Oh, mothering blog, how do I neglect thee, let me count the ways. It's been a month. Honestly, in these 30 days, not much has happened on the Jude front that requires great and triumphant heralding on ye olde blog, but sometimes it comforts my psyche just to purge the parental vortex in preparation of starting over in a new month.
Last we "talked," we had been given the recommendation to try the Waldorf School for Jude. Since then, we find ourselves relocating into a much sought after public school zone so odds are, we'll just stay there.
What we are really looking forward to is in this move is a life lived outside of the car. The past year, as newbies to Nashville and residents of Franklin, we haven't really excelled in that whole "quality of life" thing people keep talking about. Most of Jude's free time is spent in my office or in the car. It's the sad side effect of commuting when you've got kids. He has probably consumed more "to go" meals in said car over the past year than he did in the 3 years prior to us moving here. What can I say, I fail at MOM 101 this round. I'm hoping the next year will bring a mountain of changes -- all positive.
Obviously, diet is (and probably always will be) an important aspect of raising an atypical child so this "cuisine de commute" doesn't win me ribbons in that department either. However, I will note that we have phased out of the GFCF obsession slightly as he's gotten older. Not just because of what the good doctor at Vandy told us but also because we hit that wall where it didn't seem to be making a difference anymore. Now don't get me wrong, we still don't get down with cow's milk (it's almond if you please) and we still maintain a low dairy to everything else ratio but...eh...you can only stress yourself so much. And the bottom line is: there is no diet that is going to magically reverse your child's behavior. It can make the behaviors better, certainly, but just like with medication -- you will hit a wall where the difference it's making becomes miniscule.
But speaking of medication, which we have not ventured to try yet (I will hold off on that as long as humanly possible), I will say that the above is NOT true for vitamins and supplements.
Most kids' schools have a daily behavioral rating system that mirrors your friendly neighborhood stoplight. Well, my child's daily folder has more so mirrored a Lite Brite over the past month or so instead. He has gotten into this very perplexing habit of just telling his teacher flat out "no!" Surely, some of this is genetic (I won't say which side of the family it comes from but I will note he has one or two blond streaks in that mess of black hair) but some of it is just him not getting that he is not a) an adult or b) in charge.
As is the truth with a lot of atypical children, they don't quite see those imaginary boundary lines that we all spend our entire lives dancing around. He is the star, director and producer of the "Julian Show" and we are all just extras, set crew, or (G-d forbid) catering staff (that would be my job, of course)!
So this behavior, as I said, has sort of hit an all time high with him lately. I'm not entirely sure but I'm guessing we have maybe given his teacher wrinkles and/or gray hair at this juncture. Ok, who am I kidding, we've probably given her both.
Between living in the car and working 800 hours a week between the two of us, I apparently forgot to refill someone's vitamin supply. Innocently, I picked up a new bottle at Whole Foods five days ago and it's like "POOF" bad child be gone! (I think maybe that's what they should call them -- Bad Child Be Gone: Now in Fruity Raspberry!).
Anyway, that whole lecture my mom used to give me (and, yes, this is where I say you were right, mom) about taking my B vitamins to rid my head of those angry monsters otherwise known as stress, anxiety and depression -- well she was right. And apparently it works on the little one, too. The B's mixed with magnesium and zinc, also great tools for fighting off the grouchy non-focus monster known to dwell in little boys under the age of...um 39?
On another "typical" note -- I always like to mentally document and file away our typical moments for when I'm having one of my "oh my G-d, I am a terrible mother and my child is so out of control" moments -- the argument we had with him the other night was awesome! Strange for a parent to call an argument with their child awesome but in the world of things atypical, things that would make other parents maybe pull at their hair and gnash their teeth, send us into hysterics. Observe:
Julian: (storms half way up the stairs after having Wii turned off for not playing nice) "I'm never talking to either one of you ever again!" (storms rest of staircase).
Us: (silence)
Julian: (storms across the floor into bedroom and slams door; proceeds to do this repeatedly for about 8 minutes for impact, occasionally walking to the top of the stairs to see if any reaction has been had by parental unit)
Us: (silence)
Julian: (continues to open and close door)
Us: (hysterically yet silently laughing and doubled over on sofa)
Julian: (walks to top of stair case once he realizes slamming of door is have no effect on parental unit; in a huffy voice he speaks) Mom -- I have to come downstairs now to tell you I'm sorry.
Me: Ok, honey
Child comes downstairs, apologizes and we all move on. Well, except for when we tell this story to people repeatedly because in a way, we are proud. Any day we have "normal" behavior from him is no different than how proud we are when his teacher writes "finished in under 4 minutes" on his math work. Maybe I should make a bumper sticker, instead of "my kid's an honor roll student at blah blah school" it would say "my kid rocks at normal."
Which brings me to 1...2...3....the most simple of tricks to get your children to do your biding and it works! On my child! Oh hoorah, oh rapture, oh joy! If I'd known, I would have started doing it ages ago. A simple "1" gets his attention, a "2" puts him in high gear and a "3"...well he knows it's on if we get to 3. Who knew? (Well, I guess someone knew...it's not as if we invented it, right?)
Anyway, it's late and as we speak, I can hear him singing in his bed, the last few balls of energy deflating into the silence of night as we all count down the days until our Disney adventure and relish in the fact that as our own little tribe, we kind of rock. Typically and atypically.
kvlm
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
An Interesting Turn of Events
This will probably come as no shock to you, but I don't believe in accidents. Nor do I subscribe to the theory of coincidence. I think things happen with reason and that more times than not, that reason only becomes evident after the fact -- and at times, it doesn't become evident until years (and years and years) after the fact (cue triumphant scene of girl driving in car listening to empowering fem-rock when she realizes she has moved on from something holding her in the past).
I constantly toy with the reasons "why" -- even when it comes to why is my amazing child the way he is? Well, that's a pretty easy one to answer even if it doesn't always provide the amount of patience I may need in the middle of a, how shall we say, child-induced-hysterical-moment?
My theory? Because everyone on this earth is constantly trying to shove themselves into what they consider "normal" -- not textbook normal, but what you specifically consider normal. For example, I think it's normal to have a streak of blond hair in my otherwise black mane. However, my boss does not think this is normal (but is, however, accepting of said streak because now he knows me and knows when I decide I'm doing something, it's done).
Jude isn't normal. He's eccentric; he's creative; he dances like Twyla Tharp...in public. That's ok with me because really we all need to slow down and learn how to accept those dancing so delicately on the fringe of our truly boring society. That sounds a bit "peace, love and happiness" doesn't it? Well, I assure you that while I often times have to restrain my inner-hippie, there are times my inner-hippie stays completely hidden at home in a dark closet (more than likely under my rainbow-knitted crystal bag).
Another example: my niece once attended a Waldorf School. At first, I was semi-fascinated with the concept. I know a lot of creative types have come out of Waldorf to have very successful careers in the arts. Obviously, I can completely get behind that. However, the lack of black crayons (again, for example) to color with because black represents something dark and potentially threatening to a child's growth...??? Well, yes, that is indeed a bit much for me. That's not necessarily what I would proclaim to be balanced.
So, when a recent visit to Vanderbilt's Kennedy Center to get some guidance on how to navigate the not-so-great public school system in Nashville and the overwhelming options for private school pointed us right towards Waldorf, I was a little surprised. Having had a terrible Montessori experience, I wasn't sure sending Jude to a (please forgive me for this terminology) touchy-feely school was really a great idea.
