summertime

Good-bye cheese, my old friend

I want to be friends with food again. Stop feeling guilty. Bargaining. Remember when eating was fun? I was talking to my sister-in-law this week about my eating habits as a teenager. Try to remember the time when you ate what sounded good. I’m pretty sure that I ate French fries and soft-serve ice-cream most days of my middle-school career. Fast-food every day of high-school? Yep. Giant Dr. Peppers from 7-11? You bet! For four years, 5-days-a-week, I ate in fast-food restaurants—not one bagged-lunch or cafeteria meal. Was that ideal? Heck no! Does it sound nauseating to me now? Yes. But I fondly remember those years as the Age When Food Wasn’t The Enemy. Seems so now, doesn’t it?

I love ingredients. I love recipes. I love cooking shows. I read cookbooks cover to cover. Breaking up with certain foods is a painful process. When my migraines reached a frightening frequency a few years ago, my neurologist told me it was time to drastically alter my diet. Some of her recommendations (no dairy?!) made me think that living with chronic migraines didn’t sound so bad.    

 

I’ve long since said good-bye to soda and fast-food restaurants. But nutritional decisions these days are not so black and white. I got my family switched over to whole-wheat and whole-grain foods just in time for gluten to be labeled the new villain. A personal trainer at the gym actually shuddered when I told her that I eat Cheerios for breakfast. Since when did Cheerios become the bad guy? What’s next?

That is why you should read this article. It is so right-on, so witty. It shows how ridiculously preoccupied we can be with terms like: free-range, organic, gluten-free, non-GMO, and on and on. (It’s even more sickening when you consider how many people go hungry in the U.S. and abroad every day.) So, you must read "The Terrible Tragedy of the Healthy Eater," if you haven’t already:

 

http://www.nwedible.com/2012/08/tragedy-healthy-eater.html

My favorite quote: “As you read more you begin to understand that grains are fine but before you eat them you must prepare them in the traditional way: by long soaking in the light of a new moon with a mix of mineral water and the strained lacto-fermented tears of a virgin.”

Our son was taught to read labels in second grade. It’s a terrific thing, I know, but I feel like he lost his dietary innocence. He worries about grams of fat like the rest of us neurotic Americans. In the wrong hands, I fear this information will lead to eating disorders at younger ages. I hope he can find the right balance. Have you?        

The perks of having a sister:

lip gloss.

Real Me vs. Better Me (part 2)

Ever wonder: Am I trying to work-out/diet my body into a body it can no longer be? Maybe this is the size I’m meant to be. These are the hips I should have. Why am I competing with my younger self? I’m not her anymore, nor would I want to be. Plus, it is not a fair comparison. She didn’t carry three children or nurse them for a collective 51 months. (Yes, you heard me correctly: 51 months. Adios, perky boobs.) We put a lot of miles on our bodies; why should we expect them to run--and look--the same as they once did?

I’ve made real headway on accepting Real Me. Two months ago, I purged my closet of all those clothes that used to fit; those nagging, “someday” clothes. It’s not a self-confidence boost to face your old, smaller-sized clothing every morning. You can almost hear them taunting you from their skinny little hangers, “Ha-ha! Remember us?” They are even more irritating when they get on your body and start chafing your muffin-top.

I do double-takes when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. It’s shocking because 1) I don’t look at myself much [pee, wash hands at top-speed, and exit before children find a knife] and 2) I do not feel much older on the inside. Yes, I’ve had a hundreds of formative experiences in the last decade or so, but do I feel massively different than 30-year-old me or even 20-year-old me? Not really. I still laugh at the same brands of humor even if I have a different take on them. (The Simpsons will always be funny. So will Kids in the Hall skits.) I still feel like a kid masquerading as a grown-up sometimes. I have the urge to tell my children that I have no credentials whatsoever to be their parent… “Ha-ha, you thought I had a plan. I’m just winging it!”

Real Me and Better Me agree on one pivotal point: Exercise feels good. That is reason enough to keep showing up at fitness classes. And it might add years to my life, which means travelling with my husband (just the two of us!) and playing with my grandchildren. The Me’s agree on that. So I will keep taking care of my body (and appreciating it) at whatever age or stage it is at. Let’s work on that together. Deal?     

rethinking the pear

Sisters, we need to re-brand the pear shape. It has a bad rap. In some cultures, pear-shaped women are the ideal. They look healthy and men tend to view them as better mates (e.g., child-bearing hips).

My suggestion: let’s French-ify it. We’re not pear-shaped. We’re “en forme de poire.” Who wouldn’t want to be more poire-like? Besides, they are tasty, elegant fruits. They are the gift on the first day of Christmas (along with the partridge, a pear-shaped bird). They have a solid base. Ever see a strawberry stand on its own? I think not.

bag lady

A note to 4-year-old E:

I’d call you eccentric, honey, but that adjective has too many negative connotations. So instead, we’ll salute you today: our unique little bag lady. By bag lady, we mean someone who loves baggage in all its forms-- from purses to lunchboxes, from paper sacks to goody bags, from backpacks and duffels. This girl puts bags inside of bags. She sleeps with bags. She packs bags. She takes a bag with her everywhere she goes; and often, more than one bag hooked on to other bags (see Exhibit A). I count at least seven visible bags in this picture plus the stuffed unicorn.

Exhibit A

Miss E: You are a character. Your Auntie might’ve said it best, “E is always prepared… for what? No one knows.” But if you are ever in need of something, ask E. She might save the day! Because you never know when you might need a seashell, a Barbie shoe, an old gift receipt from Target, a Busch-Gardens map (Exhibit B)...    

Exhibit B

 

 

Real Me vs. Better Me (part 1)

Maybe it's because I have a pretty significant birthday coming up in 2013… I feel this sort of mid-life drive to examine myself and where I am. Every day, I vacillate between self-acceptance (Real Me) and self-improvement (Better Me). I don’t think that I am alone. I’m getting better with the former. I try to thank my body more and scrutinize it less. It’s a grim fact that my husband’s livelihood depends on bodies that fail. So any day that we are not sick or in the hospital is a day to celebrate! I thank God for every migraine-free day. Try it. When you feel a criticism coming on (“my thighs are flabby, my boobs are too small”), switch gears and thank your body for something. I wonder if our hearts are like, “hey, how about a little gratitude in here? I’ve been pumping blood for 39 years without a break!” (For some reason, my heart says that in a New York dialect.)  

I’m also letting go of that dreamy, domestic-bliss life – the elegant, uber-crafty, gourmet life that I pinned on Pinterest – and I’m learning to feel content (and proud) of the life I can actually achieve. I'm trying to rid myself of those near-panicky impulses to buy something to fill a void or soothe an insecurity. Make me look younger! Make our home organized! Make my skinny jeans fit. (There is a product developed specifically for shrinking mommy-bellies called: It Works! What marketing genius came up with that?) It makes me sick how much pressure there is to get your body “back” after pregnancies. I digress. 

I recently read a witty and clever article by Amber Dusick (author of the blog Parenting; Illustrated with Crappy Pictures) about the pursuit of the elusive product of happiness. I laughed out loud at her sketch of a woman cradling a crock-pot in arms with the caption, “I just know this slow-cooker will change my life.”

http://www.lhj.com/community/your-stories/amber-dusick-shopping-products-change-my-life/

Please take the time to read this, especially if you’ve never read her blog. Isn’t it nuts that we look outside ourselves for happiness when we should be looking inward and upward? I’m guilty. I shop when I have nothing to shop for. I even get a particular itchiness in my bones if I haven’t been to a TJ Maxx or a Marshalls in a while :) Still working on that…