Introduction Everyone's Story Begins at Home My story begins in Chicago, where my grandfather owned an apartment building ten minutes from downtown, and my grandparents lived on the top level. The first floor held two apartments, which belonged to whoever was the latest son or daughter to get married. My mom, dad, sister, and I were wedged in between, in the second-floor apartment. My mom worked outside the home long before that was the norm, so we all pitched in to help with household chores. There was lots of hustle and bustle in that building, with Italian spoken a mile a minute and the furniture covered in plastic. (How else could you keep it nice with so many people using it?) When I was in the third grade, we moved into our own house in Galewood, but we'd still come together with all the grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles every Sunday after Mass for a big meal of salad, pasta, chicken, potatoes, and my grandmother's homemade biscotti. Wherever you are with the people you love--that's home. Starting Out and Moving On I met my husband, Bill (aka Mr.

Babs), in high school; we married five years later, and we started our own family in Chicago. We were raising two little ones--Bill and Shawn--in a house in Willowbrook when Bill's work transferred us to Virginia. Erin was born in Virginia, and then we moved to Connecticut and our youngest, Elizabeth, was born in Ridgefield. Moving isn't easy with little ones, but we did it! I also worked as a teacher and director of a preschool I founded. Just like my mom before me, I had to balance a busy schedule while keeping our own home running. Everyone in our family had a job to do, and we all made do together. Each year, we learned a little more about what makes a house a home. It's not a spotless kitchen or a perfectly organized pantry.

Those are both nice things but they're hard to have when you've got toddlers running around with sticky hands. (Now that we're grandparents, we get to keep our house as clean as we want, but we miss those fingerprints! For those of you in the throes of parenting, take heart. The time will come when your house is yours again.) The truth is that a house becomes a home when you make it special, in your own unique way, for yourself and the ones you love. A good home is the foundation for a good life. The Basket House I have my daughter Elizabeth to thank for helping me find my latest home away from home. She's now grown with four kids of her own, and we've worked together since she started posting videos of my cooking tips and home hacks in 2020. We've grown our business into full-time jobs for both of us, and we have the joy (and sometimes challenge) of working together and seeing each other almost every day! When I would drive to her house in the early days of Brunch with Babs, I'd cross a one-lane bridge with an adorable home next to it, right on the river.

Elizabeth knew I loved it, and she called me as soon as it went on the market. Built in the 1830s, it had been a blacksmith shop with a brick floor. In 1850, it became a basket-weaving business with a little shop. Now, it's ours. We named it the Basket House and we spent over a year renovating it so that it's just right for us. It's the place where I get to share all I've learned with you, and it's our home away from home.