this week’s contributor is from courtney, of parent tango, a she says/he says blog about marriage, family, and parenting. in this post she writes about the transition of being a mother of one to multiples, and the beauty of it.
this week’s contributor is from courtney, of parent tango, a she says/he says blog about marriage, family, and parenting. in this post she writes about the transition of being a mother of one to multiples, and the beauty of it.
I know several women who are pregnant with their second child. All of them have expressed trepidation over how they will ever be able to love the second child as much as they love the first. I can relate. The mother of four and an only child myself, I am here to tell you, you can love all of your children hugely. And you’re doing a good thing by given them another person to share their young life with.
As an only child, I went along obliviously happy as a lark, not realizing how fortunate I was to benefit from the perks of having my parents’ full attention and the opportunities that went along with that. But when I was 10, my parents told me they had had another baby, born prematurely, two years after I was born. He lived only an hour. Besides the heartache of my parents which I couldn’t even wrap my young brain around, I was suddenly so sad for myself. I went from being contentedly solo in the world to feeling the absence of a sibling I had never known to miss.
From then on, whenever my parents were particularly annoying (they grew increasingly annoying as I entered my teen years, naturally), I wished my brother had been there to commiserate with. I felt lonely for the first time ever and wished he had been there to hang around with. I was changed. And it changed what I thought about having my own children someday.
I married a man who had wanted to have four children since he was a young child. I wasn’t so sure about that number, since four people sounded like a crowd to me! As life and my husband’s fear of a vasectomy would have it, we did indeed have four. For the most part, our kids are friends and certainly devote a lot of time to talking about how incredibly annoying their parents are. It must be great for them.
Sometimes I look at them and remember when I was like my pregnant friend, unable to imagine how I could possibly, ever, love another child as much as I loved my first child. So in the wee hours of the morning, before heading to the hospital in labor I whispered to my sleeping two-year-old, “I’m sorry.” Yes, I apologized to my first child for giving birth to my second! It seems so unfair to the second child and it was so untrue. I wasn’t sorry I was having him. And I wasn’t sorry I’d given her a sibling. Of course, I adored him heart and soul immediately. And my first child loved him too when she wasn’t hating him.
I often watch my children interact (with some envy) and see how their relationships with each other morph and change over the years. They all have different relationships and roles with each other. Most of the time, they probably don’t consider each other much of a gift. But they are, providing playmates, confidants, and exercises in all sorts of life skills.
So I take back the apology I made to my daughter 20 years ago. I had more than enough love to go around. And I gave them each other.
this is so beautifully written and i appreciate the honesty in it. i am a bit nervous about introducing another child into the mix bc i am having so much fun with miss ramona and am a little worried how a little squish is going to change our dynamic! however, i know that what these two siblings will do for each other will be immense. thanks, courtney!
this week’s contributor is from lashley rhodes, a local denver photographer (among other things) and one of my best friends. i knew our friendship was meant to be when she chopped off all her hair as, i must confess, i’ve always been a little suspicious of long-haired women who freak out about taking off a couple of inches. it’s just hair and it grows! (this, of course, coming from me who has absolutely no success in healthily growing my hair even to my shoulders.) here lashley talks about what she discovered about herself after she went short short short.
|| In college, I had some adventuresome strip-mall cut and color combos, but only after moving to Denver did I really start playing with different ways to wear my hair. For about seven years, it was a series of variations on a bob. After my wedding last year, though, I took the plunge and went super short. Here are some things I’ve learned about myself since then.
1. I am not as progressive as I’d like to think.
I live in Colorado. I love all sorts of different humans and love real love between any two of them. I voted to legalize recreational marijuana, for goodness sake. But look like a boy or, heavens, a lesbian? Can’t do it. I’m not even sure what it means to “look like a lesbian,” but if I put together an outfit and the thought crosses my mind, that outfit gets rejected. My hair is shorter than my husband’s, but I still want to look feminine in the most annoying, gender-binary-driven, traditional way. I’m not sure how to interpret this tidbit except maybe to show some grace to those who seem forever stuck in the social dark ages. We all need a little nudge to keep moving forward.
2. The grass will always seem greener.
I absolutely know deep down in my very soul of souls that I do not miss the squinty, sweaty face I’d get when blow drying my long bob. But, oh, to have long, soft waves that catch the light just so. Or a top knot. Side braids, an ombre dye job, strong, face-framing bangs. Le sigh.
