food | ahi poke bowls

It's been a while since I've posted a recipe but I made this little no-cook miracle last night and got a few requests for details after I posted in on the 'gram. So, here's the ridiculously easy how to. Hope you enjoy it!

And if you happen to make it, please leave a comment and tell me how you liked it! I'm always curious if my recipes are a total fluke and Joe is just lying to me to protect my feelings or if they're actually any good. I'd very much appreciate it!


Poke Bowl

12 ounces sushi grade ahi tuna, diced into large bite-size pieces
poke marinade (see below)
2 cups sticky sushi rice (or rice of your choice*)
toppings of your choice (avocado, cabbage, shredded carrots, sliced cucumbers, scallions, sliced fresh jalapeño, etc.)

Poke Marinade

1/3 cup soy sauce or tamari
1/4 cup seasoned rice wine vinegar
1 tbsp toasted sesame oil
1 tbsp mirin
1 tsp minced ginger
1 scallions, white and light green parts only
1 tsp sambal olek or Sriracha
1 tsp sesame seeds

Marinade the cubed tuna in the refrigerator for 2-3 hours.

When you’re ready to serve, spoon about a cup of rice per person in the bottom of a bow and then layer on your desired toppings. Top the bowl with the poke and drizzle on any remaining marinade. (Trust me, it’s too good to waste.)


Garnish with some toasted sesame seeds, scallions, and maybe even some Nori Kame (seaweed and sesame seed rice seasoning) if you’re feeling fancy.


*The beauty of this recipe is that you can use anything you like for toppings. I picked the sushi rice up from our neighborhood sushi restaurant because sushi rice is a temperamental food to prepare and I didn’t feel like dealing with it. If you’ve got an hour to spare, you could certainly make your own rice or use brown or whatever tickles your fancy but I’m a dedicated proponent of convenience and efficiency so I stand in favor for paying five bucks if it means that I can take back possession of that extra hour of my life.

five things

Call me crazy but I don't believe that Monday deserves our freshest start. Mondays are for the persistent grind; for doing the work; for crossing off that never ending To Do list. But Fridays? Shouldn't that be the mark of a fresh slate? Shouldn't we use Friday as our reset button? Don't our families and loved ones deserve the best of us over the course of the few days a week we get to dedicate to filling our love tanks up in order to face another Monday? 


Don't we deserve that?


I think that's why I have grown rather fond of the Five Things series I used to do over at The C-Word. At the end of the week where it seems that everything but my mental sanity are the priority, I find it to be incredibly cathartic to document all the things I (a) want to remember or (b) want to share or (c) need to channel my inner-Elsa and let that shit go. 

So, I think I'll start doing it again more regularly. Okay? Okay. 

1. I got Edie her first pair of high-tops which only served to reinforce the fact that chubby baby legs in high-top sneakers is plausibly the cutest thing I've ever seen. And while I typically own my bias where my daughters are concerned, the truth is the truth and the truth is that both of my girls ooze swagger. Clearly they didn't get it from their parents who are utterly devoted nerds and always a few steps behind anything that's deemed even remotely cool or trendy. 

2. Jessi Klein is my current girl crush. She is solely responsible for pulling me out of my reading/writing rut and I'm eternally grateful. After having been advised to read her book by a few writers/friends/fellow book worms whose book recommendations have never steered me wrong, You'll Grow Out of It did not disappoint. It's so fucking funny and candid and self-deprecating and relatable and wonderfully absent of any snark or narcissism which, unfortunately, so many belonging to this genre reek of. Consider this MY recommendation for YOU. Read it. 

3. We've had one of my best friends and her little family staying with us this week. They live in Scotland so, sadly, we are able to see each other very rarely. I (FINALLY!) got to meet her baby boy (the last time I saw her was at her baby shower almost a year ago!) and to say that the Fadel ladies are completely obsessed with him would be an acute understatement. Marlo, evident by her temperamental relationship with her baby sister, could usually take or leave babies; she doesn't always believe they serve any useful purpose other than taking away attention better served on her. But not Baby T. On day two of their stay, she declared, "Mama, I don't really want you to have another baby but if you do, it needs to be a boy JUST like him because he is so so so so so so cute. I want to squeeze his cheeks all the time! But not hurt him like I used to do Edie because I like him a lot. You promise?!"

Mo, do tell me how you really feel. 

4. Do you remember JNCOs? I sure do. I thought they were the undeniable coolest, the perfect swaggy counterpart to my over plucked eyebrows, white eyeliner, and frosted lip gloss combo. Since wide-leg jeans are apparently back in, I found a pair that are as close to JNCOs as possible and I am smitten. I can very easily hide a small child under just one of the legs but, for nostalgia's sake, I am now re-devoted to channeling my inner angsty seventh grade boy. YOLO.


