Food and Life and Summertime

Isn't it interesting how food can evoke such vivid memories? The taste, the color, the smell, the texture; it all brings us back to particular places and specific times in our lives. For me, summertime ushers in especially intense memories as seasonal fruits and vegetables take me back to my childhood growing up in the green, green forests of the East Coast, surrounded by my Mom's gardens and enjoying homegrown fruits and vegetables every day.



It's something as simple as the smell of rosemary that reminds me of the red skinned potato salad we would get from the small grocer down the street from our house, or corn on the cob that remind me of my Mom and Dad, sitting on the steps shucking corn- the silky fibers and rough, snappy green husks going everywhere. It's the snap of the green beans into the colander, the smell of red, ripe tomatoes on the vine, or even Ball Park franks, Heinz ketchup and Gulden's spicy mustard that remind me of nightly barbeques in our backyard.

Summer is a lot of things, but to me it's always that first trip up to Carvel, gelatis from Rita's, or the ice cream truck at the park. It's the way orange and cream anything instantly transports me to the boardwalk, seagulls squawking and swooping in the distance, the ocean sounds mixing with laughing children, the smell of sunscreen and salt hanging in the air, all while enjoying a special treat- an orange and cream ice cream cone from Kohr's. The beach will always remind me of Gouda cheese and crackers, peanut butter and jelly on wheat bread, and how amazing crisp green grapes can taste under a big umbrella, on a brightly-colored towel. Summertime is slurpees from 7-11, sub sandwiches from Wawa, and berries. Always berries, every summer, and the first ripe raspberries of the season will always evoke memories of eating them by the handful out of my parents' refrigerator.





And so I think a lot about what we feed Henry and the experiences we give him through food. I look forward to having our own big garden he can help me plant and maintain. I am excited to shuck corn with him, pick our own berries from the bush in our backyard, and to enjoy experiences from the things we prepare and eat every single day, be it making homemade pizza in the kitchen, barbequing tofu kebabs out back, or taking a family trip up to Dairy Queen when the temperatures start to rise. Being a parent is great for a million reasons, but one of my favorites in the ability to make your child's environment as beautiful and magical as possible, in so many different ways. For me, summertime has always been a time full of adventure and enjoyment, filled with sweet treats and healthy, whole foods. And so I look forward to giving our boy as many of those ice cream-cone and fresh fruit-filled summers as I can, making memories from the simple, everyday things that somehow turn special in the shine of the summer sun.Source URL: http://vassago-demo.blogspot.com/search/label/notable%20posts
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Life Lessons Through Frozen Yogurt

My girlfriends and I have this funny story we like to bring up whenever we find ourselves eating frozen yogurt together. This used to be a common occurrence when we were roommates during and after college, but as we grew up and moved away from each other it became a rarity. Still though, whenever we find ourselves scraping the bottom of a frozen yogurt cup, one of us always has to chime in with "God, do you have to eat the whole thing?" eyes narrowing towards the finished dessert while feigning disgust.

The story goes like this: back in college I dated this guy. It was one of those times in my life that seemed like such a good idea while in the midst of it, but looking back now, I'm almost shocked I ever spent so much time with anyone like that. It's weird, isn't it? Hindsight is so clear but when you're in it, really really in it, you could swear you're seeing clearly too. And I definitely thought I was.

So this now-regretful-then-dreamy guy picks me up for our first date. I'd met him at the place we both worked and after a month or so of relentless flirting and seeing each other at parties and pretending to be breezy he finally asked me out on this highly-anticipated evening out. When he picked me up there was a rose waiting on the front seat of his car, which kind of threw me for a loop. I was used to dating football players, skateboarders, or frat guys (the scope of my dating world during this time of my life), and none of these groups had ever made seemingly romantic gestures such as that one.

He had planned the "perfect" date, and at 20 years old taking me out for sushi then dessert was enough to woo my often cynical self. I can still remember random details from the end of our night too- I was perched, cross-legged on a chair in the back corner of our college town's TCBY, slowly eating my strawberry with rainbow sprinkles. I'm sure I was joking or laughing or telling a story- I can remember having fun and wondering if he would kiss me when he dropped me off. I can also remember the look on his face as I finished up the rest of my almost-melted yogurt with one quick bite. If I think about it now it was almost disgust, although later on describing it I would use the word "surprise," but he stared at me for a moment with that weird look on his face and said "God, do you have to eat the whole thing?" I remember half-laughing, feeling a little awkward, thinking that this guy had to be kidding.

