One Candle. Wait, what?

Yeah. I would have more believed a story involving me and a 6-month coma in the past year than our daughter turning one. I still feel like I have months left to plan her first party. Except it was last weekend. I'm still confused.

Our new place in Amsterdam is, like, a bazillionth the size of our grandly-proportioned living area of our old one in Den Haag. Which meant one of three things:

1. Have the party elsewhere, which means spending a good chunk of change on a day little darling butterbean won't remember. Nope.

2. Invite everyone I had at Julian's first two birthdays (23-27 adults plus the same amount of kids... eek). No effing way. It would've been all Lord of the Flies in here before the candle was lit.

3. Keep the guest list small, invite only people I keep in touch with on a regular basis and really, really feel I know. Maybe I'll piss I few people off. Maybe not. Cleanup=a breeze. Reasonable quantity of food prep. Hmmm... Bingo. 

The stress of planning for ten adults and seven kids didn't even register on my anxiety radar in comparison to planning the Monster Parties that came before. The afternoon was relaxed, gezellig, fun, and I remembered to talk to people and laugh. I am intensely grateful for the love that flowed at the party; it evicted most of my lingering homesickness and reminded me that my roots are real here, too.

And the cake? It was the best I've made in the history of me preheating an oven. Unless I have some sort of cake epiphany in the coming months/years, I'm making this cake for birthdays ever after. You probably already know I have a raging culinary crush on Deb over at Smitten Kitchen, but it just got restraining orderish after this recipe. Seriously. I might have taken more photos of the cake than my child. Yellow cake, chocolate sour cream frosting. Nothing fancy but perfect in every way. Reminiscent of Duncan Hines. People's eyes glazed over when they bit into their slice. Seconds were had.

Also on the menu: cheese straws (also Smitten Kitchen), polenta bites with arugula tapenade + radishes (Food & Wine), and mini feta + spinach pies (Jamie Oliver's concoction made tiny).

Eat up.

xxx+o,
Jess

Geographic Polyamory, Part II: The Radiant State

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While Wisconsin is a stunner in winter with all that white and home to our kids' grandparents, this girl's got my heart. The mountains in the distance were a constant companion to my daily rovings back and forth across the Front Range. I fell in love with the jagged horizon all over again and had to remind myself to keep my eyes aimed at (least in the general direction of) the road. As much as I hung out drinking chai in my pajamas at my parents' house in the previous weeks, I focused nearly every minute of every day hugging my dearest people, under a dazzling sunshiny sky that pumped out both a decent layer of pristine snow in the middle of mostly 60°F/16°C days. For me, when it comes to weather, dichotomous wins the race. Oh, and I again found it necessary to pee in a terribly public place. Twice. I've gotten so good at it, I'm thinking up a tutorial for you less talented folks. No, seriously.

Okay, enough. What I really came here to do was to show, not tell. About mountains and sunlight, not peeing stunts. Soak it up. The RAYS, peeps, not the pee. 

(This is me stopping, effective immediately.)

xxx+o,

j

p.s. In looking back at photos from this glorious week, I deeply lament how little I actually used my camera . For those of you not pictured, I was too entranced by your presence to think of anything but your face, your magnificence. 

Geographic Polyamory, Part I: The Frozen State

Our five weeks in Americuh were a 4/1 split between Wisconsin and Colorado, respectively. Since you already sat through me whining about how homesick I am, let me reassure you that I won't do it again here. Instead, I'll give you tour of the good parts, because goodness was aplenty.

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I kicked that polar vortex in its icy little crotch with a booted foot, took big bunny sledding for the first time, peed in a precariously public place, cross-country skied into kettles and over moraines, ate my weight in cheese curds and summer sausage (If you live outside the Midwestern US and have no idea what I'm talking about, please go here and order it. Eat it. Thank me later.), found a new favorite beer (multiple thumbs up for Spotted Cow), and instinctively remembered how to drive (and walk) on ice. Fearlessly.

Get ready for snow, kids in uncomfortable sleeping positions, cows, snow, and snow.

xxx+o,
Jess

Dear Planet Sentimentality: An Open Letter to Everyone I Will Ever Know

Let me start with: I come in peace.

I’m a big believer that it’s best to keep mixed company; it holds our eyes open and perspectives pliable. It makes us question ourselves, even if that questioning never makes it into the public sphere. It moderates our judgement.

That said, as I creep closer to thirty, I’m realizing how important candor is–both for relationship health and for one’s personal wellness (it is psychologically exhausting to act as if one is open, especially without pay). And bad for one’s health.

In the spirit of transparency and at the risk of alienating (pun intended) some of you, I’m here with an admission. I do not understand you sentimental types. And while I’m not here to pass judgement, I do want to set some realistic boundaries so we can enjoy a harmonious partnership.

1. I may not be able to help myself from performing a theatre-worthy eye roll when you use terms like “bundle of joy,” “lovebirds,” “hubs,” “bubs,” or any sort of endearing abbreviation for a member of your family. Hopefully I’ll have enough tact to wait until you’re digging in your purse for your matching mother/daughter hair bows before my baby blues loll deep into their sockets, but I can’t promise anything.

Read the rest on BLUNTmoms.

Surprise, Me! An Unexpected Re-Uprooting, Nearly Three Years Later.

Our life in Amsterdam is full. Of noise, of luminosity, of warmth, of imagination, of exploration, growth. Full of fullness. After five weeks in the US of A, however, I'm still reeling from the pain of having to say farewell, again, to the people who know me best. The Colorado goodbyes hit me with blinding velocity. My friendships there have tethered me to the earth in my darkest moments, brought me back into the light. I owe them nothing, everything; I am due the same from them. Reciprocity is a masterpiece.