3. This too shall pass, but in the meantime, you gotta commit.
Whining and marinating in ambivalence aren’t going to get me anywhere. Spray that faux pompadour into place or wrap a scarf around and go, but do something and quit staring at the mirror with that look on your face, Rhodes. ||
sheesh, she’s adorable. thanks, lashley. what honesty, insight ,and humor you bring to a decision that seems to hold so much weight, especially for the ladies. i applaud you’re “going for it” and, girl, you wear it so so well.
if you are interested in contributing to A Denver Home Companion, please submit original writing (or ideas!) to emily [at] adenverhomecompanion [dot] com. though i may not be able to publish everything, i certainly consider all of them.
this week’s contributor is bowen from Bowen Appétit. bowen and i went to high school together and i was thrilled when she reached out to me after she stumbled upon my blog (friend of a friend’s twitter or some such loveliness like that!). bowen caught me up on her going-ons since we last saw each other over ten years ago(!), explaining that she’s taught cooking classes in LA, worked professional sustainability jobs, and over the last year, has started publishing essays, articles, and recipes in various places. her writing is all about food, focusing on homestyle, sustainable cooking, and how important all of that is. currently, her and her hubby are at the end of a 13-month trip around the world on some pretty amazing adventures (you can read their travel blog: a world of gemütlichkeit). in a month or two, they’ll be making their new home in madison, WI. today she writes about how cooking their own food was given them a way to make a home no matter where they are. enjoy!
Ten months ago, my husband and I took a giant leap of faith – we quit our jobs, sold or gave away most of our belongings and packed up the rest, and embarked on 13 months of travel in the United States and around the world. We worked incredibly hard to be able to do this, saving up and discussing it for years before we finally made the decision, and last July we embarked on this incredible, terrifying, and life-altering journey.
So for most of the last year, we’ve lived out of suitcases, backpacks, boxes, and the trunk of our car. We’ve slept in a tent on an icefield in Canada, in a grass hut on the edge of the Amazon Jungle, and an open-air house in the middle of a rice paddy in Indonesia (we’ve also slept on a tile airport floor in Chile, in a bed with wet sheets in Bangkok, and more windowless hostel rooms and uncomfortable overnight buses than I care to remember). We’ve gone kayaking in Halong Bay in Vietnam, hiked up mountains in Peru to see the sun rise, and watched one of our best friends perform a solo at Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles. Before we got to where we are right now (Vienna, Austria, where we’re staying for five weeks), we hadn’t slept in the same city for more than six nights consecutively, and even that’s happened only a handful of times. We’ve seen and done and experienced an incredible array of things, and it’s hard to believe there’s only a few months left.
But I do miss having a home. I miss having space to myself, and having a normal daily routine, and choosing from more than four shirts when I get dressed in the morning. Living out of suitcases and backpacks and boxes for over a year isn’t always easy. Arriving in a new city every few days can be isolating and exhausting, and staying in hostels and hotels and homestays and campsites and all the other sorts of places we’ve stayed can leave us feeling untethered and restless. Each day is different than the one before it, and while most have been absolutely amazing, there are definitely days I wish I were home (wherever that might be).
The one thing we’ve found that helps us feel more at home is to cook for ourselves. We cook whenever we can; whenever we have access to a kitchen and can use it without feeling like we’re missing out on important local culinary experiences. Sometimes the process of getting what we need to cook – figuring out what ingredients and tools are available to us – can be stressful, but it’s given us some of our best travel experiences since it usually means we’re interacting with people and going places tourists don’t normally go. We’ve cooked in hostel and hotel kitchens, at campsites, at friends’ houses, and wherever else we can (on our road trip across Canada last fall we definitely cooked on our camping stove out of the trunk of the car in motel parking lots, at least a few times). Most of the time the meals are far more simple than things we’d cook at home, but sitting down to a meal we’ve prepared for ourselves – even in the most disappointing of hostels, the most barren of campsites, and the most understocked little rental apartment kitchens – takes us away from the constant sensory overload of restaurants, cafes, and street stands and helps time slow down a bit. We’re finally able to focus on ourselves and on each other and to have the sort of normal, everyday mealtime conversations like we used to in our actual home. It makes us feel like we are home, even if we’re in a place for just one night. I love cooking for my husband and he loves cooking for me, and in a life where we’re not always able to do things for each other the way we used to, preparing food together has become an important way for us to connect.
