"The best and most beautiful things in this world cannot be seen or even heard, but must be felt with the heart." ~Helen Keller
This quote hangs on a plaque in my classroom.
Next week I'll pull it out of a box I feel like I just packed up, prepping my room to welcome a hundred and fifty new souls for the year, reminding myself while glancing at it that I mustn't judge my students by what comes out of their mouths (anything you can imagine) or what they smell like (pretty stinky, if you're curious). I must always strive to go deeper--they're all beautiful, in their own way (my teacher friends are snickering).
In the meantime, I'm trying hard to savor the last moments of this summer--a summer that eight weeks ago I didn't think I'd survive.
But we found our routine, and we know longer cry as a unit of three--mom and two boys--in fact, this mom feels pretty capable these days.
Part of our routine is monday afternoon at the library.
As soon as we walk in, Will asks the same question.
"What is that smell?"
It's sweat and yuck, from the folks escaping the heat of the summer mixed with old books that haven't been checked out in years and a dash of dust and must.
"Unpleasant," I reply.
Will considered the library his own Blockbuster store--good for movies and not much else. We head straight for the DVDs, grab a new Mickey Mouse, and then I steer him to the books.
At the beginning of the summer I had to force him into the books, selecting one for him about dinosaurs, bugs, hamburgers, or Mickey. Today, he ran there himself, and even picked out his own.
Helen Keller: The World in Her Heart
"Really buddy?"
"Yeah, I want that one."
"No dinosaurs today?"
"I want that one mama!"
We snuggled in tonight to read.
As I read the last page, he grabbed my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine, as we often do when he and I pretend to be scared during summer storms.
Only this time, he didn't pretend to be scared. He just held it. And listened.
"What is love? Helen spelled.
Love is here, Teacher wrote as she held Helen's hand to her heart.
Helen looked confused, so teacher tried to explain. Love is . . . she began.
No, she corrected, swiping across Helen's palm with her hand.
She started again.
You cannot touch love, but you can feel the sweetness that it pours into everything. Without love you would not be happy or want to play.
Is that love? Helen asked as she pointed to the sun, with its warmth shining down on the day.
Love is here, Teacher wrote as she held Helen's hand to her heart."
My teacher, who took my hand and taught me patience and strength this summer, so that I may go and teach others.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Time to fight
I drew out the fighter in me yesterday, and she's here to stay for a bit.
Reid has been diagnosed with right torticollis (which is essentially a tight, weak neck on the right side) and plagiocephaly (baby flat head).
Yep, it's all pretty common, and indeed totally fixable.
Fixable with lots of stretches--1,000 seconds of stretching per day minimum--and a helmet. Like this one.
I'm suddenly reminded of the Carlos Mencia bit, where he says "I wear the helmet but I don't wear the hat." Some of you are giggling right now; others are googling. It's funny. Go look it up.
So my baby is going to wear the helmet.
Nope, doesn't help to hear that you know lots of babies who wore helmets and now have beautifully spherical and symmetrical heads.
Was it your baby? Okay then.
Because this is my baby, and seeing my baby in a helmet might just break my heart.
And I'll fight like hell to fix whatever it is that needs fixing.
But this is a lot to take in.
I sat on the mat in the infant physical therapy room. The therapist was very kind, but she spoke to me like I was an infant myself.
"I can see you're probably overwhelmed," she cooed.
No, not overwhelmed. Just taking it all in.
I saved overwhelmed for the car.
Overwhelmed because I have friends with kids who have bigger issues to tackle than this--I chastised myself for my sadness; overwhelmed because I watched a 3-year-old girl in the waiting room maneuver her own wheelchair, Barbie Princess braces on her little legs; overwhelmed because when you have a baby, you don't think there will be any issues.
And then there are.
So yesterday I stayed a little sad, a little pity partyish, a little on edge as Reid screamed through our stretches.
We may have only hit 500 seconds.
But today, I'll be damned if he didn't start to turn his head to the right just a bit.
And if he can smile through it, then so can I.
Pity party be gone. Mama Bear is ready to fight.