5. I don't understand why my kids insist on touching me so much against my will. It's like they have some sort of quota to fill; like, how many times can we invade her personal space in a single day? How many times can we force her to give in to another episode of Shimmer and Shine just to make us our eighteenth snack that we won't stop literally begging for? For fuck's sake, I'd give anything to not be touched or have anything demanded of me for an entire hour but, at this point, I'd settle for just pooping in private and not seeing tiny chubby fingers underneath the door or having Mo ask for a detailed analysis of my shit. Fun times, y'all. Fun. Freaking. Times. 


post op

Yesterday is over. I wouldn't label it easy but it was bearable. It was a means to an end. 


I was able to hold it together though it's quite likely only due to the mom whose baby was also getting tubes in the triage directly beside us and her radical stoicism pressuring me to do the same. I didn't want to embarrass Edie in front of another baby like that. Like she doesn't have enough to deal with already, being known as the girl with "the cry baby Mom" at playschool seemed a little unnecessary on my part to add to the pile.  


Joe told me that I surprised him. Truth be told, I surprised myself. I was expecting hysterics once they took her from me so it's reassuring to know that I'm more in control of the outward expression of my emotions than I believed. WHO KNEW?!


Have you ever witnessed a baby coming out of anesthesia? Trying to hold her through this ordeal looked a lot like me trying to not drop a terrified, flailing, possessed twenty-five pound tree sloth who also bites. We were assured that her behavior was normal but it was kind of alarming as fuck. 


Beyond that, the day was rather uneventful which, given the circumstances, I wasn't mad at. I napped, Edie napped, Mo and Joe napped. A lot of baths were taken. Edie seemed to be in better spirits than she had in weeks. The night did get a little lively around 1 a.m. when, apparently, Edie remembered the day' events and decided that she was positively pissed. Around 3:30, she finally got bored with her own voice and fell back asleep.


After walking back down the short hallway from her room to my own, after collapsing back into bed face first, and after feeling convinced that, contrary to Google's promise, one could die from exhaustion, I found myself so deeply overwhelmed with gratitude.


For a lot of things.


But mostly for her.


Even when she doesn't sleep and even when she screams at me in the middle of the night, I am so, so grateful for my Edie.   

that one time edie slapped me in the face

It all started with a selfie.

For the first time in days, she was happy and smiling and, dammit, I wanted it documented. I needed evidence that my grumpy, ill, and miserable babe was still actually capable of exuding even the slightest hint of the twinkle I have come to know and love.

I should've known better.


I didn't cry... until I did.

It wasn't until Mo and I were walking down the hallway to her new pre-k classroom after dropping Edie off in her class when the significance of this new season in motherhood hit me. My eyes hadn't even so much as watered until Mo grabbed my hand, looked up at me with her big green eyes and said with the utmost conviction, "You don't worry, Mama. I'll go check on Edie in a little bit and make sure she's having so much fun with the other babies. And I'll hug her if she's crying so don't worry. I'll look after her. Okay?"


Immediately, I had to fight my typically defunct tear ducts to hold it together.


One thing that often weighs me down as I go through the day-to-day task of raising my two girls is the uncertainty of it all.

How will I know that I'm doing it right?

How will I know that I'm doing right by them? 

How will I know that I'm not completely fucking them up?


The simple answer is that I won't. At least, not right now and maybe not for another twenty years or so. The far less simple answer is that, as parents, we have such very little control over who our children turn out to be no matter how much we want to believe otherwise. With all of its' uncertainty, parenthood can feel like we're being Punk'd, like we're oblivious participants in a rogue social experiment. While trying to blindly navigate its' manic ebbs and flows, I've come to believe that trying our best is not only good enough, trying our best is simply all that we can do. 


Marlo, the golden girl who made me a mama, is becoming such a uniquely special little being. Her emotional intuitiveness and sincere desire to leave people better than she found them never fail to catch me off guard with yesterday morning at drop-off being no exception. While it's far too early to call it a job well done, Marlo is quickly serving as a glimpse of the very real possibility that I'm somewhere on or encroaching near the path to doing something very right.  


Raising Mo and watching her blossom into the most radiant little human is my daily reminder that no matter how heavy the weight of this responsibility feels on my shoulders or how many times I'm bound to fuck up, motherhood is by far the most emotionally stimulating and personally gratifying adventure I've ever had the honor of embarking on.  


I love you, Mo.

You are the most undeniable magic...

Thank you for being mine.