Thoughts

Crying is cool … right?

October 19, 2017

I stood, a dandelion in a field of other dandelions. The red illumination of the rotating stage lights rolling over me and then away and then back to my face and arms.

He was taking requests from the stage. Pointing to signs and playing a minute or so of each song. Songs that tell stories that have held up for 30 years. Songs I have heard more times than I can count, in every decade of my life. It was just him, a cowboy hat in a wandering tunnel of white light, and 20,000 captivated onlookers singing along.

And then, he pointed to a sign a few sections over. Then another, bearing the same title. They were asking for, “The Change”. He said a few words, about how he couldn’t do the song justice with just his guitar, so he took his fingers away from the strings and closed his eyes.

“One hand
reaches out
and pulls a lost soul from harm
While a thousand more go unspoken for, and
they say what good have you done
by saving just this one?
It’s like whispering a prayer
in the fury of a storm

And I hear them saying you’ll never change things
And no matter what you do it’s still the same thing
But it’s not the world that I am changing
I do this so this world will know
That it will not change me

This heart
still believes
that love and mercy still exist
While all the hatred rage and so many say
that love is all but pointless in madness such as this
It’s like trying to stop a fire
with the moisture from a kiss

And I hear them saying you’ll never change things
And no matter what you do it’s still the same thing
But it’s not the world that I am changing
I do this so this world will know
That it will not change me.”

There was nothing else in the air. Nothing but his rich, familiar, seasoned voice and those soul-stirring lyrics filling every corner of the vast, breezy stadium.

I pulled my fingers up over my mouth; I could feel my lips starting to tighten over my teeth, eventually curling inward, on top of each other. Clenching. And then, there in the scarlet light, in a sea of strangers with a shared admiration, I ugly cried so damn hard.

And that’s the story of the time I went to a Garth Brooks concert with my parents.

I mean, in all fairness, I’d had four beers and I really, really wanted to hear that song. Like, I needed to hear that song. I needed to hear him say those words, like he was saying them just to me, “It’s not the world that I am changing. I do this so, this world will know, that it will not change me.”

I’d watched a performance of “The Change” a few times in the days before, after the Vegas shooting. I didn’t think I’d hear it live. Ever. But there he was, soothing our unsettled souls with a song he’d offered the nation decades ago after a similar unimaginable tragedy. It was poetic.

But the crying? I mean, the crying is just out of control. To make it worse, I was with Big Rog and Marilyn, one on each side, neither of whom stood at all through the entire show, so it was like pulling the bun away from the sweaty hot dog; It’s bound to draw a little more attention. At one point, my mom, noticing I was sobbing, reached over and put her hand on my leg. Maybe a tear fell on her head down below. Or snot. There was snot for sure.

Just so we all have the timeline straight, this was after I cried during “Unanswered Prayers” and before I passed out sitting straight up, an empty McDonald’s bag filled with regrets in my lap.

But it got me thinking about my salty new companion. I notice myself tearing up more and more these days. The emotions always seem to be right at the surface, raw and in waiting. I’m not depressed. I’m not pregnant. I’m just, finding my ability to cry is very accessible these days.

Hank’s mom is a crier. But not in the moments you would think. Like, she always calls and sings this song the day before your birthday. It’s called “Tomorrow’s the birthday” and I have such a love/hate relationship with this song. It drives me crazy that it doesn’t rhyme:

Tomorrow’s the birthday,
I wonder for whom,
Maybe it’s someone right here in this room,
So … let’s look around us and see,
Who’s smiling and laughing, my goodness, it’s you!

Infuriating, right? Just make the person sing it and have it end with “me” or swap “you” for “she/he”. I mean, my name ends with “ey” for the love of sugary lattes! There are some very simple fixes here, folks. But, I’ll tell ya what, one year she didn’t call me the day before my birthday and sing me the “Tomorrow’s the birthday” song, and I was miffed. It was like finding out your best friends went to dinner without you. But anyway, I’m getting sidetracked … She always gets choked up when she sings it, which I always found … interesting. Endearing though.

Or, there’s this song the counselors sing at the midweek pow wow at the summer camp the girls go to. It’s about flowers and friendship and love, and they all put their arms around each other and sway as the warming words pour tentatively from their teenage lips. It’s slow and lovely, sure, but my mother-in-law was always crying by the end of it. It was sweet, but secretly, made Hank and me chuckle.

And then this year, as they sang of the flowers and the friendship and the love, I found myself crying. Hank’s grandma had just passed and his mom couldn’t be there and as soon as those hands went awkwardly onto the shoulders next to them, I was done. Gone. Quietly weeping as mosquitos swarmed around my head.

And it’s not just songs.

The other day, I sat down to meditate, looked up to the sky and just started crying. Like this huge emotional release through my eye holes. I had a window of quiet so I filled it with wails about, what, I don’t know.

In addition …

I cry at my Facebook memories.

I cry at This is Us all the time. (But I feel like that’s what they’re going for.)

I cry in interviews when people have gone through really terrible things.

I cry at happy, motivational videos on Facebook. (Basically any time a soldier reunities with someone.)

I cry at sad videos on Facebook.

I cry when my kids talk about being grownup.

I cry when my Spike has a bad eye doctor appointment.

I cry at the participant’s stories on Dancing with the Stars.

I cry at the participant’s dances on Dancing with the Stars.

I cry when I watch TED talks.

I cry when I have cocktails and talk to my friends.

I cry when I watch CBS Sunday Morning.

I cry when I hurt myself, even if it’s not that bad.

I cry when I burn dinner … or make a bad dinner … or nobody likes my dinner.

So, basically I am just crying all the time.