I've always stood behind the notion that he needed more structure; that routine was a wonderful thing for a boy with a wandering mind and the sometimes consuming need to constantly move. But apparently, I am incorrect in that thinking. And quite honestly, the school we are in now in all of it's wonderful textbook structure, red tape, and stereotypical public school ways, has actually sent our boy into a mild tailspin of regression. Sure, regression is normal for atypical kids, but the older they get, they harder it is to realign.
The great news about our appointment overall was that I was not only enlightened by the aptitude of this doctor but also by his support of what I've known all alone: that this isn't Autism. He asked that we forget we'd ever heard the word, that it had ever entered our brain. I felt like the pressure of the air had lifted to such an extent that I might actually float right off of my child-sized chair.
He also said that the GFCF diet we have tried really hard to maintain for so long now was great -- if you are trying to be healthy -- but that we'd be better off spending that money on private school tuition to Waldorf. (Where was he when I needed him three years ago? I'm sure the amount of money I've spent is beyond obscene.)
Not to say that we won't still stay as casein free as we can because we know for sure he's intolerant to dairy (and quite honestly, I prefer gluten-free at this juncture), we certainly won't allow ourselves to be as stressed out about as we have been. The number of waffles alone we've gone through to find the right taste, consistency and texture? We are a walking focus group for just about every brand in the market.
Another important statement he made that has continued to resonant with me since our meeting is "GFCF won't make your child talk." We certainly do not have the issue of him not talking anymore but those six little words would have made the world of difference to us three years ago.
I would like to say, however, that while that is probably true (and maybe we knew it all along but wanted to try whatever we could that was a natural approach to treatment), I still support the theory that it can help with the moods of those kids that fall into the atypical category. Any allergist/nutritionist will tell you that a kid with a dairy intolerance is going to be pretty cranky after downing a milkshake. And I can tell you that a less cranky atypical child is a whole lot easier to work with than one who just wants you to stop talking and find something else to do with your time.
But I digress. There is still part of me that's worried that the Waldorf approach may be too flexible for my child but I'm willing to (just like with the GFCF diet) give it a try. I'm beyond thrilled to throw the "A" word out of my vocabulary. We will still struggle with the "what," we just don't get caught up on the "why." What is it exactly if it's not ADHD, SPD, OCD, ODD, Aspie, ADD, etc. etc. etc.? I don't really know. We may just be GRAY -- in the gray area, and that's ok. If life has taught me anything at all, it's that I've met the most interesting people in the world dancing in the gray area.
More to follow...
xoxo,
kvlm
I constantly toy with the reasons "why" -- even when it comes to why is my amazing child the way he is? Well, that's a pretty easy one to answer even if it doesn't always provide the amount of patience I may need in the middle of a, how shall we say, child-induced-hysterical-moment?
My theory? Because everyone on this earth is constantly trying to shove themselves into what they consider "normal" -- not textbook normal, but what you specifically consider normal. For example, I think it's normal to have a streak of blond hair in my otherwise black mane. However, my boss does not think this is normal (but is, however, accepting of said streak because now he knows me and knows when I decide I'm doing something, it's done).
Jude isn't normal. He's eccentric; he's creative; he dances like Twyla Tharp...in public. That's ok with me because really we all need to slow down and learn how to accept those dancing so delicately on the fringe of our truly boring society. That sounds a bit "peace, love and happiness" doesn't it? Well, I assure you that while I often times have to restrain my inner-hippie, there are times my inner-hippie stays completely hidden at home in a dark closet (more than likely under my rainbow-knitted crystal bag).
Another example: my niece once attended a Waldorf School. At first, I was semi-fascinated with the concept. I know a lot of creative types have come out of Waldorf to have very successful careers in the arts. Obviously, I can completely get behind that. However, the lack of black crayons (again, for example) to color with because black represents something dark and potentially threatening to a child's growth...??? Well, yes, that is indeed a bit much for me. That's not necessarily what I would proclaim to be balanced.
So, when a recent visit to Vanderbilt's Kennedy Center to get some guidance on how to navigate the not-so-great public school system in Nashville and the overwhelming options for private school pointed us right towards Waldorf, I was a little surprised. Having had a terrible Montessori experience, I wasn't sure sending Jude to a (please forgive me for this terminology) touchy-feely school was really a great idea.
I've always stood behind the notion that he needed more structure; that routine was a wonderful thing for a boy with a wandering mind and the sometimes consuming need to constantly move. But apparently, I am incorrect in that thinking. And quite honestly, the school we are in now in all of it's wonderful textbook structure, red tape, and stereotypical public school ways, has actually sent our boy into a mild tailspin of regression. Sure, regression is normal for atypical kids, but the older they get, they harder it is to realign.
The great news about our appointment overall was that I was not only enlightened by the aptitude of this doctor but also by his support of what I've known all alone: that this isn't Autism. He asked that we forget we'd ever heard the word, that it had ever entered our brain. I felt like the pressure of the air had lifted to such an extent that I might actually float right off of my child-sized chair.
He also said that the GFCF diet we have tried really hard to maintain for so long now was great -- if you are trying to be healthy -- but that we'd be better off spending that money on private school tuition to Waldorf. (Where was he when I needed him three years ago? I'm sure the amount of money I've spent is beyond obscene.)
Not to say that we won't still stay as casein free as we can because we know for sure he's intolerant to dairy (and quite honestly, I prefer gluten-free at this juncture), we certainly won't allow ourselves to be as stressed out about as we have been. The number of waffles alone we've gone through to find the right taste, consistency and texture? We are a walking focus group for just about every brand in the market.
Another important statement he made that has continued to resonant with me since our meeting is "GFCF won't make your child talk." We certainly do not have the issue of him not talking anymore but those six little words would have made the world of difference to us three years ago.
I would like to say, however, that while that is probably true (and maybe we knew it all along but wanted to try whatever we could that was a natural approach to treatment), I still support the theory that it can help with the moods of those kids that fall into the atypical category. Any allergist/nutritionist will tell you that a kid with a dairy intolerance is going to be pretty cranky after downing a milkshake. And I can tell you that a less cranky atypical child is a whole lot easier to work with than one who just wants you to stop talking and find something else to do with your time.
But I digress. There is still part of me that's worried that the Waldorf approach may be too flexible for my child but I'm willing to (just like with the GFCF diet) give it a try. I'm beyond thrilled to throw the "A" word out of my vocabulary. We will still struggle with the "what," we just don't get caught up on the "why." What is it exactly if it's not ADHD, SPD, OCD, ODD, Aspie, ADD, etc. etc. etc.? I don't really know. We may just be GRAY -- in the gray area, and that's ok. If life has taught me anything at all, it's that I've met the most interesting people in the world dancing in the gray area.
More to follow...
xoxo,
kvlm
Monday, January 3, 2011
Resolutions
This is the most neglected of my blogs so I am hereby resolving to either do away with it completely or make more of an effort. Sadly, it will likely be the former. It will certainly resurrect in some other form in the new year in the form of one catchall blog which has been put on the serious back burner since our relocation to Nashville. Unfortunately, I haven't had the creative time I'd hoped for but I can see that changing slowly and surely.
