Tomorrow is Rosie’s birthday, but because tomorrow is a school day and then I have an extra long selectboard meeting (I know, I know–my term is almost over), we decided that we’d officially change the day to last Friday and she could be the boss of the day. She wanted to go skiing. And then she wanted to invite her friends for dinner. And then she wanted eclairs.

That is how Joey and I found ourselves sitting on the “Sun Deck” at Butternut Basin, watching the girls plummet down an icy hill.

(Although I grew up right next to Butternut where I was lulled to sleep by the hum of the snow-maker, and Joey grew up in Colorado, we do not ski. Sitting in the lodge eating terrible lodge food for lunch on this particular day, Sadie felt it necessary to point out that we’re “not very athletic”. I reminded Sadie that I never skied because I was a ballet dancer and my teachers didn’t allow it, and that although dancing is TOTALLY a sport (and I know all you dancers out there have fought this one with me), I’m not really one for speed. “You do cook,” she admitted, “but not very fast.” In any case, when the girls asked to learn, we signed them up for the after-school program and stepped out of it, proud of ourselves for throwing them into a world that we ourselves avoided. And now they ski.)

The Sun Deck sits at the base of a large wide slope. The ski lift curves up the hill, and we can grab a quick glimpse of them together, backs side by side in their coats (tattered L.L. Bean, Sadie in green, Rosie in blue), holding on to the bar that holds them in, swinging their skis. We see them for a moment before they disappear, and then ten or fifteen minutes pass before we can see their coats reappear way up at the top of the hill, tiny dots amongst the hundred or so others on the slope. The first time they come down, Sadie methodically makes her way while Rosie plows into a padded pole in the center of the slope, where she’s rescued by a friendly grownup so she can continue on. They wave at us and get back on the lift, and again–two backs side by side, skis swinging.

The second go around, it’s clear early on that Rosie is going much faster than her sister. By the time she’s half way down the hill, Joey and I are both on our feet. She speeds past the snowboarders and the little kids in ski school, and I swear I can see her cheeks vibrating like some sort of space movie. She’s definitely about to take off and fly over our heads.

So often, our children tend to do the things we do. It works out this way because it’s convenient, or it’s in their blood, or they learn from being around us. But when the girls decide to pursue activities that I don’t do, or in this case that I’m afraid to do, this brings on a very particular moment of parenting. I am at once so proud to see my children being so much themselves in a way that has nothing to do with me or my dreams or expectations for them AND terrified to see them go into a world where I can’t follow. I don’t know the ins and outs of all this, and I can’t protect them. Here, I’m relying on the rest of the nice people on the hill to keep an eye on them (and they do). But I’m guessing the older they get, the more other they’ll become. Yes, it starts with skiing, but what’s next? Do they like cilantro? Are they Republicans? Scientologists? Stockbrokers?

Rosie did not take off over our heads. But the blur of her did fly by the Sun Deck as we and everyone else around us shouted “Fall down!” and she headed directly towards the parking lot. I was already running before she slammed into the safety net, and when I got there she was on her back, skis entirely entangled in the net.

“I’m here! It’s okay!” (Honestly, I was trying not to puke right there. I was determined to stay strong, and to be her rock.)

I expected tears, blood, injuries to make me realize that skiing was in fact a terrible idea. But when I finally got there, she was trying to get her skis out of the net so she could get up and do it again. Joey and I were both shaking and ready to abandon the day and go home. But then we sat together, and Rosie told us exactly how she would slow down, and Sadie promised that she’d keep an eye on her and yell at her to slow down the whole way down the hill. Against our better judgement we sent them back up the hill, and we watched their backs disappear again, skis swinging. We sat together on the bench, and then they were gone and I knew that I’d have to watch them fly down that hill again. There was no other option, as the only way back to us was down that icy mountain.

I’m not sure if I can take a whole lifetime of this.

We did not have eclairs that night. When we got home (girls red-cheeked and happy, Joey and I thankful that everyone was still alive), I got to work on my dough. The pastry cream was already sitting in the fridge, and the ganache would be quick. I couldn’t remember actually ever having made eclairs, but I wasn’t worried. We had a vat of pizza dough bubbling on the counter, toppings ready and organized, friends arriving in an hour.

Everyone says that pate a choux is remarkably easy. I have learned to be wary of this word, “easy,” not because it’s false, but because when I see it in a headnote, I get cocky, and then if it goes poorly, I feel really bad about myself. (I write about food for a living! I can make popovers in my sleep! I’m not afraid of a candy thermometer!) I’m not sure what happened, but I ended up with a liquid that was far too runny to pipe. I put it in the oven anyway, and when it became clear that I would have flat, tasteless crackers instead of lovely puffed pastry for my pastry cream, I walked away from the oven, and I bought a birthday cake for the first time in my parenting life.

But the next day, I gave it another go. They were, in fact, easy not overly difficult. (Although they were just hard enough to prevent me from making them every day, which I would like to do, because they were that wonderful. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had an eclair this good.)

Rosie could have asked for birthday cake, but she wanted eclairs. And I don’t know how else to say it–with every year, I love that girl more and more with a ferocity that makes my stomach tighten with passion and fear. I’ve never wanted so badly to be as brave and good and patient as she asks me to be.

Happy birthday, sweet Rose.











  1. says

    Happy birthday Rosie! Beautiful eclairs mama. (And perhaps they would be interested in cross country skiing? I find it not at all terrifying, for anyone :) )

  2. Jefferson says

    As a former basketball player, and someone generally able to do most things athletic, I admit to being petrified of skiing. You go way too fast! But I sure love reading about Sadie and Rose’s brave skiing adventures. And of course, I would’ve loved to have an eclair with you all.

