The Story of a Dad

In 1999, when I still wore cargo pants, and he still wore tape on his glasses, I met a young man. His apartment was nextdoor to mine, and our apartments shared a balcony. We lived at 4th and Daniel just off the University of Illiniois Urbana-Champaign campus. The first night we talked to each other we stayed up talking until 4 am, and we both decided that when we were older, if we didn't find someone to marry, we should marry each other. I remember telling him everything there was to know about me and learning many of his secrets he'd never shared with anyone. We both knew we'd be lifelong friends.

He was hot. Did I mention he was hot? He very forwardly told me he thought I was attractive too. We spent a lot of time getting to know each other, and around four months later, in the middle of the night, he came over and told me that he didn't know what the future held, but he knew that being with me made him happy. He smiled the biggest smile I had ever seen anyone smile. I had my retainer in, and I remember thinking, "I'm going to marry this man someday, and I'll have to tell my children I had to pop my retainer out to kiss him. Will they be horrified about the retainer or about hearing their parents kissed?"

We never talked about wanting children. We were 19 and 20, and most relationships that start when your a Sophomore and Junior in college don't end up with walks down the aisle and adorable children. I did wonder, in the privacy of my own imagination, what our children would look like if we ever had any.

Years passed by and adventure after adventure came. We eventually married, six years after meeting on the balcony that night in 1999. We still never talked about having children. Our dear friends had a baby girl a couple of years later, and we both fell so in love with her, we knew we wanted children. (Thanks Aubriella). When we talked about starting our family, we talked about how we wanted to wait to make sure our children would be accepted. We half-joked that if McCain won the election we should wait. President Obama won, and about 8.5 months later (he came early) Noah was born.

People tell you that your relationship with your husband/wife/spouse/life partner will change when you have children. The way I love Ash romantically expanded and opened a special place in my heart when we had children. Ash is an amazing dad. There are parts of a person you never see until you see them love their own child. The quiet, special parts of their heart that are saved, grow, revealed and unleashed are astounding.

Whether he's dancing with the kids to Gangnam style, showing Noah how to crack an egg, reading Maya a book, playing the part of the Princess when Noah asks him to play "The Princess and the boy" or running around at the park, Ash is 100% a loving, nurturing, kind father.  In the moments where he holds our children tight, the moment he held me when I miscarried between Noah and Maya, the little moments, the happy moments, the sad moments, the "this could only happen to us" we want to explode with laughter and love moments.  Those moments don't make a man, but they are the moments when a father shows who he is.  Every day, when he is with us or away for work, he is loving Noah and Maya with everything he has.  And a story like that is one that I am so incredibly grateful to be a part of.  Every day.  Even the bad ones.  

Here's a little story of a dad, in pictures.  A dad who loves and is loved.  Very much.

 

 

Happy Father's Day, Ash!

My Twist on Pioneer Woman's Peach Whiskey BBQ Chicken

Hi, my name is Amanda, and I think I'm Martha Stewart, but I have a one-year-old and an almost four-year-old so when I embark on fancy cooking challenges (which I do often) I often am an ingredient (or five) short, and I'm often holding a screaming, happy, tired, angry, or quiet toddler in my arms while cooking. I have great intentions, a picky palate, and not a lot of time for the mistakes my busy yet perfectly happy existence allows for.

Today, I decided I wanted to make the Pioneer Woman's Peach Whiskey BBQ chicken. Only, I didn't want to cook it for two hours in the oven, and I forgot to buy peach preserves at the grocery store, and my garlic looked funky because for some reason, I bought a couple of bad heads recently. But once I get a food craving in line for dinner, I cannot under any circumstance, ingredients be damned, change course on a delicious dinner idea. So I made a modified version of her recipe. And folks, please, calm down, but I wanted dinner to last forever tonight. The peaches, the bbq sauce, the melting chicken, I could not get enough. In fact, I smeared extra sauce all over everything.

