your room (rather than an unfamiliar - and sometimes sketchy - hotel gym). So, do like House of Pain says (in the aptly-titled "Jump Around"): "Jump up, jump up, and get down."

Try this jump rope from buyjumpropes.

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For my son Lex's first birthday, I wanted to prepare a festive snack that would be tasty for kids and adults. I ended up making these scrumptious cheese biscuits from a recipe in Nigella Lawson's cookbook, Feast: Food to Celebrate Life (which I happen to love, cover-to-cover). She calls it "Cheesy Feet" because she uses a foot-shaped cookie cutter. But, as she points out in the recipe, you can use any shape you want. I dredged up a star, a leaf and a circle, all of which worked beautifully. The best thing about the recipe is how simple and quick it is: You can pull it off with what you (likely) already have in 30 minutes flat. Even better? Everyone loved it. Here's the recipe, straight from Nigella:

I've tried tons of ways to distract the kids while getting dinner under control, but this method is my favorite because it doesn't involve TV or "helping" (code for making a big mess of flour, honey, water, spices, and whatever else is within reach of their little hands).  Pull a chair up to the sink, turn on the faucet, and squirt some dish soap. Your child will play with the bubbly water and forget you even exist.

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By the time I'm done cooking dinner, getting the kids ready for bed, reading bedtime stories, washing dishes, sorting through mail, and picking up toys, the last thing I want to do is go through the whole face-cleansing and moisturizing ritual. Our beauty editor suggested that I get my skin routine out of the way the minute I get home. So now, that's what I do (right after I walk in the door and change into my comfy outfit). It took a bit of getting used to, but once I got in the habit, I found it to be an end-of-the-night sanity saver. If only I didn't have to brush and floss and brush before bed...

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I switched over to REN Skincare after editing the story "Toxic Shock" for the February issue, when I learned that most of the skin products I was I using had parabens, PEG-13, and phthalates in them (all of which can be toxic). I found REN, a Scandinavian line that uses no harsh chemicals in any of its formulas, at Sephora in their natural/organic section (I use the frankincense night cream and rose body cream). I don't mind that it's a little more expensive than other skin products I've tried in the past because I just feel healthier knowing it's pure.

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A few years ago, I was at my aunt and uncle's home for dinner and I couldn't get enough of my aunt's salad. There was something magical in the dressing that kept me licking my lips after each bite, but I couldn't quite place what it was. "Tamari soy sauce," she revealed.

Tamari gives dishes some oomph in the same way that salt does, except that tamari's richer and nuttier on the palate. It's a great ingredient to mix with olive oil and garlic, for instance, as a base for sautéing just about anything. San-J is my brand of choice, and here is one of my favorite recipes:

Salad: Place all your chopped non-lettuce ingredients (tomato, avocado, onion, pepper...) in a bowl and toss with a mild vinaigrette (I love Brianna's French Vinaigrette). Then dribble tamari over the goodies, mix, and let marinate until you're ready to add the lettuce. Before serving, just add the lettuce, toss, sprinkle chopped nuts on top (pistachio nuts work really well), and feast.

The song "Dead Skunk" by Loudon Wainwright III is all the rage in my house. Pretty true to its title, the song's about a skunk that gets run over by a station wagon, which might not seem kid-friendly at first, but the truth is I've never met a four-year-old who didn't love it (though younger than that could be inappropriate, I suppose). Every time one of the girls' friends comes over, I put it on repeat and they go bananas. Do you have hits like that in your house?

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