I don't really believe in resolutions. Not ones for New Year at any rate. I resolve to do loads of things during the year either with distinct and clear intention or in some lofty it-may-happen-one-day fashion. What can I tell you, I've always struggled with a mind that has the energy and interest of 20 but I am 1 and therefore attempt to cut myself some slack. But I feel the need to set some "rules" at least for this year and, as I've told my husband, make recovery and reinvention our number one goals.
Of course reflection would be a better word to toss around in the beginning of any year. If I can't reflect on what I did, what I didn't do, what I hope to be more of, better at, and etc. etc. I will doubtfully get any of things in my 2011 bucket list accomplished. Quite frankly that bucket list hasn't changed much but I feel like we have and are.
Recovery = finally getting back on solid ground post un-and-under-employment. The first few months of unemployment feel sort of like a vacation from reality. Not necessarily in a good way but (when you've worked for the Wicked Witch & her little flying monkey) not necessarily in a bad way. After about six months, things start to get pretty hairy and even now, six months in to gainful employment, we are still in recovery mode.
One thing I am grateful for that unemployment has taught me is how to be careful with our money. So on our path to full financial recovery, I am hoping we pass Debt Free Lane and can get off on it. Save the student loan that has a six year shelf life left on it, perhaps even seven, the forceful redirect of our funds have proven a mighty catalyst for getting things paid off. I like those bumper stickers, "be weird, be debt free." I'm down with that -- on both counts.
On the kid front, we are still holding steady in a pattern of progression, slight regression, then progression again. This is pretty standard fare for atypical kids and while on our worst day it equates a bit of exhaustion for all 3 of us, it is something we are able to handle quite easily now that he's 7 (most days anyway).
I've been doing a lot of research on Sensory Perception Disorder/Sensory Integration Disorder. It sounds so very familiar when I read it, like someone wrote it specifically about my child. But as I reflect over the accomplishments and the struggles we've had this year with the gray area he sometimes falls into, I am resolve to focus more this year on 'this is how he is' vs. 'this is what we are doing to change it.' My kid has a lot of spirit, he's ridiculously funny, incredibly curious, reads like a demon and has musical skills that I cannot really even begin to understand. Screw changing him to try to make him fit. We hold fast to the notion that if an environment cannot roll with our son, we will simply roll him out of that environment. Not always easy, but sometimes necessary.
Recently he wanted to buy a Barbie. Granted, this child spends hours playing video games and is known to be a shameless flirt. But he wanted the Rapunzel Barbie. So I let him buy it. Why did he want it, I asked. Because she's pretty, he said. Makes sense to me. He brushed her hair a few times and doted over her -- and now I'm pretty sure she's being eaten by dust bunnies under the couch. Most couples I know would probably flip the absolute hell out over their son wanting a doll. This year, it's all about embracing the different and whatever that means to him or us.
On the personal front, I'm exhausted. I feel a little bit like a whirling tree that is looking for soft ground to plant its roots in. Not to say that that land isn't somewhere in Nashville, we just haven't located the proper neighborhood yet. With the exhaustion, however, comes a constant spike of excitement. We have so much more opportunity creatively here -- it gets my heart racing just to think of. But like that whirling tree, my brain goes at about 600 miles an hour thinking I can do all of it. So, my other focus this year? Just that --- focus. Fine-tune the crazy. Reel it in and hone it. G-d gave me a certain set of skills and while I'd like to do absolutely everything I think of, I am 36 and it's time to get organized. Reinvention. (I realize most people "organize" in their 20's but I'm not most people and I believe in late blooming. I spent the first part of my 30's organizing my mommy self, now it's time to incorporate the rest.)
One other tender subject I've been want to post about here on Atypical Mother is the fun and enthralling conversation of weight and diet. Have I lost all of that weight yet? No, I haven't. But my stamina kicks ass lately and I'm looking forward to a full schedule of belly dance, ballet and burlesque. Apparently, I'm also looking forward to a half marathon. According to my sister, this is a good goal to have -- ok, it's been on my private to-do list for a year or so but she asked me to sign up and I conceded. I signed up -- doesn't mean its going to happen. This is part of the reinvention plan as well -- reach for that lofty goal of running a half marathon with your sister but don't beat yourself up if you only make the smaller 5k runs you'll no doubt have to run to prep for the big one. The point is to try, right? Yes!
While all of that sounds great and looks pretty right now, I really can't ignore the number one most abused New Year's resolution known to man: weight loss. Working daily in a health & wellness environment, I can tell you I was somewhat prepared for the onslaught of people at our doors today -- somewhat but not enough. Droves. People came out in droves. Every machine was full, every room was bustling, people signed up left and right for a year's time -- I was...wow. Well, I was ready to run and hide is what I was ready to do. But I can't say they are alone.
I'm starting a weight loss program (never thought I'd say those words) on Jan. 8 because although I have never had a hard time losing when I put my mind to it, I simply cannot seem to shake these last 20 and (I hate to say this) I just don't have enough time in my day to go it alone. Bring in Ideal Protein Weight Loss. It's a 30 year-old program from France that made its way to Canada about 10 years ago and has now finally been available in the US for 2 years. Am I a little freaked out? Yes. Weight loss/gain/struggle/discussion is a very private thing to me.
But this is the way I see it now that I'm 36: if you aren't lucky enough to be a celebrity or have god-like genes, odds are post-childbirth fat did not leave your tummy looking super great. And as I near that fun fourth decade, I have no intention of slowing down. Statistically, adults with dense "belly fat" are more prone to heart disease and diabetes. No thank you to both. This is not about fitting into jeggings for which I do not have the thighs, it's about being proactive now to reduce the risk of complications later. Sure, I'd love to rock a bikini this summer for the first time in 8 years but I'm going to feel a lot better knowing that Buddha belly the obstetrician obviously forgot to remove post-c-section will no longer be wallowing underneath my ticker. The resolution? It's a good time to be more serious about my health. Reinvent.
Depending on how the first week goes, I may chronicle the journey a bit here on Atypical hinging on its survival. Either way, hopefully you'll be "seeing" a bit less of me in the months to come. Until then, here's to a new year, new perspective, new lives, new ideas and the rebirth of old ones, but most importantly new momentum. May 2011 be everything you want it to be -- and more. My only real hope is that we are all happy with who we are.
xoxo,
am
I don't really believe in resolutions. Not ones for New Year at any rate. I resolve to do loads of things during the year either with distinct and clear intention or in some lofty it-may-happen-one-day fashion. What can I tell you, I've always struggled with a mind that has the energy and interest of 20 but I am 1 and therefore attempt to cut myself some slack. But I feel the need to set some "rules" at least for this year and, as I've told my husband, make recovery and reinvention our number one goals.
Of course reflection would be a better word to toss around in the beginning of any year. If I can't reflect on what I did, what I didn't do, what I hope to be more of, better at, and etc. etc. I will doubtfully get any of things in my 2011 bucket list accomplished. Quite frankly that bucket list hasn't changed much but I feel like we have and are.
Recovery = finally getting back on solid ground post un-and-under-employment. The first few months of unemployment feel sort of like a vacation from reality. Not necessarily in a good way but (when you've worked for the Wicked Witch & her little flying monkey) not necessarily in a bad way. After about six months, things start to get pretty hairy and even now, six months in to gainful employment, we are still in recovery mode.