Here's my modified version of the Pioneer Woman's Peach Whiskey BBQ Chicken

What you'll need

Your crockpot

4 boneless skinless chicken breasts (2 lbs) I used organic smart chicken

Minced garlic

Sweet baby ray's honey bbq sauce

worcestershire sauce

3 delicious peaches

Filtered water

1 cup of sugar

Jack Daniel's whiskey

Extra virgin olive oil

some butter

an onion

kosher salt

cracked black pepper

When I originally saw the Pioneer Woman's recipe, I thought, "Man, I need whiskey? I can't take two small kids into a liquor store for dinner ingredients." Where we live in Maryland, you have to buy alcohol at a liquor store, you can't just pick it up with your other groceries at the store. Luckily, I remembered we have a liquor cabinet that we don't use. Back in the day, we hosted a few holiday parties and a friend brought a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey. It was still unopened, seven years later, so I had to ask on twitter if it was okay to use. According to twitter, it was.

I started with some olive oil in a big pot. Then, I chopped up a small onion and plopped it in. As an afterthought, I remembered to put some butter in too. After the onion cooked a little bit, I poured in some whiskey. The recipe said generous, but the whiskey smelled strong so I poured in a bunch then let it cook for a while sort of boiling almost.

I used whatever amount went to the label.

Then I poured in the better part of a bottle of sweet baby ray's honey bbq sauce, a small sprinkle (turn over once and upright quickly) of minced garlic, a dash of worcestershire sauce and I whisked it all together. While this was simmering, I hit a snafu. Peach preserves. I had peaches, but I didn't have the jellied preserves the recipe called for. So I googled make peach preserves. I didn't have the patience for what it said, so I took a pot cut up 3 peaches and put them in the pot on medium heat with a cup of sugar and a random amount of filtered water. It baked down while I mixed together the rest of the sauce.

While the sauce was on warm, I browned my chicken breasts. I browned them in olive oil and a tiny bit of butter, and I seasoned them with cracked black pepper and kosher salt. I use the method of browning I saw in the Julie and Julia movie. I dry the chicken first, season, then cook it over a medium high heat for a few minutes on each side in olive oil and/or a little bit of butter.

I did most of this while holding Maya who was angry at the world. She was crying and screaming most of the time, but I held her on my hip and made sure not to let her reach for anything hot. I'm well-experienced in cooking with Maya, but it takes lots of patience and care. Please be careful with toddlers in and near the kitchen while you're cooking. I always put her down when I need to chop, deal with something hot, and so on.

I put the chicken in the crockpot.

Then I poured the sauce over it.

I cooked the chicken on low for 6 hours in the crockpot. This was mostly because it was the amount of time until I wanted it to be done.

The end result was outrageous. The peaches turned out soft and delicious, the sauce made me want to be a better person, and the chicken shredded perfectly. I poured extra sauce on everything on my plate. This meal was a big hit with Ash and me. Maya liked it okay and Noah wouldn't try it. This is par for the course around here. I recommend you try this, but please don't buy peach preserves. It was so incredible with the homemade, random peach sauce I threw together. Go make this now. I paired it with homemade mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli.

There is some broccoli on this plate. Can you find it?

Thanks Cheerios for Using a Family Like Ours

Cheerios put out an ad that features a multiracial family this week.  The ad is quite adorable and relieved to see a family like ours in an ad for a food that we happily already have in our cabinet, I played it for Noah.  I'm not sure if he likes the commercial because the family reminds him of ours but he asked to watch it 10 times in a row.  With him, it rates up there with Psy, Gotye and Adele.  And you know Noah loves dancing to Gangnam Style, singing "Somebody that I used to know" at top volume and reflecting on Adele's "Someone like you" when he's down.

The Cheerios ad features an adorable little girl, her white mom and her black dad.  The commercial ends with the word "Love" in place of the word Cheerios on a yellow background like on the box and Cheerios falling all around it.  I burst into tears when I saw the video the first time.  My three-year-old keeps wanting to watch it only remarking, "It's fun" each time we watch it.