But he wasn't.

Weird thing to remember right? How strange for me to see all of those details so clearly still, to recall the way it made me felt. But the reason I remember this now, is because however small or silly that one night is in the larger picture of my life, it was a defining moment. Right then and there I should have known that this guy was no good. Who even says that? And who means something like that? But I ignored it, choosing instead to focus on the "perfect" night, the corny/sweet rose, the walk up to my door, the goodbye. And over the next few months I chose to ignore a lot more too.

It wasn't a good relationship at all, and the only one I've ever had in my life where I feel like I lost myself. I'm still shocked that I could have ever been the type of person who bends to someone else, who allows another person to change them into what that person thought was ideal, but I was. Before him I wasn't, and after him I never would be again, but this guy had some sort of weird pull that looking back, still surprises me. My current self would have laughed (hard) at someone seriously getting weirded out by me finishing my dessert. Nowadays I would have thought he was ridiculous and really rude, I would have probably ordered a second cup of yogurt just to spite him, then gone home and made fun of him with my girlfriends. But my young, naive, wanting so badly to be loved self decided to just smile down into her yogurt cup and ignore it, letting that guy know it was okay to talk to me like that. It sounds so silly now, but this path I found myself on, losing myself then finding myself again, started right there, and because of that this entire scenario will always be memorable to me.

I think a lot about those paths and how they've all led certain ways, and to certain people. I think about all of the various choices in my life that brought me right to where I am today, and when I turn around and look back, there's a whole lot of ups and downs, and so, so many stories. I'm thankful that I was able to have these weird experiences and have these stories to tell. I'm happy I ignored all of the terrible things about the aforementioned guy, and then realized my mistake, so when I met the right one I would know that you should never, ever have to change yourself to fit into someone else's idea of how you should be. It helped me recognize what I should be looking for, and helped me to see that I was pretty awesome being exactly who I already was. But most of all, I thankfully learned that no one should ever make you feel bad about finishing the last bite of a delicious dessert. Never! ;) So now, every time I scrape the bottom of my frozen yogurt cup, every time I finish up that last bite, I think about how far I've come and how much I've learned over the past ten years. And then I clink my empty yogurt cup against my girlfriends' and we say "Why yes! We did eat the whole thing!" and laugh and smile at how silly we once were.Source URL: http://vassago-demo.blogspot.com/search/label/notable%20posts
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Normal, Everyday Kind of Days

Lately we've been having a whole lot of normal, everyday kind of days. Nothing really special, or out of the ordinary. No big trips or fancy lunch dates. Just Henry and me, hanging out, doing our thing.

Most mornings Henry wakes up at 6:30am, but both his Dad and I have learned that he prefers to lounge about in bed, rolling around in his blanket, and slowly wake up on his own. And finally, at around 7am, he'll usually stand up and announce to the world he's ready to join it. This morning I swear he yelled out, "Alright, I'm up!" his big, toothy good morning-grin evident even in the small monitor's screen.

And so I go in, turn off the noise machine, turn off the camera, and tuck his ever-rotating stuffed animals under the covers in the corner of the crib (we'll see them at naptime, Henry!). I get my big-little baby changed, and then we head out to the kitchen where his cup of milk is waiting for him. Henry drinks in his chair while watching PBS, and while I make him breakfast. His typical first meal is either a waffle or piece of Ezekial toast with almond butter. Sometimes he'll have a slice of quiche or a bowl of oatmeal but he always has fresh fruit- raspberries, strawberries, and bananas, or whatever we have on hand.

He'll sit in his chair and eat slowly while he watches Sesame Street, his blonde bedhead bobbing up and down as he belly laughs along with his favorite characters. After we both eat the television goes off and we do a whole lot of playing. Sometimes we'll go on a walk, sometimes we'll run around in the yard, sometimes we'll curl up in the front room on the brown couch and read for a good hour. He  always likes to always be doing an activity, getting into something, or perfecting his newest hobby, climbing onto things he shouldn't.