One thing I am grateful for that unemployment has taught me is how to be careful with our money. So on our path to full financial recovery, I am hoping we pass Debt Free Lane and can get off on it. Save the student loan that has a six year shelf life left on it, perhaps even seven, the forceful redirect of our funds have proven a mighty catalyst for getting things paid off. I like those bumper stickers, "be weird, be debt free." I'm down with that -- on both counts.
On the kid front, we are still holding steady in a pattern of progression, slight regression, then progression again. This is pretty standard fare for atypical kids and while on our worst day it equates a bit of exhaustion for all 3 of us, it is something we are able to handle quite easily now that he's 7 (most days anyway).
I've been doing a lot of research on Sensory Perception Disorder/Sensory Integration Disorder. It sounds so very familiar when I read it, like someone wrote it specifically about my child. But as I reflect over the accomplishments and the struggles we've had this year with the gray area he sometimes falls into, I am resolve to focus more this year on 'this is how he is' vs. 'this is what we are doing to change it.' My kid has a lot of spirit, he's ridiculously funny, incredibly curious, reads like a demon and has musical skills that I cannot really even begin to understand. Screw changing him to try to make him fit. We hold fast to the notion that if an environment cannot roll with our son, we will simply roll him out of that environment. Not always easy, but sometimes necessary.
Recently he wanted to buy a Barbie. Granted, this child spends hours playing video games and is known to be a shameless flirt. But he wanted the Rapunzel Barbie. So I let him buy it. Why did he want it, I asked. Because she's pretty, he said. Makes sense to me. He brushed her hair a few times and doted over her -- and now I'm pretty sure she's being eaten by dust bunnies under the couch. Most couples I know would probably flip the absolute hell out over their son wanting a doll. This year, it's all about embracing the different and whatever that means to him or us.
On the personal front, I'm exhausted. I feel a little bit like a whirling tree that is looking for soft ground to plant its roots in. Not to say that that land isn't somewhere in Nashville, we just haven't located the proper neighborhood yet. With the exhaustion, however, comes a constant spike of excitement. We have so much more opportunity creatively here -- it gets my heart racing just to think of. But like that whirling tree, my brain goes at about 600 miles an hour thinking I can do all of it. So, my other focus this year? Just that --- focus. Fine-tune the crazy. Reel it in and hone it. G-d gave me a certain set of skills and while I'd like to do absolutely everything I think of, I am 36 and it's time to get organized. Reinvention. (I realize most people "organize" in their 20's but I'm not most people and I believe in late blooming. I spent the first part of my 30's organizing my mommy self, now it's time to incorporate the rest.)
One other tender subject I've been want to post about here on Atypical Mother is the fun and enthralling conversation of weight and diet. Have I lost all of that weight yet? No, I haven't. But my stamina kicks ass lately and I'm looking forward to a full schedule of belly dance, ballet and burlesque. Apparently, I'm also looking forward to a half marathon. According to my sister, this is a good goal to have -- ok, it's been on my private to-do list for a year or so but she asked me to sign up and I conceded. I signed up -- doesn't mean its going to happen. This is part of the reinvention plan as well -- reach for that lofty goal of running a half marathon with your sister but don't beat yourself up if you only make the smaller 5k runs you'll no doubt have to run to prep for the big one. The point is to try, right? Yes!
While all of that sounds great and looks pretty right now, I really can't ignore the number one most abused New Year's resolution known to man: weight loss. Working daily in a health & wellness environment, I can tell you I was somewhat prepared for the onslaught of people at our doors today -- somewhat but not enough. Droves. People came out in droves. Every machine was full, every room was bustling, people signed up left and right for a year's time -- I was...wow. Well, I was ready to run and hide is what I was ready to do. But I can't say they are alone.
I'm starting a weight loss program (never thought I'd say those words) on Jan. 8 because although I have never had a hard time losing when I put my mind to it, I simply cannot seem to shake these last 20 and (I hate to say this) I just don't have enough time in my day to go it alone. Bring in Ideal Protein Weight Loss. It's a 30 year-old program from France that made its way to Canada about 10 years ago and has now finally been available in the US for 2 years. Am I a little freaked out? Yes. Weight loss/gain/struggle/discussion is a very private thing to me.
But this is the way I see it now that I'm 36: if you aren't lucky enough to be a celebrity or have god-like genes, odds are post-childbirth fat did not leave your tummy looking super great. And as I near that fun fourth decade, I have no intention of slowing down. Statistically, adults with dense "belly fat" are more prone to heart disease and diabetes. No thank you to both. This is not about fitting into jeggings for which I do not have the thighs, it's about being proactive now to reduce the risk of complications later. Sure, I'd love to rock a bikini this summer for the first time in 8 years but I'm going to feel a lot better knowing that Buddha belly the obstetrician obviously forgot to remove post-c-section will no longer be wallowing underneath my ticker. The resolution? It's a good time to be more serious about my health. Reinvent.
Depending on how the first week goes, I may chronicle the journey a bit here on Atypical hinging on its survival. Either way, hopefully you'll be "seeing" a bit less of me in the months to come. Until then, here's to a new year, new perspective, new lives, new ideas and the rebirth of old ones, but most importantly new momentum. May 2011 be everything you want it to be -- and more. My only real hope is that we are all happy with who we are.
xoxo,
am
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Obsess Much?
This is probably not a question you should ask the mother of a somewhat atypical child because the answer will always be, "why, yes, yes we do." Our current obsession of choice is Super Mario. I have finally lost my child to the horrific video game trance. I tried to avoid it for years but leave it to cousins (or siblings) to clean out the rubbish that is their room and turn up five Nintendo DS or DSi's. The world of Mario has invaded and it is here to stay.
But then I have to wonder....is it so much the "uniqueness" of my child that brings about the ease of fixation or is it, say (for argument's sake) inherited...?? Ok, yes it is. I am a bit of an obsessive perfectionist when it comes to the creative, I admit it. But I will also highlight that I came by it rightly from either side of my collective gene pool. So blame not the tree from which the apple fell.
When I decided to not spend a small fortune on a gluten-free bakery made birthday cake for this weekend's party but rather to bake said cake myself, the obsessive part of my brain didn't hear me. The happy-go-lucky part thought, "oh this'll be easy. I'll bake a round cake and "draw" Mario's face on top and, voila!, there will be happiness! Surely there will be samples of such Baking 101 online; I'll just follow along and be done with it in a snap."
Then I Googled "Mario Cakes" and the obsessive part of my brain finally woke up...and I quickly heard a noise similar to that of an engine shutting down. Awesome.
I don't tend to overindulge in images here on Atypical Mother but, really, this I have to share. Behold...
Notice the number "4" on this cake. 4 PEOPLE!! Someone's 4 year old had a birthday cake that was maybe a hair smaller than my wedding cake!! What kind of expectation are we generating these days?
Um. Ok. You lost me at toadstool.
This is, undoubtedly, someone's actual wedding cake. Which really makes me wonder what kind of relationship did these people have that the bride relinquished creative control of her own cake? Because obviously this is the result of some serious negotiation.
I love the inset photos of the fondant work. It really makes me chuckle, having worked with fondant for his 3rd birthday cake (which was a full-sized pumpkin that took roughly 16 hours to craft). My hope was to make the stem and "some" leaves with the fondant. I made an leaf and that curly pumpkin thing on top. Fondant is for professionals. Or homicidal maniacs, I'm not sure which.
Wow. I mean, really. Wow. Obviously a wedding cake, obviously insane. Obviously I would resort to a hot glue gun which, well, probably isn't edible.