Cheerios it's fun to see a family like ours in one of your commercials.  Thank you, from a suburban mom in Maryland whose three-year-old is watching your video on repeat.  I never thought a commercial could compete with his love for flashy dancing and depressing love songs, but a fun family that looks a little more like ours than the rest of what we see around us is fun for him.

Check the video out here: 

Unfortunately, racists overtook the comments on this beautiful video so Cheerios has disabled the comments.  These sorts of occurrences are not shocking to families like ours who have heard the echoes of racists in our ears when they shouted as they tried to run us off the road, when they question why I tan my children, if my children are mine and so on.  It echoes through my head when "friends" recount racists moments with their families where they sit silent.  It is not surprising to me that Cheerios received hateful comments, but Cheerios, know there is so much love from families like ours.  Our love for each other is so much stronger than any hateful words or people.  Thanks for showcasing a family like ours.

Finding My Own Gender Identity

I grew up as the littlest sister in a family of three. My older sibling Aren came along a couple of years before me, and I looked up to Aren in every way. I had the typical little sister syndrome. I wanted to act, look and be like Aren. Aren played softball so I did. Aren agreed with the Democratic Party so I did, and so on. 

When Aren went to high school, and I was still in Junior High, Aren left the house before me, and because of after school activities, Aren came home after me. So every day, I would raid Aren’s closet. And I would wear Aren’s jeans and shirts to school. I remember being three inches shorter and a little stouter, but sliding those clothes on after Aren left each day and off again before Aren came home. 

In college, when I met my husband, neither of us dressed very fashionably. I wore flannel or plaid shirts most days with cargo pants, while he had tape holding his glasses together. Over the years, he started wearing glasses without tape, and I discovered that I liked heels and pink, a lot. And now, we both tease each other constantly about the tomboy he met, and the complete nerd I met. I’d never put much thought into what changed inside of me, although my husband often asks me what made me stop dressing in flannel. 

That is until recently, when Aren came to visit my family, and I finally confessed to Aren that when Aren was at school, I stole Aren’s clothes. And I explained to Aren how much I do and have always looked up to Aren. Then, in an instant, my whole view of myself changed. I had the realization that for most of my life until my 20s, I based my own gender identity on my transgender older sibling’s. I spent my life dressing and looking to fashion advice from Aren, and Aren didn’t identify as female. 

And so, somewhere in our 20s, Aren realized that Aren didn’t identify as female, and I realized that I did. Here we were, each on our own, allowed to finally decide for ourselves what we felt like inside. Aren’s insides screamed one thing, and mine screamed very loudly, “Pink, I love pink! Put me in pink heels, please!”

***This story was originally posted anonymously on the blog Genderqueer Chicago.  At that time, I changed my sibling's name to protect my sibling's identity.  I, of course, asked permission of both my sibling and Genderqueer Chicago before reposting this story here today.***

The Supreme Court, Marriage Equality, DOMA and Our Awesome Kids

Today, the kids and I ventured back to the united for marriage rally outside of the Supreme Court as the court listened to the oral arguments in the United States v. Windsor case which asserts that the Defense of Marriage Act is discriminatory.  But you already probably know about that.  Our family was there to stand up for equality, fairness and love.  Those are real family values. 

A nice older couple took a photo for me of the kids and me on my phone, and they asked me if it was okay that Noah didn't want to look at the camera.  "It's fine, I just want him to be in the picture so when he knows we supported equality together as a family."  They paused, then looked at each other and one of the men said, "I wish our parents thought like you."  So many people thanked us for being at the rally.  It broke my heart when people younger and older than me came up and thanked me for being a loving mother and told me they wished their own parents supported them and who they love.  As parents, our job is to love our children and to show them we love them, we love others and we stand on the side of justice and equality, for them and everyone else.