A big reason we decided to take this year of travel was to figure out more about what sort of home we wanted. We hadn’t been particularly happy living where we were before, and we often talked about why that was so that we could pick somewhere better for the next time. We talked about having friends nearby, green places to go hiking, good grocery stores and farmers’ markets. We talked about not having to drive everywhere and about building a good community of folks around us for when we decide to have kids. We talked about bike paths and weather and cost of living and open-mindedness and all kinds of other things that would make living in a place enjoyable, meaningful, and easy. Then we went around the world to experience all kinds of different neighborhoods, communities, and landscapes and to see how we might spend our time when we didn’t have work and other daily life to deal with, and we’ve learned a lot about ourselves and what we want our life and our home to look like.
We’ve learned, for instance, that while that other stuff is definitely nice and we’ll certainly enjoy having it at our new home, what we love most is sitting at a table with each other and our loved ones, eating something we’ve prepared. It’s the center of our home, wherever we are.
thank you so much, bowen! what an adventure you’ve been on and i wish you the best of luck as you venture into settling down and doing some homesteading. safe travels!
if you are interested in contributing to A Denver Home Companion, please submit original writing (or ideas!) to emily [at] adenverhomecompanion [dot] com. though i may not be able to publish everything, i certainly consider all of them.
this week’s contributor is andrea from the maiden metallurgist. i first discovered drea’s blog on apartment therapy, what has to be at least three years ago now. i loved it and followed it and soon found out her and i have many similarities (she moved from denver to chicago to be w her hubby and i moved from chicago to denver to be w mine, for one). we both had babies around the same time and both give a lot of real estate on our blogs to talking about motherhood, marriage, home, and how awesome our little ones are. we’ve gotten together in denver a couple of times and, let me tell you, this woman is not only an excellent writer, but also intelligent, thoughtful, fun, and honest.
since her and her hubby bought a home outside chicago, they’ve become avid gardeners and she’s diligent about using her goods to the fullest. today she talks about what she does w her produce (and what she buys at the farmers’ market) to make refreshing summer drinks.
Shrub, aka drinking vinegar, is my summertime obsession. The drinking vinegar is infused with fruit (and at times herbs and spices) for use in mixed drinks.
The American version of the shrub has its origins in 17th century England where vinegar was used as an alternative to citrus juices in the preservation of berries and other fruits for the off-season. In our home, we keep a variety of shrubs on hand for quick-mixing sodas or cocktails. The flavor both mellows (the vinegar) and becomes deeper (the fruit) the longer it sits in the fridge. It might sound weird, drinking vinegar, but it is so refreshing and cool.
I like to make different drinking vinegars seasonally with what we grow in the garden or what I find at the farmers market. Or, if it’s too early in the season for fresh local fruits, whatever looks good in the organic section at the grocery store.
My basic recipe for shrub is equal parts fruit, sugar, and vinegar of your choice. Macerate the fruit and sugar for several hours letting the sugar draw out the fruit’s’ juices, then add the vinegar and let sit overnight. The next day, strain and discard the fruit pulp (or serve over ice cream, yum) and reserve the infused vinegar. Combine with seltzer, gin, vodka, white wine, champagne or prosecco… use your imagination!
The beauty of shrub is that there are enough combinations of fruits, vinegars, and herbs/spices to keep your mouth excited all season long. And, if you plan ahead, well into the winter.
Shrub 101- basic fruit shrubs
- Raspberry and champagne vinegar
- Blueberry and apple cider vinegar
- Strawberry and champagne or balsamic or white balsamic vinegar
- Rhubarb and white wine vinegar
- Stone fruit (peach, plum, nectarine) and apple cider vinegar
- Blackberry and red wine vinegar
- Mango and rice vinegar
- Pineapple with coconut vinegar
- Grapefruit and white wine vinegar
- Watermelon and white wine vinegar
Shrub 102- now add some depth
- Herbal- Mint, Rosemary, Lemon verbena, Basil, Tarragon
- Floral- Elderflower, Violet, Rose, Lavender
- Spicy- Peppercorns, Ginger
thanks, drea! i am so glad you introduced me to something i had absolutely never heard about. i am looking forward to trying a few concoctions myself this summer.
if you are interested in contributing to A Denver Home Companion, please submit original writing (or ideas!) to emily [at] adenverhomecompanion [dot] com. though i may not be able to publish everything, i certainly consider all of them!
i am so excited to start my contributor series here on the blog! when i first did a call for contributors from readers, i had no idea what response i would get. i’m delighted to say: it was a good one! and i have so many interesting bloggers w totally different backgrounds from all over who will be sharing their stories, experiences, tips, and how-tos here on A Denver Home Companion over the next couple of weeks.
without further ado, i’m going to kick it off w a post by sarah, of crazy virgo, who is both my interwebs and IRL friend.