This one doesn't look so terribly complicated. In fact, it looks like maybe it was a bunch of mistakes thrown together and topped off with a giant rice krispie treat in the shape of a six. You know because there are so many rice krispie treats in Super Mario Bros.
This one made me twitch. A cake made to look just like the DS? What kind of parent put this out into the proverbial universe to make the rest of us feel inadequate??? Shame on you!
Duff? Duff? Are you there? Duff?
If I'm not mistaken, this toadstool is looking down at me in smug judgment over my lack of cake decorating expertise. What does he know anyway, he's just supporting cast.
That's just a sample of what's out there. Never in my wildest imagination did I think I would find such a catalog of baked Mario options. I would like to take this time and give a most sincere and humble shout out to the Big Man/Woman upstairs for allowing my child's internet interest to not veer outside of the Pink Panther You Tube channel, Thomas the Train, and Roary the Racing Car. Because, Dear Lord, if he discovers google.com/images, I am surely done for.
Now where is that number of that bakery....
But then I have to wonder....is it so much the "uniqueness" of my child that brings about the ease of fixation or is it, say (for argument's sake) inherited...?? Ok, yes it is. I am a bit of an obsessive perfectionist when it comes to the creative, I admit it. But I will also highlight that I came by it rightly from either side of my collective gene pool. So blame not the tree from which the apple fell.
When I decided to not spend a small fortune on a gluten-free bakery made birthday cake for this weekend's party but rather to bake said cake myself, the obsessive part of my brain didn't hear me. The happy-go-lucky part thought, "oh this'll be easy. I'll bake a round cake and "draw" Mario's face on top and, voila!, there will be happiness! Surely there will be samples of such Baking 101 online; I'll just follow along and be done with it in a snap."
Then I Googled "Mario Cakes" and the obsessive part of my brain finally woke up...and I quickly heard a noise similar to that of an engine shutting down. Awesome.
I don't tend to overindulge in images here on Atypical Mother but, really, this I have to share. Behold...
Notice the number "4" on this cake. 4 PEOPLE!! Someone's 4 year old had a birthday cake that was maybe a hair smaller than my wedding cake!! What kind of expectation are we generating these days?
Um. Ok. You lost me at toadstool.
This is, undoubtedly, someone's actual wedding cake. Which really makes me wonder what kind of relationship did these people have that the bride relinquished creative control of her own cake? Because obviously this is the result of some serious negotiation.
I love the inset photos of the fondant work. It really makes me chuckle, having worked with fondant for his 3rd birthday cake (which was a full-sized pumpkin that took roughly 16 hours to craft). My hope was to make the stem and "some" leaves with the fondant. I made an leaf and that curly pumpkin thing on top. Fondant is for professionals. Or homicidal maniacs, I'm not sure which.
Wow. I mean, really. Wow. Obviously a wedding cake, obviously insane. Obviously I would resort to a hot glue gun which, well, probably isn't edible.
This one doesn't look so terribly complicated. In fact, it looks like maybe it was a bunch of mistakes thrown together and topped off with a giant rice krispie treat in the shape of a six. You know because there are so many rice krispie treats in Super Mario Bros. 
This one made me twitch. A cake made to look just like the DS? What kind of parent put this out into the proverbial universe to make the rest of us feel inadequate??? Shame on you!
Duff? Duff? Are you there? Duff?
If I'm not mistaken, this toadstool is looking down at me in smug judgment over my lack of cake decorating expertise. What does he know anyway, he's just supporting cast.That's just a sample of what's out there. Never in my wildest imagination did I think I would find such a catalog of baked Mario options. I would like to take this time and give a most sincere and humble shout out to the Big Man/Woman upstairs for allowing my child's internet interest to not veer outside of the Pink Panther You Tube channel, Thomas the Train, and Roary the Racing Car. Because, Dear Lord, if he discovers google.com/images, I am surely done for.
Now where is that number of that bakery....
Sunday, July 18, 2010
And....I'm 36. Woot.
Greetings and salutations from the closer side to 40. As is usual, I'm behind in posts. No, I'm not having a senior moment (yet) I've just been incredibly busy. That kind of busy where you aren't entirely sure you brushed your teeth? Or put on deodorant? Yeah, that kind of busy.
A lot has happened since the last time I wrote -- I started my new job (hoorah!), my child temporarily went of his gfcfsf diet (oops), I started working out like a fiend (most days at any rate), and I turned 36 (awesome).
The job is great; I forgot how fulfilling it can be to a) work with people not in immediate need of psychiatry; b) work with people you can trust; c) have total creative license over your job; and d) with people who trust you to do all of the things (and then some) you were hired to do. It makes getting up at the lovely hour of 6:00 a.m. (to which the unemployed become grossly adjusted to NOT doing), driving down the beautiful Natchez Trace Parkway (and subsequently the somewhat ominous NTP Bridge), and working my butt off (literally I hope) absolutely worth it.
But there's so much more to it than that. My job isn't just a job, it's a connection to an entire communtiy and network of people that believe in supporting each other. In the 3 weeks since I've been there, I've met several people who are sincerely interested in helping us locate resources and provide the best support available to the little man. Bonus: there's a camp and a private school on our campus; camp is going swimmingly (despite the wicked swimmer's ear he's currently suffering from -- though not suffering so completely that he can't play Indiana Jones on his DS for hours on end) and it looks like private school may actually be an option (which is brilliant because they start later in August and as it is, the public school for which we are zoned starts when we are in Ireland -- and it is decidedly uncool to miss your child's first day of school).
Which brings me to his diet. Trying to maintain a gfcfsf diet when you are in the throes of a relocation, a new home, new job, new grocery stores, etc. defies the word challenege. So we got a little lax about it. Ok maybe a little more than a little -- especially with the dairy. Did it make a difference? Well that's kind of what we wanted to know. You see once a child's gut has had the chance to recover from that which ails it, you may be able to add dairy back into their diet.
I can say with a straight face, no crossed fingers and with out a trace of humor that my child is unequivocally, absolutely not that child. So we are back on track -- for the saftey of those around us.
Quite honestly we've gotten quite used to a gfcf life ourselves. I can't completely give up the soy because I just genuinely love (organic) tofu. But once you stop eating so much gluten and dairy (esp. gluten) your, excuse my French, ass feels a little less like a manatee floating in open waters. It's quite liberating really.
As for the other stuff...yes, the dreaded I-was-supposed-to-lose-all-this-weight-before-I-turned-36-thing-and-although-I-workout-a-lot-more-than-I-used-to-I-lost-barely-anything-but-it's-ok-because-I-decided-not-to-sweat-doing-it-on-such-a-strict-timeline-because-dieting-when-you've-just-moved-to-another-state-and-started-a-new-job-is-ever-so-slightly-masochistic thing. Yeah...that thing. I don't know if it's just that my body is in shock at the constant level of activity and therefore hanging on to all these excess fat cells in the event it thinks I'm going to up and stop feeding it and just run it all the time but nothing has moved as of yet.
I will say, however, that at the (tender) age of 36, I feel a hell of a lot better. Everything feels a little tighter although I'm not sure if that's some sort of dementia that is setting in as I get closer to 40, but I'm going with it's not and that I am actually doing something right. I'm trying something new tomorrow which I'm keeping to myself in the event that it doesn't work...but if it does, you'll probably never get me to shut up about it.