  3. Sarvi says

    I am an athlete when it comes to reading, pack-ratting, and picking up new hobbies, but that’s about it. Other than the bit where you’re a dancer, I can deeply relate to this post, especially the fears and swooning and hopes and love for your daughter. A very happy birthday to you, Rose!

    • alana says

      Reading, pack-ratting, and picking up new hobbies- are those sports? If so, I’m super athletic. (Thanks so much for your kind words, too)

  4. Susan says

    I grew up in Colorado and I feel that way not only about skiing which fortunately my son is only mildly interested in, but every time he pitches for a baseball game I watch with my heart just pounding…must be part of the whole parenting thing? I, too, want to be that brave parent who doesn’t ever seem to care what grand adventures her child wants to have…anybody know the secret?

      • Susan says

        I will absolutely share – somehow it helps just knowing that you aren’t the only one feeling that way! (And I’m up for the snowing!)

  5. says

    Aww, happy birthday to Rosie! Totally bookmarking this to try the recipe, pate a choux has been on my list for a while.

    It’s funny how, not being a parent myself (it’ll happen eventually, I’m still in newlywed-ish mode), reading your words about parenting alternately terrify me and convince me that it’s going to be okay. I love the way you write. /fangirl

    • alana says

      Oh, thank you Krystina :) And if you ever decide to take the leap- it will absolutely be ok. and terrifying. But, like eclairs, worth it.

  6. says

    Happy Birthday to Rosie. It is amazing how children broaden our horizons. I tried to learn to ski because of my Son and although I was not very good at it, it was an adventure. I love your “can do” attitude about the eclairs. I probably would have given up the first time. That’s what I did with croissants – much to complicated in my opinion. But eclairs are, as you said, fairly easy. I love them with ganache. Lovely post. Love your book too.

    • alana says

      Thank you, Penny! And I must admit, I’ve never made croissants. I’m sort of holding out for them for some reason, like books I haven’t read but know I will… someday.

  7. kate says

    we don’t ski either and spend a lot of time in the kitchen. i guess it’s because it’s what i want to do. is that bad parenting? i have no interest in skiing. and while my son has asked to go, i’m all….too bad! it’s too expensive, too much of a schlep or…to dangerous! but then he forgives me when we come out of the kitchen that day with some amazing. or something amazingly simple, like granola bars, that taste “so way better than the boxed ones!”

    my husbands favorite dessert is profiteroles and the first time i made them i was shaking in my boots. and you know, it WAS easy and they were AMAZING! no more fear. . . except when it comes to pie crust. . .

    • alana says

      Well Kate, if that’s bad parenting, we can be in the club together. BUT we have to work on that pie crust thing, ok? We’ll do a workshop over here one of these days.

  8. says

    I love eclairs, but I’ve never made them. In fact, I don’t think I’ve had one in about 20 years. Kudos to you for making them, and for your honesty that they’re not easy. Ps I learned to ski 5 years ago, after being terrified of it my whole life, so our whole family could ski together. I spent 4 years still terrified, but I did it anyway, and now I am over the fear…and love it.

    • alana says

      You give me hope, Winnie. I’ll get over myself one of these days and get on to the mountain, but don’t expect me to go fast! I’ll be doing “pizza” (as the girls call it) all the way down.

  9. says

    They are fearless and genuine girls because of who they come from!

    I tried a bundt cake this week that was not entirely a failure. Not pretty either, but absolutely very tasty. I’m claiming it as a win. Can eclairs be far behind?

    Happy birthday to beautiful Rosie.

    • alana says

      Somehow, they came into the world with their own fearlessness, I think.:)
      And Julie- a non beautiful but very tasty bundt cake IS A WIN! A bundt cake is made to be eaten, not photographed, so I think you got the important part right. At least, that’s what I told myself about these very “rustic” eclairs.

  10. says

    Today I finished my master’s thesis, and decided that it was time to return to the kitchen for the first time in two weeks. This is what we’re having for dinner. My dad used to make them when we were kids, as a special treat and it seems like the perfect thing for today. Thank you for the recipe and the memories it brought back of my dad teaching me how to make them :) And best wishes on the next year for Rosie!!

  11. says

    Eclairs will always have a soft spot in my heart. The first time I ever saw one in a bakery as a little girl, I thought it was a chocolate hot dog. So my dad bought one for me and I remember thinking it was just about the best thing I had ever eaten. All this time later, we still joke about “chocolate hot dogs.”


  1. […] If you’re one of the seven people who follow me on Instagram, you’ve witnessed some of the adventures of the last few weeks. Joey’s birthday cake, delicate and exactly what he asked for–until it was 5:00 and I had a few minutes before I had to run out to a meeting, and I thought, “how about I spiff this up with a little mango filling?” Which of course I didn’t finish making in time, and so when I got home at 9:30 and got to work filling the cake, it was too late to effectively act on the realization that although mango puree+ricotta=delicious, it does not have nearly enough heft to hold up cake layers. I fought with those layers as they slipped and slid, and then we just ate great mounds of cake and called it a trifle. There was also a birthday cake of a few weeks earlier for Aurel, a recipe I’ve started working on for the new book, which although in previous incarnations had been chocolatey and luscious and wonderful, was this time dense and not so yummy, covered in what I can only describe as curd-y chocolate water. But of course, since I was late to the party, I served it anyway. One six-year-old guest said “I hate this cake.” And then let’s not even talk about the the 1st round of eclairs. […]

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>