i’m not a big birthday whore. usually, it’s a very non-descript day that ends in dinner out with baby daddy. but in the last few years, in the cutest sibling gesture ever, my brother started calling the husband, asking him what present would make me go whoah. this year, it was a gift certificate to take a Chinese dumpling class. i had seen flyers around the neighborhood and must’ve mentioned to babby daddy that i would totally give up a weekend afternoon of doing dishes/laundry/my son’s poopy diapers to leisurely spend three hours crafting pillowy, delicious dumplings. my nickname for Leigh is little dumpling and we could both easily eat our weight in those suckers. daily. the class idea was two-fold, i’m sure. she’ll have a blast aaaand maybe there will be more dumplings around this dang house. thought baby daddy. and so, on a recent Saturday, the dumpling-hungry husband took Sebe and i got to skip off to make dumplings.
Kristina was not Chinese as i imagined she might be but she did live there for a while and can boast that she speaks Mandarin fluently. she’s been teaching Mandarin lessons around town for a long time and at home, cooking lots of authentic Chinese food. the food part got out to friends and now, once a year in the months leading up to the Chinese new year, she teaches cooking classes. bring on year of the goat!