As for turning 36...what can I tell you? It actually feels kind of fabulous. 35 rocked my world (mostly because I was in a job that I hated passionately that was sedentary and ridiculous; oh, yeah, then I was unemployed for 8 months -- nothing like a little unemployment to crack the foundation of your self-confidence) but 36 feels kind of, well, like me. Maybe it's due in part to the new environs which are a step closer to what I'm looking for in life; maybe it's the physical activity; or maybe it's just that some feel a little more grounded as they get older -- a little more free to be themselves; a little more certain of who they are; and a little more certain of where they want to go.
Or maybe I'm just happy because I don't have any wrinkles!?!?!?!? (well except those squinty couple on my forehead but they are hidden by hair and so therefore do not count.)
Ok, ok, probably a combination of all of the above. Who knows? Whatever it is, I'm just happy it's here. Each day feels a little more me -- each day I am surrounded by beautiful places, beautiful people, all of the things I love; by music that defined how I thought about the world seems which seems to be following me everywhere that I go as of late; although my child has somewhat had a step back, I am lucky to have new resources, a new support system and lots of renewed hope in the treatment we've chosen for his behavioral/developmental "hiccups"; my husband is as dashing, brilliant and funny as ever; and the things we dream about seem just a little bit closer than they did before...things are quite simply good. Well, with the exception of an unexpected auto repair that cost a fortune, the aforementioned life-altering (he's a bit dramatic) swimmer's ear to which my child told me he was dying from (ahem) and the still recovering from unemployment bank account.
Sometimes you have everything you need and you don't even know it.
So I'll happily take 36; besides, in the words of Gertrude Stein, we are always the same age inside, which would make me 4 some days (dance recitals, tinkerbell and kool and the gang); 17 on others (newly found independence, shedding of the great dork factor of high school days gone by); occassionally 26 (a part of me will forever be overseas); and perpetually 72 (for my love of all things old). Does being 36 make me wiser? No, probably not. I don't feign to believe that age = wisdom or even that academics = wisdom. I think wisdom is based solely on life experiences. Of which I am not yet done having.
On that note, I'll leave you with a toast for my 36th and for your year to come: may those who love us, love us; and those who don't love us, may G-d turn their hearts; and if He doesn't turn their hearts may he turn their ankles so that we will know them by their limping.
Here's to life...L'chaim.
xoxo,
kvlm
A lot has happened since the last time I wrote -- I started my new job (hoorah!), my child temporarily went of his gfcfsf diet (oops), I started working out like a fiend (most days at any rate), and I turned 36 (awesome).
The job is great; I forgot how fulfilling it can be to a) work with people not in immediate need of psychiatry; b) work with people you can trust; c) have total creative license over your job; and d) with people who trust you to do all of the things (and then some) you were hired to do. It makes getting up at the lovely hour of 6:00 a.m. (to which the unemployed become grossly adjusted to NOT doing), driving down the beautiful Natchez Trace Parkway (and subsequently the somewhat ominous NTP Bridge), and working my butt off (literally I hope) absolutely worth it.
But there's so much more to it than that. My job isn't just a job, it's a connection to an entire communtiy and network of people that believe in supporting each other. In the 3 weeks since I've been there, I've met several people who are sincerely interested in helping us locate resources and provide the best support available to the little man. Bonus: there's a camp and a private school on our campus; camp is going swimmingly (despite the wicked swimmer's ear he's currently suffering from -- though not suffering so completely that he can't play Indiana Jones on his DS for hours on end) and it looks like private school may actually be an option (which is brilliant because they start later in August and as it is, the public school for which we are zoned starts when we are in Ireland -- and it is decidedly uncool to miss your child's first day of school).
Which brings me to his diet. Trying to maintain a gfcfsf diet when you are in the throes of a relocation, a new home, new job, new grocery stores, etc. defies the word challenege. So we got a little lax about it. Ok maybe a little more than a little -- especially with the dairy. Did it make a difference? Well that's kind of what we wanted to know. You see once a child's gut has had the chance to recover from that which ails it, you may be able to add dairy back into their diet.
I can say with a straight face, no crossed fingers and with out a trace of humor that my child is unequivocally, absolutely not that child. So we are back on track -- for the saftey of those around us.
Quite honestly we've gotten quite used to a gfcf life ourselves. I can't completely give up the soy because I just genuinely love (organic) tofu. But once you stop eating so much gluten and dairy (esp. gluten) your, excuse my French, ass feels a little less like a manatee floating in open waters. It's quite liberating really.
As for the other stuff...yes, the dreaded I-was-supposed-to-lose-all-this-weight-before-I-turned-36-thing-and-although-I-workout-a-lot-more-than-I-used-to-I-lost-barely-anything-but-it's-ok-because-I-decided-not-to-sweat-doing-it-on-such-a-strict-timeline-because-dieting-when-you've-just-moved-to-another-state-and-started-a-new-job-is-ever-so-slightly-masochistic thing. Yeah...that thing. I don't know if it's just that my body is in shock at the constant level of activity and therefore hanging on to all these excess fat cells in the event it thinks I'm going to up and stop feeding it and just run it all the time but nothing has moved as of yet.
I will say, however, that at the (tender) age of 36, I feel a hell of a lot better. Everything feels a little tighter although I'm not sure if that's some sort of dementia that is setting in as I get closer to 40, but I'm going with it's not and that I am actually doing something right. I'm trying something new tomorrow which I'm keeping to myself in the event that it doesn't work...but if it does, you'll probably never get me to shut up about it.
As for turning 36...what can I tell you? It actually feels kind of fabulous. 35 rocked my world (mostly because I was in a job that I hated passionately that was sedentary and ridiculous; oh, yeah, then I was unemployed for 8 months -- nothing like a little unemployment to crack the foundation of your self-confidence) but 36 feels kind of, well, like me. Maybe it's due in part to the new environs which are a step closer to what I'm looking for in life; maybe it's the physical activity; or maybe it's just that some feel a little more grounded as they get older -- a little more free to be themselves; a little more certain of who they are; and a little more certain of where they want to go.
Or maybe I'm just happy because I don't have any wrinkles!?!?!?!? (well except those squinty couple on my forehead but they are hidden by hair and so therefore do not count.)
Ok, ok, probably a combination of all of the above. Who knows? Whatever it is, I'm just happy it's here. Each day feels a little more me -- each day I am surrounded by beautiful places, beautiful people, all of the things I love; by music that defined how I thought about the world seems which seems to be following me everywhere that I go as of late; although my child has somewhat had a step back, I am lucky to have new resources, a new support system and lots of renewed hope in the treatment we've chosen for his behavioral/developmental "hiccups"; my husband is as dashing, brilliant and funny as ever; and the things we dream about seem just a little bit closer than they did before...things are quite simply good. Well, with the exception of an unexpected auto repair that cost a fortune, the aforementioned life-altering (he's a bit dramatic) swimmer's ear to which my child told me he was dying from (ahem) and the still recovering from unemployment bank account.
Sometimes you have everything you need and you don't even know it.
So I'll happily take 36; besides, in the words of Gertrude Stein, we are always the same age inside, which would make me 4 some days (dance recitals, tinkerbell and kool and the gang); 17 on others (newly found independence, shedding of the great dork factor of high school days gone by); occassionally 26 (a part of me will forever be overseas); and perpetually 72 (for my love of all things old). Does being 36 make me wiser? No, probably not. I don't feign to believe that age = wisdom or even that academics = wisdom. I think wisdom is based solely on life experiences. Of which I am not yet done having.