Reid has been diagnosed with right torticollis (which is essentially a tight, weak neck on the right side) and plagiocephaly (baby flat head).
Yep, it's all pretty common, and indeed totally fixable.
Fixable with lots of stretches--1,000 seconds of stretching per day minimum--and a helmet. Like this one.
I'm suddenly reminded of the Carlos Mencia bit, where he says "I wear the helmet but I don't wear the hat." Some of you are giggling right now; others are googling. It's funny. Go look it up.
So my baby is going to wear the helmet.
Nope, doesn't help to hear that you know lots of babies who wore helmets and now have beautifully spherical and symmetrical heads.
Was it your baby? Okay then.
Because this is my baby, and seeing my baby in a helmet might just break my heart.
And I'll fight like hell to fix whatever it is that needs fixing.
But this is a lot to take in.
I sat on the mat in the infant physical therapy room. The therapist was very kind, but she spoke to me like I was an infant myself.
"I can see you're probably overwhelmed," she cooed.
No, not overwhelmed. Just taking it all in.
I saved overwhelmed for the car.
Overwhelmed because I have friends with kids who have bigger issues to tackle than this--I chastised myself for my sadness; overwhelmed because I watched a 3-year-old girl in the waiting room maneuver her own wheelchair, Barbie Princess braces on her little legs; overwhelmed because when you have a baby, you don't think there will be any issues.
And then there are.
So yesterday I stayed a little sad, a little pity partyish, a little on edge as Reid screamed through our stretches.
We may have only hit 500 seconds.
But today, I'll be damned if he didn't start to turn his head to the right just a bit.
And if he can smile through it, then so can I.
Pity party be gone. Mama Bear is ready to fight.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Under a microscope
Bloggers: dissected.
I've said before that blogging has helped me overcome fears of opening myself to the world. I put it all out there (for an entire year at that): my writing, my choices, my fears, my triumphs, my failures, and you, dear reader, dissected it.
And while I've hoped that maybe I've inspired one or two people along the way with my own posts, I know that reading other bloggers is often what inspires me.
The handful who I regularly follow invite the world into their own with such ease that you immediately feel like you know them.
One such blogger I find myself rooting for, nodding in agreement, and sharing tears--happy and sad--all from a blog reader's perspective: behind the computer screen.
Her name is Jessica. I met her via internet stalking.
No really. I totally did.
Last year when we found out we were going to be on that HGTV show, Greg googled the show, stumbled upon the keyword in one of her blogs, and then realized she lived about two miles from us and was going to have the same thing done.
I emailed her, just to say "Hey, we're going to go through the same thing, isn't that crazy?"
Our families met for brunch.
And a little acquaintance-ship was born.
Jessica is an amazing photographer. She's a phenomenal writer. She is incredibly crafty and has excellent DIY taste. (You should definitely click on all of the links to check out her stuff.)
What impresses me the most about her, though--what I find absolutely down right inpsiring--is her heart, and her faith.
When she and her husband struggled with conceiving a child of their own, they put it all in God's hands, and let Him guide them.
He led them to Charlie, they're beautiful oldest daughter.
And a year and a half later, He led them to Lola.
Her faith is extraordinary--the fact that she just took herself out of it and gave it up to a higher power is what I think a lot of us struggle with. We want to let go of the situation, we know we can't control it, and yet it's so difficult to take that step of removing ourselves.
Faith: found.
As I said before, her photography is amazing, and recently (like two months ago recently) she started an online photography school. (You should definitely click on that link, too!)
And you know what she did with the tuition people submitted for the first set of courses?
Well, you can read about it here, but...I'll go ahead and spoil it for you: she paid for medical care for a child in foster care. An entire year's worth of medical care.
And then she purchased five water filtration systems for an African village that will last them a lifetime. That means forever.
Oh and then? She paid for education for an entire year for a student in Haiti.
I don't know that she kept a dime for herself.
Heart: enormous.
I am inspired by her drive and determination; her love for all human beings; her warm slight southern accent and penchant for "y'all" in her writing; and putting herself--her entire life--out there for the world to view.
I can't think of a more beautiful life to read and follow and smile and cheer on.
