Friends, we have so much catching up to do. I promised before I went to the Bahamas that when I got back, I’d have some cool stuff to share, but somehow it is over four weeks later and we are really overdue for a chat. Plus, it’s Tax Day and I’ve been moping around all week with my pockets inside out since I was presented with a bill with an impossible number of zeros after it, and hey, wouldn’t we all rather focus on the cheerful stuff? Of course. So without further ado:

The Smitten Kitchen is moving: Well, not urls, thank god (though in a fit of obsessiveness last week, I decided at once to go on a domain shopping spree and you can now get here via smittenkitchen.org, smittenkitchen.info or smittenkitchen.net. Wish I could go on normal people shopping sprees, like for shoes.). But as I have alluded to — namely through griping about the packing and the sorting and the boxes, and lord, the boxes — we’ve found a new apartment and we’re moving this weekend. And we can’t wait. I lived in the East Village when I first moved to NYC in 2000, and am thrilled to have found an excuse to move back. Perhaps I’ll even check out this “Trader Joes” you kids are always going on about!

But who cares about the neighborhood? Let’s get down to the brass tacks. That sound you hear? It’s the sky opening up and the angels singing in the new smitten kitchen, as there is a large white machine whose sole purpose is to wash dishes for us. I can barely handle all of this excitement at once. Alex, who we all know deals with the brunt of the dishes here, is already wondering whether we can just pack up this week’s dirty dishes and just wash ’em when we arrive this weekend. The jury is still out on that one.

So that’s the good news. The bad news? The kitchen is smaller. Oh, I know those of you with your expansive kitchens with yards of counter space and cabinets aplenty think that our current kitchen was pitifully small, but I’m telling you, for New York City, it was nothing to complain about. It was downright dreamy and I told it so all of the time. The new kitchen is a lot more of what you’d expect on this island, and I’m not going to lie: I’m terrified. Does this mean no more wedding cakes? What about truffle dredging stations? But I know I’ll eventually adapt; it is my way. Besides, the floor is adorably checkered and there’s a nice little window — I’m warming to it already.

The Smitten Kitchen is going to cow country. People, it has killed me to keep this from you all of these months because I could not be more excited if … I just couldn’t be more excited. A few days after this weekend’s move, Alex and I are packing our blue jeans and our kicks (Note to self: Buy “kicks”!) into suitcases and heading out to visit The Pioneer Woman on her ranch, and stay in her Lodge. Yes, that ranch. Yes, in that Lodge. Ree and I hope to spend the weekend cooking up a storm, city versus country style while Alex is out in the field, no doubt getting hazed by her two boys for his City Slicker ways. There will be pictures. There butter by the pound. And considering that the closest I’ve been to cows, perhaps ever, is that blurry picture you see above from upstate New York — blurry because I was skittering away because, wow, cows are tall and kinda scary up close — this trip should be a source of endless amusement for my friends and family, and hopefully you as well. We cannot wait.

There are buns in ovens. It’s true! After pining over Molly Wizenberg’s Cinnamon Rolls with Cream Cheese Glaze for more than a year now, I couldn’t take it anymore and baked them up this weekend (when I was supposed to be cleaning out my closet). Hot damn, people. Do not wait as long as I did, you’ll be filled with regret and …

Yes, I am dodging the subject again; burying the lede, if you will. There is, you see, an actual bun in the Smitten Kitchen oven. As much as I have tried to deny it and as much as it has even now really not sunk in yet, evidence has mounted since the beginning of this year — in the form of incomparable adorableness on ultrasound screens, the sudden appeal of stretchy-waist jeans and an incessant need to nap the days away — that we’ve got a wee little person on the way. I’m due in September, and we’re pretty stoked.

[P.S. You still get cinnamon buns, I mean, when you make your own. We didn’t save you any.]

One year ago: Caramelized Shallots (Do yourself a favor and make these today. They are that good.)