On that note, I'll leave you with a toast for my 36th and for your year to come: may those who love us, love us; and those who don't love us, may G-d turn their hearts; and if He doesn't turn their hearts may he turn their ankles so that we will know them by their limping.
Here's to life...L'chaim.
xoxo,
kvlm
Monday, June 21, 2010
"They Sicken of the Calm, Who Knew the Storm"
Perhaps one of my favorite Dorothy Parker quotes of all time. It's stuck in my head today for some odd reason I can't really put my finger on. Maybe it's the doing of things long put off; or the completion of new goals birthed in spontaneity. Whatever the cause, I think it's a good one to remind myself of frequently.
I'm feeling this resurgence and necessity to accomplish a lot these days. Maybe I was sick of the calm. In the past week, I've taught my son how to swim with some assistance from my 10 year old niece; I've written a complete introduction to a story (gasp!); I've become quite acquainted with the treadmill; and I start swimming daily (I forgot how quickly I tan, it's been so many years since I've had the luxury of a club to use -- I am positively brown).
Of course, those first two are certainly the stones in my June Crown. Watching my six-year-old- ever-so-slightly-developmentally-delayed-though-beyond-his-years-brilliant child learn to swim so quickly and, to boot, swim under water today was not unlike the day he took his first steps. Yes, I might have teared up in the pool -- stranger things have happened.
And tonight, as he finished reading "Elwood and the Witch" to me and I turned out his lights, he requested Kind of Blue, making sure to tell me he was playing the "saxophone like Coltrane." The fact that he can not only play Freddie Freeloader through his "nose horn" to scale but the fact that he can actually differentiate Coltrane from Davis on the CD completely turns me inside out. If he picks out Julian "Cannonball" Atterley on alto sax, I'm calling the press. Or in the very least, Columbia Records. He also reminded me of how good he did at the pool; so our days revolve around the sun, the water and jazz. All of which seem to being doing wonders for the lot of us.
These moments, well, they astound me. As a parent, which is quite literally the hardest job I've ever loved, these magical little victories and triumphs where everything seems right in the world are how I realign my focus. Three weeks into our move to Nashville, the demon of transition finally reared its ugly head on my unsuspecting child. I think, honestly, there might have been a moment where he looked at me, turned a side eye and silently asked, "so....we're staying here?"
That's worrisome. But it's normal and we roll with it like we do everything else. We look to the little things to sustain us. Luckily we have the summer to acclimate and a wealth of resources for the hurdles here that we didn't have in Raleigh. For one, I found a biomed doctor today that takes my insurance! (Ok, I should have added that, at the very least, as number 2 of my hoorah list above.) We also have a tour for a private school for kids with unique learning styles tomorrow. Granted, I'd probably have to give up my entire inheritance times ten to pay for it, but that's what financial aid was invented for.
As for the writing...it's nice to do something other than blog. Not to say that I don't enjoy sitting here late at night, Karen Elson singing in the background, the quiet of suburbia screaming from the sidewalk, and me pouring out my thoughts from the day on to a blank screen, but there's something quite vacant about it at times. Vacant in that I'm not writing a great poem, a passionate song, or the beginnings of an intriguing story, screenplay, or novel -- you know, all of those things I swore 100 times on my Shakespeare Norton Reader I would do. So when something comes to me, like this gothic intro I've got, the overpowering need to read and write comes out of the shadows.
Removing myself from the complacency of a monotone life certainly has sparked some inspiration and for that I am ridiculously thankful. So I hope to have more than just brain fodder to put out into the dear universe some time within the next year. Not a challenge, just a hope.
For everything, lots and lots of hope.
kvlm
I'm feeling this resurgence and necessity to accomplish a lot these days. Maybe I was sick of the calm. In the past week, I've taught my son how to swim with some assistance from my 10 year old niece; I've written a complete introduction to a story (gasp!); I've become quite acquainted with the treadmill; and I start swimming daily (I forgot how quickly I tan, it's been so many years since I've had the luxury of a club to use -- I am positively brown).
Of course, those first two are certainly the stones in my June Crown. Watching my six-year-old- ever-so-slightly-developmentally-delayed-though-beyond-his-years-brilliant child learn to swim so quickly and, to boot, swim under water today was not unlike the day he took his first steps. Yes, I might have teared up in the pool -- stranger things have happened.
And tonight, as he finished reading "Elwood and the Witch" to me and I turned out his lights, he requested Kind of Blue, making sure to tell me he was playing the "saxophone like Coltrane." The fact that he can not only play Freddie Freeloader through his "nose horn" to scale but the fact that he can actually differentiate Coltrane from Davis on the CD completely turns me inside out. If he picks out Julian "Cannonball" Atterley on alto sax, I'm calling the press. Or in the very least, Columbia Records. He also reminded me of how good he did at the pool; so our days revolve around the sun, the water and jazz. All of which seem to being doing wonders for the lot of us.
These moments, well, they astound me. As a parent, which is quite literally the hardest job I've ever loved, these magical little victories and triumphs where everything seems right in the world are how I realign my focus. Three weeks into our move to Nashville, the demon of transition finally reared its ugly head on my unsuspecting child. I think, honestly, there might have been a moment where he looked at me, turned a side eye and silently asked, "so....we're staying here?"
That's worrisome. But it's normal and we roll with it like we do everything else. We look to the little things to sustain us. Luckily we have the summer to acclimate and a wealth of resources for the hurdles here that we didn't have in Raleigh. For one, I found a biomed doctor today that takes my insurance! (Ok, I should have added that, at the very least, as number 2 of my hoorah list above.) We also have a tour for a private school for kids with unique learning styles tomorrow. Granted, I'd probably have to give up my entire inheritance times ten to pay for it, but that's what financial aid was invented for.
As for the writing...it's nice to do something other than blog. Not to say that I don't enjoy sitting here late at night, Karen Elson singing in the background, the quiet of suburbia screaming from the sidewalk, and me pouring out my thoughts from the day on to a blank screen, but there's something quite vacant about it at times. Vacant in that I'm not writing a great poem, a passionate song, or the beginnings of an intriguing story, screenplay, or novel -- you know, all of those things I swore 100 times on my Shakespeare Norton Reader I would do. So when something comes to me, like this gothic intro I've got, the overpowering need to read and write comes out of the shadows.
Removing myself from the complacency of a monotone life certainly has sparked some inspiration and for that I am ridiculously thankful. So I hope to have more than just brain fodder to put out into the dear universe some time within the next year. Not a challenge, just a hope.
For everything, lots and lots of hope.
kvlm
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Hippie Dippy Rerun
For all my inner punk-rockstar-glamour-girl-40's-movie-starlet-urban-goddess-mother-of-oddness-ness-ism-ish, etc., in (some) of the words of Marguerite Duras, at "the heart of my essential uncertainty" I'm really just a hippie. My husband reminds me of this often. What can I tell you, my first love was a man who touted peace like breathing. G-d bless you, Mr. Lennon.
