As the temperatures cool I start to looking forward to more hearty "warming" dishes. My favorite this year is what my partner and I have dubbed, Chicken Pot -- or the most delicious, One-Pot braised chicken dish that you will enjoy this Fall. Check out the recipe below...

• Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit
• Season chicken with White Spice
• Add a few swirls of Garlic Oil to your Dutch oven or braising pot and bring to a high heat
• Brown all your chicken pieces on both sides. Remove and place to the side.
• Add additional Garlic oil to your pot, add onions and carrots-- allow to cook until fragrant
• Add potatoes and mushrooms to the pot, mix well and season lightly with White spice, Thyme and Parsley.
• Add the chicken back to the pot along with the bay leaf and cover with Chicken stock.
• Cover your pot and place in the oven for 30-45 minutes or until vegetables are tender and stock has cooked down significantly.
• Taste stock and season with White Spice again if necessary and remove the bay leaf
• Enjoy over rice or quinoa.
  
  
  
  

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When my daughter was five years old she plunged herself into a pool at a friend’s birthday party and sank like a stone to the bottom of the pool. She did so under the premise she could swim. Thankfully there was a man there who didn’t hesitate, to even take off his shoes and dove in after her. When I picked her up from the party she was happy to have spent the time there but visibly shaken. Although she had already taken a handful of lessons, I decided it was time for her to get full blown training. No one, especially a child, should live in fear of something they are able to navigate.

Not even twelve months later she was diving off the high dive, tucking her little knees into her chest and swimming back to the surface to do it all over again.

The first time my daughter went roller skating with her mother, she was unsure of herself and stuck close to her side. It only took her a couple hours of intense determination and absolutely refusing to leave the floor. She’s been skating effortlessly ever since. She had a similar experience when learning how to ice skate. Daddy is still making the highlight reels of people’s memories based on the spectacular falls I experience on skates of any kind. She climbs just as high as they do on the playground. She is as fast as any boy in her class. And the instant some little boy tries to tell her what she can’t do she looks them dead in the eye and tells them she can do anything she wants to do.

One day she saw me skipping rope the way the boxers and she asked me how I was able to move the rope so effortlessly and quickly. Truth is, it takes plenty of effort and I told her so. She began attempting to mimic me with her smaller rope and didn’t fare as well. This time around she didn’t pick it up as quickly as she does everything else. She got frustrated and threw the rope down. I stopped her as she tried to skulk off and let her in on a little secret.

“Guess who taught me how to skip rope?”

“Who?” she asked, looking at her feet.

“A female boxer … a girl … someone who is way stronger than me.”

She looked up at me with wonder in her face. “Really?!”

I told her women are just as capable at men at the things they do, if they set out to do them. And the mantra in our house is that the only thing we can’t do is fly without the assistance of an airplane or glider. And in time not only can she skip rope like me, she can also cross it while jumping - something I cannot do.

Although my daughter has played many sports she has yet to express an interest in competing at an organized level. Should she ever go down this path I have no doubt that nothing will prevent her from being competitive, especially the notion that “girls don’t belong here.” I fully expect her to Play Like A Girl.





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This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of Verizon.  The opinions and text are all mine.

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One Friday, a couple of months ago I was tired. I’m actually tired everyday. But this was different. It was the end of a long, long week. I didn’t have to pick my daughter up from school for once and the evening was mine to whatever I wanted. You’d think this means I painted the town red with my boys and toasted to the blessings that have recently been bestowed upon me. Nope. Instead I just took my time going home, stopping first at Whole Foods to restock on healthy stuff and then Home Depot to pick up some flowers to add to the fledgling garden I have on my back deck. As I moseyed to the front doors I remember how heavy my eyelids became under the weight of the setting sun overhead. Then I heard it:

“‘Xcuse me, bruh.”

I groaned and looked up and saw a man considerably taller than I walking toward me with a heavy and labored gait that rivaled my own. He was clean cut but it didn’t matter. I knew but the tone of his voice he wanted money, or so I thought. I’m convinced I have one of those faces that screams, "Ask me for money!" because this late into the game I don’t think Jesus is testing me anymore.

“Can I speak to you for a minute?”

“Hey, man,” I said, cutting him off. “Listen, I don’t have any cash on me.”

I recently had a revolutionary revelation around fatherhood. That's right, a revolutionary revelation. Early last week I was exposed to a friend's Facebook post where plenty of female commenters beat on their chests with regard to their superiority as the "master parent." I found it painful and heartbreaking, being the sensitive soul that I am. For years now I've beat my drum (a.k.a. written on my blog) about all that Dad brings to the table. I've got plenty of cards in my back pocket I can whip out to justify our necessity and explain our equivalence in this parenting game, and why both are necessary. But finally it hit me --- I don't have to. At all.