we are a pickle family. there is always a jar of some in our fridge. not the sort you can get on an unrefrigerated grocery shelf. no. never. the good kind. the kind that has funk and spices and crunch to it and is usually found in the deli section. so imagine my delight when i discovered the real dill pickles, made in denver. they’ve got funk, they’ve got punch, they’ve got tang, they’ve got spice, they’ve got crunch.
i first tried them at the populist pop-up holiday market and ramona and i kept sneaking back to their table to steal samples. i have sworn to justin, one of the owners, that i will never buy another sort of pickle again. this is a promise i am confident i can keep. justin is offering colorado readers of A Denver Home Companion the chance to win a jar of pickles as well as a jar of their bloody mary mix (you best believe when this baby is out i will be drinking my fair share of that during weekend brunches).
leave a comment below about what you most admire in a pickle or, if you’ve had the real dill, what your favorite flavor is. for more chances to win like them on facebook (please leave a separate comment for this). a winner will be announced next monday, 2/3.
don’t win this giveaway? that shouldn’t deter you from picking up a jar of your own. check their website to see what grocer near you stocks them.
p.s. the real dill is one of the sponsors of the upcoming colorado makers pig roast hosted by the populist on sunday, 2/9. we are so very excited to partner with them and showcase their delicious pickles next to a juicy roasted pig (c/o tender belly). interested in attending? tickets are going fast. get more details and purchase tickets here.
pregnancy brain is a real thing. and it has set in hard for me this past week. well, i think it set in earlier but it’s just now i’m realizing what is happening to me. i’m both glad to know there’s a reason for this madness and anxious to see how the next eight weeks pans out with a brain for mush.
what is pregnancy brain?
one pregnant friend of mine due this week, described it best: “i feel like somebody pooped in my head.”
amen, sister. amen.
it’s a mixture of fuzziness and lethargy and discombobulation and unclear thinking. mine is accentuated by a complete lack of motivation (how long has it been since i wrote a blog post?!) and i have zero ability to concentrate. i’m not sure if it’s an inevitable part of pregnancy for every woman but it sure has been for both of mine. call me crazy, but i’m super looking forward to a newborn who doesn’t let me sleep through the night more than this soupy brain bc i can operate a lot better on little sleep than i can with fuzzy head.
it can be desperately lonely at times, this pregnancy-brain malady. it’s my hormones and my changing body growing a human, surely, but messing with my head?! just leave me be. being present with ramona in the last weeks we have together, just the two of us, is becoming increasingly hard, and my patience is tried bc my mind isn’t thinking straight. and i don’t quite have the enthusiasm about getting out of the house but then, of course, i feel so cooped up and that brings me down as well. i’ve already had to stop doing yoga and i have intense ligament pain that prevents me from walking long distances. i feel like a beached whale and already weigh more at 32 weeks than i did at 40 with ramona. woe is me.
the upside to all of this is that i am understanding it is my body’s way of telling me to sloooowwwww down. take it easy. rest up. there is a baby about to be birthed and a complete change in schedule and life and dynamic. and it’s best if my body is ready for this. so i’m nesting like a maniac. trying to keep the house clean and organized. cutting back on social commitments. emotionally and mentally preparing my self and my heart for this new bundle of craziness that’s about to be a part of our family.
admittedly, i don’t do pregnancy very well. certainly not this second time around. i was far better at embracing all of the changes my body and mind went through the first time as it was all so new and magical to me. i remember gushing and glowing to jp and my midwives about being pregnant with ramona and they would lovingly listen but gently remind me that it gets harder the further you get along and the more pregnancies you have. i scoffed at them. don’t rain on my parade! but, yes, my body is not handling this as well as the first time. i am not glowing and gushing. it is very very hard for me to embrace how this pregnancy is making me feel. it still is completely magical (growing a baby inside of my body, what?!) but i’m over it. i know what happens. now i just want to meet this little girl and have my body and my clarity back.
have you experienced pregnancy brain? how did your pregnancies compare between your first, second, or more?
photo of me at 30 weeks by miss ramona bean.
—Today, a poem by Mary Oliver in A Thousand Mornings
a resolution prayer for myself this year, 2014. to find –amidst the deadlines and errands and active toddlers and helpless newborns and obligations and hobbies and beautiful hullabaloos that happen with life– quiet and space to be. to set aside the lists and must-completes and intentionally seek out the what-do-i-GET-to-dos with this one wondrous and blessed life and family and community.
from myself, and jp, and ramona, we say namaste and peace and love to you in this hopeful new year.
the nature of living and loving is the act of reciprocity. as women, we are told that to be the guest is to receive. we are told that to be the host is to give. but what it if it is the reverse? what if it is the guest who gives to the host and it is the host who receives from the guest each time she sets her table to welcome and feed those she loves? to be the guest and the host simultaneously is to imagine a mutual exchange of gifts predicated on respect and joy. if we could adopt this truth, perhaps we as women would be less likely to become martyrs.
what are we setting the table for? transformation.
||terry tempest williams, when women were birds, page 211||
it is not easily in my nature to receive so much from hosting — but this is something i earnestly and genuinely want to approach with a different, more generous heart. even so, i am so very much looking forward to welcoming dear friends into our home tonight for a christmas eve feast.