I've said before that blogging has helped me overcome fears of opening myself to the world. I put it all out there (for an entire year at that): my writing, my choices, my fears, my triumphs, my failures, and you, dear reader, dissected it.
And while I've hoped that maybe I've inspired one or two people along the way with my own posts, I know that reading other bloggers is often what inspires me.
The handful who I regularly follow invite the world into their own with such ease that you immediately feel like you know them.
One such blogger I find myself rooting for, nodding in agreement, and sharing tears--happy and sad--all from a blog reader's perspective: behind the computer screen.
Her name is Jessica. I met her via internet stalking.
No really. I totally did.
Last year when we found out we were going to be on that HGTV show, Greg googled the show, stumbled upon the keyword in one of her blogs, and then realized she lived about two miles from us and was going to have the same thing done.
I emailed her, just to say "Hey, we're going to go through the same thing, isn't that crazy?"
Our families met for brunch.
And a little acquaintance-ship was born.
Jessica is an amazing photographer. She's a phenomenal writer. She is incredibly crafty and has excellent DIY taste. (You should definitely click on all of the links to check out her stuff.)
What impresses me the most about her, though--what I find absolutely down right inpsiring--is her heart, and her faith.
When she and her husband struggled with conceiving a child of their own, they put it all in God's hands, and let Him guide them.
He led them to Charlie, they're beautiful oldest daughter.
And a year and a half later, He led them to Lola.
Her faith is extraordinary--the fact that she just took herself out of it and gave it up to a higher power is what I think a lot of us struggle with. We want to let go of the situation, we know we can't control it, and yet it's so difficult to take that step of removing ourselves.
Faith: found.
As I said before, her photography is amazing, and recently (like two months ago recently) she started an online photography school. (You should definitely click on that link, too!)
And you know what she did with the tuition people submitted for the first set of courses?
Well, you can read about it here, but...I'll go ahead and spoil it for you: she paid for medical care for a child in foster care. An entire year's worth of medical care.
And then she purchased five water filtration systems for an African village that will last them a lifetime. That means forever.
Oh and then? She paid for education for an entire year for a student in Haiti.
I don't know that she kept a dime for herself.
Heart: enormous.
I am inspired by her drive and determination; her love for all human beings; her warm slight southern accent and penchant for "y'all" in her writing; and putting herself--her entire life--out there for the world to view.
I can't think of a more beautiful life to read and follow and smile and cheer on.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Doodlebugs
Childhood.
A million moments put together that in one backward glance from adulthood can conjure up joy or sadness.
For me, it's joy, and with it a sentiment of feeling safe and secure and at peace.
Those moments aren't ever specifically important.
Riding bikes with my brother and pretending we were running errands, the gas station and grocery in various people's driveways--totally lame, but totally happy.
Those times I'd fall asleep at family gatherings and always hear the adults telling stories and laughing in the background, the smell of after-dinner coffee lingering in the air.
I was feeling sentimental this afternoon as I sat outside in the driveway with Reid in my lap and Will next to me, turning over rocks looking for doodlebugs.
Doodlebug. (n) 1. Official scientific name of the gray roly poly bugs that live under rocks in the garden as defined by the Kauffman household; 2. Term of endearment for children in the Kauffman household (ie; "Come here doodlebug!").
It was one of those moments I found myself going, "Remember this, remember this, remember this," because it was so unimportant in the history of moments and yet so significant at the same time.
I mentally dog-eared the page, to savor years from now when even mentioning the word "doodlebug" will invite crimson into my boys' faces. I'll come back to this page again and again and remember that girly-girl me, who has an obsession with high heels, perfume, and pink nail polish, sat on blacktop (where ants crawl-ew) to find slimy gray bugs (ew) in the mud (ew).
For the boys, it was just another day that I fed them mac-n-cheese, chased them around the gym, found the batteries to the remote so that Mickey Mouse's voice could project through the TV, did the hot dog dance, bounced them around, cuddled them up, and sat on the driveway to look for bugs.
But maybe one day when they look back on their childhood, those will be the moments out of millions that stand out for them; the moments that make them feel safe and secure, peaceful, warm, and happy.