Hello. I’m Sarah. I found Emily through a common friend, and have been girl crushing on her ever since. She has graciously allowed me to guest write on her blog. I’m a mother to a 2 1/2 year old little lady. I’m a writer. I’m 35. I’m divorced. And with that intro, I’m going to dive in.
As a mother, I dream of what kind of legacy I’m going to leave my daughter, Sylvia. I gave her the name of a writer who greatly influenced my life, and as a writer, I want to influence her life, even if she’s not a writer. Constantly, I find myself thinking what life lessons she’ll learn from me. What she’ll tell her friends about me. As any mother, I want to make my daughter proud. Every day is conducted with her in mind, yearning to be her hero in everything I do.
I recently had a year of change. I’ll spare you the details, but 2012 was my worst and best year to date. I’m 35, so that’s saying something. I’ve done some living. I woke up on January 1 with a hangover, no job, divorced, and no immediate plans for my future. Not the absolute best way to start the year. But, I didn’t jump into a bottle or anything. I’m more of an optimist than that, plus all the bottles were empty, hence the hangover. I was, however, at square one, with what I thought would be a long uphill climb. Time to trade in the Blahniks for the Nikes. However, the year took off pretty fast. I got a great writing job with a start-up advertising agency, enrolled in a fiction writing class, and became a regular yoga class attendee. Then, just as I was hitting a stride, I hit a speed bump, tripped, skinned my knees, abruptly ended my contract job with the great start-up and found myself back at square one.
However, this time, thanks to yoga and breathing, I was smiling –skinned knees and all– while in square one, because this time I wasn’t stressing about what happened next. I wasn’t exactly sure why, but I guessed it had something to do with the sweet child sleeping in the room next to me. Then, it dawned on me one night while lying in bed letting my mind wander, that I had given my copywriting career in advertising 13 years. That’s a freaking long time. And, I realized that I just don’t care anymore. I don’t love it anymore. It doesn’t get me excited and amped up the way it used to. And, more than all of that, it wasn’t allowing me to enjoy the time with my daughter. The workload I had been carrying was weighing on me, sitting on my shoulders, forcing me to constantly think about all the work I had to do after Sylvia went to bed, instead of playing with her and soaking up every minute of her time between pre-school pick-up and bedtime. That is certainly NOT why I gave birth to this amazing creature. Wait, what? Was I having an epiphany?
So, I made a decision. If I am going to raise a little woman who is strong, assertive, ambitious, independent, passionate, and wise, then I’d better start making an example of myself by doing the same.
So I am.
I quit!
Well, writing for advertising, that is. I will write for myself. I will write things that please me and make me proud and happy. I’m going to actually write the novel I invested money and time into learning how to write. Ok, Ok. I can’t just quit cold turkey, unless of course a pile of money falls into my lap (that can happen, right??!?!). I have to take freelance jobs here and there to put organic food in sweet Sylvia’s mouth, and adorable Sweetwater sandals on her feet, but work isn’t going to be my driving force. She is.
With everything I am, and everything I do, I will ask myself, “would Sylvia be proud of me? Will I want to tell Sylvia about this one day?” Because I’m going to live more extraordinarily, instead of ordinarily. Yes, that will be hard, because some days a lady just wants to be tired and lazy and a lump on a couch. Fine. So be it. I’m sure Sylvia Plath and Gertrude Stein and Virginia Woolf took a day off here and there, and watched the flowers grow (because, of course there wasn’t any marathons of Sex and the City to veg out to, or season issues of Vogue to pour over). But, I want to make every day in this life count, for Sylvia and me, and us. I want my legacy for her to be a woman that is unafraid. I want everything I write to be useful for her, whether emotional or humorous or scary or truthful.
I may fail at being a novelist. But if I do, I will fail trying. And 50 years from now Sylvia will say, “my mom was crazy and awesome and totally fearless. What a woman!”
thanks, sarah! sweet sylvia is so lucky to have you as her mama.
if you are interested in contributing to A Denver Home Companion, please submit original writing (or ideas!) to emily [at] adenverhomecompanion [dot] com. though i may not be able to publish everything, i certainly consider all of them!
welcome
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