may this special eve and holy day tomorrow overwhelm you with joy and love (rather than stress and resentment as can often happen with holidays). may you be nourished by meaningful time with family and friends, whether you are breaking bread at their table or yours.
god jul and peace unto you.
my best friend growing up was jewish and lived right next door. one day, when we were about five, we were playing fighting on the bottom of the stairs at my home. we were fighting over some ridiculous santa book i had checked out from the library. in my ever-so tactful cool, i turned to her and said: “it’s too bad you’re jewish because santa won’t even stop at your house!” and this little girl, not missing a beat, turned to me and said: “santa isn’t even real” (herself not really wanting to believe it). if memory (or storytelling) serves me correct, i ran into the living room where my parents were sitting –no doubt listening and waiting to see how this whole five-year-old cat fight would go down– and burst out crying, asking them if it was true.
it was true. santa is not real. though, they were probably a little confused at my intense emotions since they had never told me he was real. they had only ever said he was our imaginary friend that helps us celebrate jesus’ birth. i took what i wanted to believe and ran with it. and though i’m sure they were casting looks of death over my shoulder at my friend for spilling the beans in that way, i assume they were a bit relieved the cat was out of the bag and i applaud them for not trying to continuously pull the wool over my eyes and perpetuate the santa myth. because, it turned out, christmas — and even santa– became no less magical to me now that i was in on the truth of the existence of santa. for a handful of years afterward i still insisted we put out milk & cookies, and i still sat on my dad’s or uncle’s lap when they dressed up as santa on christmas eve to pay a visit to our extended family dinner, and i still wondered just how it could even be possible for one man, real or otherwise, to visit every single home of christmas-celebrating families. just like i continued as a child to put my tooth under my pillow and sure as hell expected a gift from the “tooth fairy” who i knew full well was not real but played along… not just to get a gift but because i liked the idea of there being a little woman with wings who came and rewarded me for being so brave.
kids are so creative and imaginative. and christmas, santa or not, is an incredibly magical and special holiday/holy day. and i have come to firmly believe that pushing the santa agenda and not giving our kids a little more credit when they start asking questions or slowly figuring it out on their own, does a complete disservice to what this holiday is about and all the other important traditions that go along with it. i’ve heard stories of kids as old as ten (or even a 13 year old!) still believing in santa. and, frankly, that’s ridiculous. i do not understand one bit why parents insist on doing that to their children.
over a baby-free dinner out one night, jp and i discussed why santa won’t have a part in our family traditions (to be clear, ramona knows who santa “is” and has taken his photo on his lap [the creepiest santa i’ve ever seen]. we’re not barring santa from our lives completely, we just are not encouraging the myth in our personal traditions). here’s what we came up with:
- strangers are bad. unless they’re bearded and have presents. then go ahead and sit on their lap and tell them your secret wishes. this mostly pertains to the kids who are undeniably scared for their life and screaming to not go near that man or to get down off his lap right away and we stand there and laugh and say “it’s ok. go ahead. smile for my photo!” basically going against everything we’re working on teaching them about stranger danger and creepy adults to avoid. i know, i know — most kids know the difference between santa and the hypothetical weird man at the park. but the idea of going against your child’s better judgment and anxiety (when they’re sitting there pleading with you not to go near santa) for shits and giggles seems entirely disrespectful of our little one’s decisions and personal space. remember: your child is not a doll. trust your child’s intuition. (ironically, this didn’t seem to pertain to ramona bc this girl practically dove into santa’s lap with her older cousin. she wants to be friends with everyone. we may have to work on that…).
- the santa myth generally teaches kids that they ‘deserve’ these gifts for being good (don’t even get me started on the silliness of this elf on the shelf business). we want to teach ramona to know gifts as something given out of love, not earned. we want to teach her to have real gratitude, and the santa myth grossly distorts that notion.
- jp and i don’t like the idea of misleading our little ones, especially when they will certainly find out that we did it intentionally. there will be plenty of situations while our children are growing up where i’m sure we’ll tell partial truths to protect them or their innocence, but we hope we keep these to an absolute minimum. we want to be honest and transparent with our little ones. so when ramona comes to us and asks: is santa real? there is no way i’m going to figure out an even bigger lie to make sure the santa myth keeps going. if she’s old enough or wise enough or privy enough or curious enough to ask the question, we will honor that with the truth.
- the common response to what i said in the previous bullet point is that the whole santa thing is no big deal –lighten up, emily!– and santa just accentuates the joy and magic of christmas. but everything about ramona already attests to the strength of her imagination and awe in christmas, as it is, without santa. she’s in complete wonder at the christmas lights hung around town and loves baking and decorating christmas cookies with her diri and looks forward to seeing what’s on the advent calendar docket for the day and i can’t stop her from spinning and dancing around to our christmas albums. and she’s about to be blown away this weekend at a performance of the nutcracker. and on a daily basis, ramona pretends/imagines/creates magic at everything she does anyway: cooking, dancing, playing house, being an airplane or a turtle or a kangaroo, talking with her dollies, pretending to eat my kisses. ramona doesn’t need santa to feel “magic.” she’s got enough of that of her own and that’s what we want to encourage.
- my main reason? christmas gifts are something that take a lot of thought, time, and money on our part as parents. why oh why, especially as someone whose love language is gifts, would i give the credit to an imaginary figure? if santa is going to be responsible for a gift, it’s going to be the christmas eve pajamas.
welcome