A million moments put together that in one backward glance from adulthood can conjure up joy or sadness.
For me, it's joy, and with it a sentiment of feeling safe and secure and at peace.
Those moments aren't ever specifically important.
Riding bikes with my brother and pretending we were running errands, the gas station and grocery in various people's driveways--totally lame, but totally happy.
Those times I'd fall asleep at family gatherings and always hear the adults telling stories and laughing in the background, the smell of after-dinner coffee lingering in the air.
I was feeling sentimental this afternoon as I sat outside in the driveway with Reid in my lap and Will next to me, turning over rocks looking for doodlebugs.
Doodlebug. (n) 1. Official scientific name of the gray roly poly bugs that live under rocks in the garden as defined by the Kauffman household; 2. Term of endearment for children in the Kauffman household (ie; "Come here doodlebug!").
It was one of those moments I found myself going, "Remember this, remember this, remember this," because it was so unimportant in the history of moments and yet so significant at the same time.
I mentally dog-eared the page, to savor years from now when even mentioning the word "doodlebug" will invite crimson into my boys' faces. I'll come back to this page again and again and remember that girly-girl me, who has an obsession with high heels, perfume, and pink nail polish, sat on blacktop (where ants crawl-ew) to find slimy gray bugs (ew) in the mud (ew).
For the boys, it was just another day that I fed them mac-n-cheese, chased them around the gym, found the batteries to the remote so that Mickey Mouse's voice could project through the TV, did the hot dog dance, bounced them around, cuddled them up, and sat on the driveway to look for bugs.
But maybe one day when they look back on their childhood, those will be the moments out of millions that stand out for them; the moments that make them feel safe and secure, peaceful, warm, and happy.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Little Buddha
Out of the mouths of babes.
When we really stop and listen to what our kids are saying we are usually left laughing at their logic or simply stunned at their incredible memories.
Last night I shared on Facebook that Will, when told I was going to be teaching yoga that night, asked if Buddha was going to be there.
Will's first Buddha experience was at a yoga studio--one of the studios I teach in (and the one Greg and I were married in) has a larger than life-sized Buddha statue or two hanging out. Will liked to give him a high five.
My nephew had a Buddha statue in the bathroom we crashed during HGTV filming last year, and Will would poke his belly and say "Buuuudhaaaaaaa!"
And finally, he has this tiny little Buddha key chain hanging out in his room, a gift from a yogi before Will was born. Sometimes when he's belting out "Baa Baa Blacksheep" American Idol style, Buddha is his audience
This morning, while eating oatmeal, Will asked, "Who's Buddha mommy?"
For the umpteenth time, I gave him the two-year-old's version of Buddha.
"Buddha was a great man who sat under a tree, and while he was there he thought and thought and thought, and he had this idea that people could be really happy if they could just relax and quiet their minds."
"What's relax?"
"It's like taking a deep breath--"
"--and taking a nap?" he interrupted.
"Yep, just like that."
Will continued to eat his oatmeal. After a moment, he said, "Buddha didn't eat oatmeal. He didn't have water. He didn't have coffee. He didn't have juice. He had nuffin'."
I just sort of stared at him and he went right on eating his oatmeal.
Not once have we ever talked about Buddha's fasting, or anyone's fasting for that matter.
I'm pretty sure there isn't any fasting on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.
His old soul shining through once again.
Just as I was getting rid of my goose bumps, he looked at me and said, "Mommy, Buddha liked to fight!"
And then I knew not to read too much into his vast knowledge. As much as Will would like there to be a Batman-Buddha smackdown duel to the death, well, that wouldn't be in Buddha's repertoire.
Being a parent is a constant yoga practice--no need to set foot in a studio--our teachers are pint-sized, covered in dirt, and addicted to apple juice.
When we really stop and listen to what our kids are saying we are usually left laughing at their logic or simply stunned at their incredible memories.
Last night I shared on Facebook that Will, when told I was going to be teaching yoga that night, asked if Buddha was going to be there.
Will's first Buddha experience was at a yoga studio--one of the studios I teach in (and the one Greg and I were married in) has a larger than life-sized Buddha statue or two hanging out. Will liked to give him a high five.