During these kinds of days when we stay home, the rest of the day goes by in a whirlwind- naptime, lunchtime, snacktime, naptime again. Then Hank gets home and it's dinnertime-bathtime-storytime-bedtime. And at the end of our everyday-day when Henry is tucked into bed, and Hank and I are relaxing on the couch, I often find myself feeling so grateful for all of the little moments I've gotten to experience over the past ten or so hours. The simple things that made me smile- our routines, the way it feels to work on something everyday with Henry and then finally see him "get it" (like today, with the colors and shapes)...the "mmm" sound he makes when he really likes his lunch, or the way his face lights up when he figures out a puzzle piece that's been frustrating him. It's just neat. And even though we do manage to have lots and lots of special trips and fun outings, I think my most favorite days are these quiet, slower ones at home.

I feel lucky I have this little person in my life to remind me to stop and notice these things. This morning I was putting dishes away when I looked over and saw Henry staring intently out of the window at two red and black birds perched on the back fence. He was transfixed, his eyes wide as they flew away. Sometimes in blogging I feel like it's easy to feel like there isn't much to say if you aren't out doing seemingly amazing things, but sometimes the most interesting and beautiful things happen right at home, and the beauty in your everyday world is the most special thing there is. Because really, I think these are the days I'll always cherish the most, and the ones I will always want to remember- the normal, everyday kind of days. Source URL: http://vassago-demo.blogspot.com/search/label/notable%20posts
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Becoming My Mother

Growing up my sister and I were lucky enough to have an elementary school teacher for a Mom. Some people wouldn't know what's so special about that, but those who have had the experience know exactly what I mean. Our days were virtual classrooms and filled with crafts, plays, books, different activities for different days of the week, for different months, for every season, and so many songs. Oh, the songs!  We had a little diddy for absolutely everything- bed time, teeth brushing time, clean up time, you name it.

I have very vivid memories of every kind of moment with my Mom- some simple things, like sitting with her at Island Beach State Park, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, careful not to let the breeze blow sand into the strawberry preserves. Funny things- like when she visited me up at college and we got a little tipsy, my Dad driving us all the way back to their hotel with her singing Bruce Springsteen's "Jersey Girl" out the window. Or that time when we were so bundled up we could barely move, let alone run a few miles in the middle of a Wyoming snowstorm two weeks before my wedding because I just had to stick to my workout regime. I remember more complicated things too- many of them- like that one time in high school I knew I really, really disappointed her, and the way it felt to see her cry, my too-cool-for-anything teenage heart breaking at the sight of her tears. Most memories are happy though, like the pb&j on the beach, or baking a million cookies at Christmas, or being so little and hearing the sound of her favorite songs wafting up through the house on Saturdays, straight from the 8-track player downstairs.

There are so many times now where I'll catch myself doing something that is 100% my Mom. I'll be cooking dinner and find myself singing a silly, made-up song under my breath, "yeah, put in that pepper and stir, stir, stir- mix up good, oh yeah, yeah, yeah," and I'll stop for a moment and think "oh my god, I am my mother." I'll be at the grocery store and be in the middle of a five minute conversation with the cashier, and think back to my eye-rolling teenage self, mortified that my mother just had to talk to everyone. It's how I always have to say "I love you, bye" when hanging up the phone, the way I call Henry's feet his tootsies, the big deal I make over every holiday, and the "good morning to you" song whenever I come into H.'s room at 7am. I'll catch myself tapping my hands on the steering wheel in the exact way that would annoy me to no end back in the day and I'll think "I am my mother." It's bizarre.

It's all of the little things, the everyday things, that remind me so much of her. And it's pretty crazy to now have a son of my own, and to understand what hard work she and my Dad put in over all of those years to have both my sister and I look back and say, without a doubt, that we loved our childhood so, so much. I get now why she and my father were so protective and I understand why they made the choices they made. Isn't perspective amazing? There were quite a few years growing up where the last thing I wanted to be was anything like my parents (those jerky people who enforced too many rules and took away all my fun!), but now, I wear the "I am becoming my Mother" badge with honor. I couldn't be prouder to share so many qualities with the best woman I know, and now every time a silly little song comes into my mind, or I find myself small-talking with a stranger, or eating dark chocolate before I go to bed I smile, because I know exactly where that comes from.Source URL: http://vassago-demo.blogspot.com/search/label/notable%20posts
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