In this pursuit of getting healthy and shedding the "extra me," I have to go back to what I was raised on -- hello, Vegetarianism Revisited 7.0. Yeah, yeah, yeah I was going back to this like six months ago but chicken is so good. No, no it's not. Chickens eat each other's poop. I was really beginning to feel that "me no like" gag sensation at the consumption of chicken anyway so this should be no biggie. Just keep me away from any sort of Mexican dish with chicken in it and we are good. Beef? -- gave up months and months ago. That one was easy but oddly, this is going in reverse. I gave up chicken first when I was a die-hard vegetarian in my 20's but I often had momentary lapses of reason that involved a Cook-Out burger or a full on meat lover's pizza somewhere around 2:00 a.m. after many glasses of whatever. I'm not proud but I'll admit it. (Anyway if I don't, any number of friends or relatives will admit it for me.)
Being pregnant with Jude brought out the ravenous carnivore in me. Truly. I could have eaten the head off of..well anything. My theory is that your body wants whatever you haven't been giving it up to the point of conception. And then all hell breaks loose. I'm tempted to get pregnant again just to reverse the order.
Luckily for me, our recent move to Nashville offers a lot of options for vegetarianism and general hippie dippyness. There's a slew of restaurants (including a fully vegetarian Indian restaurant) and more than a dozen farmer's markets, organic farms, and a groovy little grocery store we discovered today in the East End called The Turnip Truck. You literally pull up to an organic garden. Yea!
Today I finally picked up the Daiya Vegan Cheese that I couldn't find anywhere in North Carolina (except for at one restaurant). It's actually available at both Whole Foods here and the Turnip plus it's served at all the Mellow Mushroom locations with a gluten-free pie option. Sadly, my very much in need of a gfcf diet child requests only the hummus when we go to the Mushroom but maybe I can bring him over.
Anyway, I substituted regular pasta and cheese in mac 'n cheese tonight with quinoa pasta and Daiya cheddar to much aplomb from both child and husband. Oh hoorah! I can finally give my child mac again without worry. Holla for the hippies that brought us this cheese!
Unfortunately, I couldn't quite get past the pungent smell of it nor did I trust it not to disrupt my terribly cheese-or-cheese-like sensitive tummy. I opted instead for Sunshine Burgers BBQ flavor in a wrap with fresh, organic red onions and organic green leaf lettuce, all from the Turnip Truck. Sunshine Burgers are a little more pricey there but you can usually get them at Harris Teeter for under $4. I think they are the only mass-produced veggie burgers that are GMO free. They are also vegan and gluten-free. AND they are made from sunflower seeds -- topped with pineapple salsa, they are delicious. I highly recommend them, whether you are a hippie or not.
I also fell in love with scrambled egg whites mixed with salsa today. Maybe it had just been years since I'd had salsa in my eggs or maybe it was just having them at the legendary Pancake Pantry by Vanderbilt. I'm not sure, but this will certainly become a regular in my quest for weight loss and healthy eating.
Tomorrow, I'm frying okra in brown rice flour and trading out our white sugar for real maple syrup. My husband will most likely find his way down to the Breadbasket and devour a burger when I'm not looking. My child will be with him. And they will ignore my okra and beg for a trip to Sweet CeCe's, which is essentially a buffet of frozen yogurt and a plethora of topping choices...ie. crack. But that's ok, because this clarity, hopefully, isn't going anywhere any time soon.
Working out and swimming every day are great motivators for healthy living but there's more to it than that -- it's just an energy that Nashville has. Not that this is some super healthy mecca in the likeness of LA, though I'm sure there's plenty of that. There's just a lot of energy period. And that is somewhat intoxicating. I kind of feel my shell cracking.
peace,
kvlm
p.s. in other hippie dippyness of greatness obsessions, I've been trying to lower the toxicity level in our house for over a year now. Today, I found this great website...check it out: Mighty Nest.
In this pursuit of getting healthy and shedding the "extra me," I have to go back to what I was raised on -- hello, Vegetarianism Revisited 7.0. Yeah, yeah, yeah I was going back to this like six months ago but chicken is so good. No, no it's not. Chickens eat each other's poop. I was really beginning to feel that "me no like" gag sensation at the consumption of chicken anyway so this should be no biggie. Just keep me away from any sort of Mexican dish with chicken in it and we are good. Beef? -- gave up months and months ago. That one was easy but oddly, this is going in reverse. I gave up chicken first when I was a die-hard vegetarian in my 20's but I often had momentary lapses of reason that involved a Cook-Out burger or a full on meat lover's pizza somewhere around 2:00 a.m. after many glasses of whatever. I'm not proud but I'll admit it. (Anyway if I don't, any number of friends or relatives will admit it for me.)
Being pregnant with Jude brought out the ravenous carnivore in me. Truly. I could have eaten the head off of..well anything. My theory is that your body wants whatever you haven't been giving it up to the point of conception. And then all hell breaks loose. I'm tempted to get pregnant again just to reverse the order.
Luckily for me, our recent move to Nashville offers a lot of options for vegetarianism and general hippie dippyness. There's a slew of restaurants (including a fully vegetarian Indian restaurant) and more than a dozen farmer's markets, organic farms, and a groovy little grocery store we discovered today in the East End called The Turnip Truck. You literally pull up to an organic garden. Yea!
Today I finally picked up the Daiya Vegan Cheese that I couldn't find anywhere in North Carolina (except for at one restaurant). It's actually available at both Whole Foods here and the Turnip plus it's served at all the Mellow Mushroom locations with a gluten-free pie option. Sadly, my very much in need of a gfcf diet child requests only the hummus when we go to the Mushroom but maybe I can bring him over.
Anyway, I substituted regular pasta and cheese in mac 'n cheese tonight with quinoa pasta and Daiya cheddar to much aplomb from both child and husband. Oh hoorah! I can finally give my child mac again without worry. Holla for the hippies that brought us this cheese!
Unfortunately, I couldn't quite get past the pungent smell of it nor did I trust it not to disrupt my terribly cheese-or-cheese-like sensitive tummy. I opted instead for Sunshine Burgers BBQ flavor in a wrap with fresh, organic red onions and organic green leaf lettuce, all from the Turnip Truck. Sunshine Burgers are a little more pricey there but you can usually get them at Harris Teeter for under $4. I think they are the only mass-produced veggie burgers that are GMO free. They are also vegan and gluten-free. AND they are made from sunflower seeds -- topped with pineapple salsa, they are delicious. I highly recommend them, whether you are a hippie or not.
I also fell in love with scrambled egg whites mixed with salsa today. Maybe it had just been years since I'd had salsa in my eggs or maybe it was just having them at the legendary Pancake Pantry by Vanderbilt. I'm not sure, but this will certainly become a regular in my quest for weight loss and healthy eating.
Tomorrow, I'm frying okra in brown rice flour and trading out our white sugar for real maple syrup. My husband will most likely find his way down to the Breadbasket and devour a burger when I'm not looking. My child will be with him. And they will ignore my okra and beg for a trip to Sweet CeCe's, which is essentially a buffet of frozen yogurt and a plethora of topping choices...ie. crack. But that's ok, because this clarity, hopefully, isn't going anywhere any time soon.
Working out and swimming every day are great motivators for healthy living but there's more to it than that -- it's just an energy that Nashville has. Not that this is some super healthy mecca in the likeness of LA, though I'm sure there's plenty of that. There's just a lot of energy period. And that is somewhat intoxicating. I kind of feel my shell cracking.
peace,
kvlm
p.s. in other hippie dippyness of greatness obsessions, I've been trying to lower the toxicity level in our house for over a year now. Today, I found this great website...check it out: Mighty Nest.
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