Gooey Toffee and Milk Chocolate Chip Cookies

Hi friends! Happy first weekend of summer. I’ve got a batch of delicious, chewy chocolate chip cookies for you — loaded with gooey milk chocolate and chewy toffee bits. I’ve booked a babysitter for the whole day tomorrow so Adarsh and I can have some time together to do grown-up things like go for a bike ride and catch a movie. I’m already bouncing with anticipation.

First, let me take you through a morning from our recent weekend.

(5:46 a.m.) Everett, two years old: MORNING TIME! “Mama look, mama LOOK!” He’s gleeful, and before I’ve fully woken he’s stripped down to just skin and curls and is climbing all over me. I rub my eyes, grunt, and head downstairs to make a Father’s Day brunch: a South Indian breakfast of sambhar (lentil and vegetable stew) and dosa (rice pancakes).

Everett: “Me want wallawellon.” He darts off, hangs off the fridge door until it opens, de-shelves everything within reach, and helps himself to watermelon before I reach the kitchen.

Everett: “Me want ganana.” He grabs a banana, eats one bite, and abandons the rest on the counter.

Everett: “Me want to stir that.” His eyes lock on my bowl of crepe batter; he snatches the bowl and — ACHOO ACHOOOOOOOOOOO — sneezes twice right into it. “Me need Tylenol,” he announces nonchalantly.

He wanders off for a moment, and then: “AAAAAH! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!” — ear‑splitting screams from the living room.

I drop the bowl and go sprinting around the corner, heart racing, scanning for hurt or blood.

Me: “What’s wrong???” (Panicked, ready to diagnose every imaginable emergency.)

Everett: (Yawning) “Me cold.” He’s still naked and perfectly relaxed in the oversized fabric bean bag chair. “Put my clothes on.”

(Pause.)

E: “Uh oh.”

Me: “What?!” (Still bracing for the worst.)

E: “Me peed.”

He wanders off again, legs splayed in that toddler way. I sit down with my coffee to recover from the surge of fight‑or‑flight hormones — caffeine seems to help — while the sambhar bubbles and fills the kitchen with warm, savory steam. I survey the graveyard of watermelon rinds and banana peels strewn across the counter. Everett climbs into my lap; I sigh, kiss his curls, and forgive him instantly when he delivers a hard headbutt to my face. (My nose might be permanently tilted a hair to the East now.)

Dada comes down the stairs.

Me: “Happy Father’s Day, babe.” (Totally haggard.)

Everett: “Happy Halloween.” (Totally cheerful.)

That, friends, is a perfectly average morning for me before 8 a.m., and it’s exactly why I’ll be doing cartwheels out the door tomorrow when we have a whole day to ourselves.

Before we head out, I’m baking another batch of these Skor‑bar–inspired cookies and stopping by a neighbour’s patio for a drink this evening. I’ve been so touched by the hospitality in my new neighbourhood — the kind gestures and invitations that make a place feel like home.

I met this particular neighbour for three minutes while walking home one day. Our kids are the same age, so we exchanged numbers and she invited me over for a girls’ night. That openness — strangers becoming friends with a simple invitation — has been a balm.

This week I wrote about the art of “doing” — how easy it is to spend hours “researching” inspiration online without actually creating anything. Finding ideas matters, but it’s all too simple to get trapped in an endless scroll. So here’s my challenge: step away from consuming and start creating. Pull a recipe off a Pinterest board and make it. Put down the photography inspiration and pick up your camera. Book that Airbnb and go. Close the Goodreads app and read a real page. Book a sitter and take a bike ride. Text a neighbour and invite them for a glass of wine. Action breeds motivation, not the other way around.

Let’s make this a summer of doing. There’s never a “perfect” time to start — so why not begin now? I’m in if you are. Let’s do more, make more, and savor the small messy moments that make life rich.