My nephew had a Buddha statue in the bathroom we crashed during HGTV filming last year, and Will would poke his belly and say "Buuuudhaaaaaaa!"
And finally, he has this tiny little Buddha key chain hanging out in his room, a gift from a yogi before Will was born. Sometimes when he's belting out "Baa Baa Blacksheep" American Idol style, Buddha is his audience
This morning, while eating oatmeal, Will asked, "Who's Buddha mommy?"
For the umpteenth time, I gave him the two-year-old's version of Buddha.
"Buddha was a great man who sat under a tree, and while he was there he thought and thought and thought, and he had this idea that people could be really happy if they could just relax and quiet their minds."
"What's relax?"
"It's like taking a deep breath--"
"--and taking a nap?" he interrupted.
"Yep, just like that."
Will continued to eat his oatmeal. After a moment, he said, "Buddha didn't eat oatmeal. He didn't have water. He didn't have coffee. He didn't have juice. He had nuffin'."
I just sort of stared at him and he went right on eating his oatmeal.
Not once have we ever talked about Buddha's fasting, or anyone's fasting for that matter.
I'm pretty sure there isn't any fasting on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.
His old soul shining through once again.
Just as I was getting rid of my goose bumps, he looked at me and said, "Mommy, Buddha liked to fight!"
And then I knew not to read too much into his vast knowledge. As much as Will would like there to be a Batman-Buddha smackdown duel to the death, well, that wouldn't be in Buddha's repertoire.
Being a parent is a constant yoga practice--no need to set foot in a studio--our teachers are pint-sized, covered in dirt, and addicted to apple juice.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Unplug, Recharge
It was so the opposite of everything the world intends for us to do these days.
Unplug to recharge.
I deactivated my Facebook account for about a week. For the first 48 hours, I realized touching the icon on my phone was just a habit; in much the same way my brain is programmed to pick up my shampoo, facewash, conditioner, and bodywash in that order, I touched my email icon, my internet icon, and then my Facebook icon. It didn't even matter that I had deactivated it and knew it--I still touched it.
And then I stopped.
And it was bliss.
I didn't find myself missing or even thinking about what someone else's kid did at the pool that day, or what someone made for dinner, or whether or not someone should try the new sushi restaurant.
The mundane details of everyone else's life that social media provides became just that--mundane--and the beautiful thing was that I was able to submerge myself into my own.
I received emails from people that I hadn't heard from in awhile, wondering where I ran off to.
I just ran off to...me. My world. It seems a little selfish to say that, but that's what unplugging does. And isn't that where I should be anyway?
I took photos of my kids--because it was funny and I wanted to capture the moment--just for me. And I didn't share it with the world--just my husband, and of course Will, who has the patience of his mother and who demands to see any and all photos immediately after they are taken. On a side note, it just occurred to me that our children will never experience the anticipation of waiting three days to get photos back and ripping open the envelope in the car to see what they look like. They will forever be able to take the perfect photo and instantly transform it to make the lighting better and retake if someone blinked, or photobombed, or God forbid had whale arm. This would have made my box of college photos less painful to look through.
And then I plugged back in, just long enough to say hello, invite friends to my first yoga class back, and see what I missed in a week's time--gender reveals and weddings and new homes--all things I was unable to "like" and send best wishes for so...congratulations to all!
I also missed photos of kids at the pool, photos of dinners, and debates on whether or not friends should do this or that: sushi or italian? tacos or enchiladas? bangs or no bangs? pacifier or lovey? Paris or London? love it or list it? Oh wait--just a really awful, drawn out TV program on HGTV. And on another side note, next time you're perusing that channel, pay attention to the Valspar commercial; our bathroom has a starring role (and by "starring" I mean it's one of ten rooms that appear on your screen for about a blip).
Fact is, unplugging felt amazing.
I mean, the first command of this blog is to be present. How can we be fully present when we are submerged in moments that belong to other people, or concerned in how our own moments appear to others?
It felt so good I might just unplug for the rest of the summer.
As soon as I take full advantage of social networking and make a post with a link about how good it is to not post and read posts. You know, irony and all...
Could you do it? Have you done it? How'd you fair?
Unplug to recharge.
I deactivated my Facebook account for about a week. For the first 48 hours, I realized touching the icon on my phone was just a habit; in much the same way my brain is programmed to pick up my shampoo, facewash, conditioner, and bodywash in that order, I touched my email icon, my internet icon, and then my Facebook icon. It didn't even matter that I had deactivated it and knew it--I still touched it.
And then I stopped.
And it was bliss.
I didn't find myself missing or even thinking about what someone else's kid did at the pool that day, or what someone made for dinner, or whether or not someone should try the new sushi restaurant.
The mundane details of everyone else's life that social media provides became just that--mundane--and the beautiful thing was that I was able to submerge myself into my own.
I received emails from people that I hadn't heard from in awhile, wondering where I ran off to.
I just ran off to...me. My world. It seems a little selfish to say that, but that's what unplugging does. And isn't that where I should be anyway?
I took photos of my kids--because it was funny and I wanted to capture the moment--just for me. And I didn't share it with the world--just my husband, and of course Will, who has the patience of his mother and who demands to see any and all photos immediately after they are taken. On a side note, it just occurred to me that our children will never experience the anticipation of waiting three days to get photos back and ripping open the envelope in the car to see what they look like. They will forever be able to take the perfect photo and instantly transform it to make the lighting better and retake if someone blinked, or photobombed, or God forbid had whale arm. This would have made my box of college photos less painful to look through.
And then I plugged back in, just long enough to say hello, invite friends to my first yoga class back, and see what I missed in a week's time--gender reveals and weddings and new homes--all things I was unable to "like" and send best wishes for so...congratulations to all!
I also missed photos of kids at the pool, photos of dinners, and debates on whether or not friends should do this or that: sushi or italian? tacos or enchiladas? bangs or no bangs? pacifier or lovey? Paris or London? love it or list it? Oh wait--just a really awful, drawn out TV program on HGTV. And on another side note, next time you're perusing that channel, pay attention to the Valspar commercial; our bathroom has a starring role (and by "starring" I mean it's one of ten rooms that appear on your screen for about a blip).
Fact is, unplugging felt amazing.
I mean, the first command of this blog is to be present. How can we be fully present when we are submerged in moments that belong to other people, or concerned in how our own moments appear to others?
It felt so good I might just unplug for the rest of the summer.
As soon as I take full advantage of social networking and make a post with a link about how good it is to not post and read posts. You know, irony and all...
Could you do it? Have you done it? How'd you fair?
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Healthy Kids Equals Happy Kids
My first week home this summer, Will had Spaghetti-Os and Chef-Boyardee ravioli every. single. meal.
And then I tasted the meatballs in Spaghetti-Os and the ravioli in that can and I spat it out. No really. I just used the word "spat," too.
Have you ever tasted that stuff? Canned dog food.
How can that possibly be good for my kid? For anyone's kid?
What I needed to do was get back on the DIY kid food. I don't want to make Pinterest inspired beach scenes with broccoli palm trees, quinoa sand and cheedar cheese suns. I just want to make good food for my kid.
What I needed to do was get back on the DIY kid food. I don't want to make Pinterest inspired beach scenes with broccoli palm trees, quinoa sand and cheedar cheese suns. I just want to make good food for my kid.
Besides, Reid will be eating solid foods in (gulp) just one month. (That, my friends, is crazy.)
Rather than bombard you with an enormous post of my Toddler Staples, I picked the four I've done the most of in the last couple of weeks, and divided them into two categories: "Takes as much time as the pre prepared crap" and "Takes five minutes longer."
Rather than bombard you with an enormous post of my Toddler Staples, I picked the four I've done the most of in the last couple of weeks, and divided them into two categories: "Takes as much time as the pre prepared crap" and "Takes five minutes longer."
With childhood obesity such an issue that it's the First Lady's undertaking, and my own frustrations in people complaining that the healthy stuff is too expensive, I'm hoping that just one little blog reader takes note and tries something fresh for their kids.
Here we go.
Takes As Much Time As The Pre Prepared Crap
Mac-n-Cheese. Ah yes, it is revered in this household by kids and parents alike. Pick your favorite noodle--you can even buy them in fun shapes like wheels and stars and Woody and Buzz--and then make a basic cheese sauce: 1 tbsp butter, 1/2-1 tsp flour, 1/4-1/3 cup milk. Mix over heat. Add about a cup of your favorite shredded cheeses and let it all melt into a delicious cheesy sauce that won't send your blood pressure sky rocketing from the sodium. And it takes just as much time as the boxed stuff!
Pizza. Rather than throw those pizza bites/pizza bagels/Tony's pizzas in the oven for a half an hour, have your child spend 20 minutes putting sauce, cheese, and other toppings on a pita, tortilla, or little Boboli crust. Ten minutes in the oven, and like Will, they will proclaim, "This actually tastes like pizza."
Takes Five Minutes Longer
Chicken Nuggets. Yes, dumping the bag of frozen nuggets onto a tray is, in fact, easy. These are healthier, and take no time at all. Dice up chicken breasts or chicken tenders into two inch pieces. You can either dip them in egg, or brush them with brown mustard. Roll in bread crumbs or corn meal seasoned with onion powder, garlic powder and a bit of salt, and then bake at 375 for 10-15 minutes. Done.
Snacks. Are you kidding me with the bags of pre-cut up apples? They've got crap in them to keep them from browning! Cut up your own and entice the kids with a smear of peanut butter, Nutella, Biscoff spread, or apple butter.
I'm always reaching for plain roasted almonds to snack on, but Will, despite trying them every single time, hates them. So I take two cookie sheets and put a handful of almonds on each sheet. I sprinkle a little vegetable oil onto both piles of almonds, and to one pile I add just a sprinkling of sea salt and garlic powder, and to the other I sprinkle just a bit of brown sugar and cinnamon. Mix them up, spread them out, and pop them in the oven at 400 degrees for about 15 minutes. Let them cool and then keep them in airtight containers for up to two weeks!
Monday, July 2, 2012
Freedom
I ran on the track at the gym this morning and my first thought in mile one was, "Screw sky diving--real freedom is the first run weeks after solely running with a 40 pound kid in a stroller!"
And then I started thinking about freedom in general, being the weekfor picnics, pool parties, and fireworks of Independence Day and all.
I thought I'd share my list.
Freedom is...
And then I started thinking about freedom in general, being the week
I thought I'd share my list.
Freedom is...
- when you stop complaining to anyone who will listen and actually do something about it.
- ending your criticisms of everything: presidents, health care, heat waves, Ann Curry, your job, other moms, Wal-Mart, your in-laws, last night's dinner, and people who read Fifty Shades of Gray.
- beginning to see the good in all of those things. Baby steps.
- realizing that regardless of your opinion on Obamacare, you--yes YOU--have access to the best medical and holistic care in the world; that you won't die from a disease that is prevalent in other countries; that the government insisting you have a means to pay for this top-notch care doesn't mean they are going to go all North Korea on you and control every last aspect of your life.
- embracing the multi-cultural population that is the United States; raising your kids to speak multiple languages and understand diversity instead of being afraid of it.
- having the option to leave and live elsewhere if you just can't take it.
- letting go of fear.
- accepting that maybe deep down inside, there's something you've never addressed.
- addressing it.
- when you halt the thoughts in your mind that tell you you aren't good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, rich enough, whatever enough.
- when you stop comparing yourself to everyone else.
- setting a goal and achieving it.
- setting a goal, drifting away from it, and then coming back to it.
- being all Jessica Simpson circa 2004 and singing about chicken wings and Nick Lachey: that's right--being comfortable in your own skin.
- safety; in surrounding yourself with a support system of like-minded people.
- laughing so hard your cheeks ache, you hyperventilate, your abs feel like they just finished a P90X workout, tears form in your eyes and maybe--just maybe--you pee your pants. It's laughter without reservation.
- that feeling of taking back your body after growing a human for nine months.
- keeping some aspects of your life to yourself.
- choosing to take a mental health day.
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