I was never one to just melt into a puddle. I mean, sensitive, sure. Empathetic, of course. But not a blubbering tsunami like I am these days. It’s embarrassing. I think all the books about leaning into my emotions and embracing the hard feelings finally got to me. I think I leaned too far and now there’s no leaning back.

One study I came across estimated that women cry an average of 64 times a year (men just 17). Another estimated women cry 6.4 times a month. Just 64? 6.4? That’s cute. Adorable. I can hit that quota at one Boyz II Men concert. Not that I’m bragging. I feel very Lauren Conrad circa-2007-2008, mascara running down the face like spider arms.

Is anyone else experiencing these overactive tear ducts? No? The cheese stands alone?

It might not be all bad. A Huffington Post article I came across said people who cry see benefits, including: 1) stress relief, 2) improved mood, 3) cleansed and protected eyes, and 4) a clearer nasal passage. So I’ve got that goin’ for me, which is nice.

While I prefer to chalk it up to an increased awareness about others, as well as myself, some don’t see it that way. “Jezus!” my brother will say when I tell him about my tears. “What is wrong with you?” I dunno. Hank just gives me this smile he shoots my way whenever I do something that’s cute/pathetic. Like when I trip over nothing or sneeze and pee a drop or two. The chicks will notice my tears, eventually, and then immediately analyze the situation in their 3-, 6- or 8-year-old mind to see if they, too, should be crying. Eventually they’ll just cave. “Mama, why are you sad?” And then I have to come up with some the-toilet-takes-the-fish-to-Jesus response.

I don’t see things calming down in my ducts anytime soon. And I guess it’s partly karma for all the times I chuckled at my sweet mother-in-law and her seemingly random cheek streaks. What goes around comes around, my friends. My tender heart is taking over here. My emotional pot runneth over. You’ll read about me in the newspaper, “Woman drowns in own tears.”

Do you need a good cry? Check out my tear-jerking playlist:

Murder in the City – The Avett Brothers
I’ll Back You Up – Dave Matthews Band
Rise Up – Andra Day
The Change – Garth Brooks
Beam Me Up – Pink
Through My Prayers – The Avett Brothers
The Luckiest – Ben Folds
My Little Girl – Tim McGraw
The Dance – Garth Brooks
Landslide – The Smashing Pumpkins
Beloved Wife – Natalie Merchant
Fix You – Coldplay
Hallelujah – Rufus Wainwright

Thoughts

Everyone is just waiting

October 13, 2017

When people find out you write words for a living, it’s inevitable they’ll also ask you what you like to read. I actually despise answering the question because it’s typically just judgement lurking behind that mask of genuine curiosity. Like my selections should be so sophisticated, so expertly curated, that you’ve never heard of any of the authors, both classic and contemporary, gracing the rows and rows of bookshelves in my Beauty and the Beast style library. But I’ll answer it for you guys here because 1) I like you, and 2) it brings me to a larger point.

I love my Brene Brown, and Glennon Doyle Melton, of course. Plus, the all-time greatest SNL lady duo (Tina + Amy, respectfully). If fiction’s your game, the Kevin Kwan books are fun and both The Shack and Kite Runner shook my soul a touch. But if we’re talking about my favorite, the one I’d read a million times, the book that I reference most often with my friends large and small, it’s Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

You know the book. By the good Dr.

If you graduated, you likely got a copy or five. You probably even have one inscribed by a parent or teacher or creepy neighbor.

I adore everything about this book because I see myself in it. I saw myself in it when I was little. I saw myself in it when I got my second copy before leaving for college. I saw myself in it as a new mom staring into the eyes of a life I’d created. And the other night, when I read it to my girls, I saw myself in it yet again. I am the little man, who only wears yellow, topped off by a ridiculous hat, being carried away in a semi-deflated balloon.

It’s different every time, but on this particular night, this got me:

You can get so confused
that you’ll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles cross weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…

…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or the waiting around for a Yes or No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for the wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

Gah, don’t you guys ever feel like this? I do. Except instead of a string of pearls, I’m waiting for an unlimited flow of money so I can redecorate my house to look like grownups live here instead of frat boys. And instead of the fish, I’m waiting for motivation to move my ass and really create change in my body. And instead of a wig with curls, it’s a book idea. And instead of wind, it’s time to get lost in the woods. And instead of Friday night, it’s … Ok, that one holds up.

I am waiting. Just waiting.

The day after reading the book and getting caught up on this section, I was listening to the Rich Roll podcast in my office at work. And his guest, whose name is escaping me at the moment, but he has a tea business I believe, was talking about being present. It’s a topic that comes up all the time. In fact, some would say it’s entirely played out. But it keeps coming up because none of us are doing it.

I mean, I sure as shit can’t say I’m present. Can you?

He was talking about social media, and how it encourages us to live in the past. We’re scrolling through, looking at things that happened seconds, minutes, hours, days ago, and experiencing all these feelings about what we’re reading in the posts. How we should have taken our kids to the pumpkin patch, or tried that watermelon fruit carriage for our sister’s baby shower, or had a gender reveal party where things exploded into pink or blue dust. And all the while, as we scroll and envy, we’re missing our lives.

The bigger question he arrived at was, if you’re never really present in the moments and happenings of your life, then what’s the true point in living it? When you get to the end, will you think, “That’s it?” or “Damn, that was a life well spent.” And holy handclaps that made sense to me.

I fall victim to the temptress that is “life through the filtered lens” all the time. I see others trying new workouts and getting good results, and I think maybe that’s what I’m missing. I scroll and Google and research the best remedies for my anxiety and my shortcomings all the time. And I could be spending that time actually doing things that would relieve my anxiety and lessen my shortcomings. I could be reading to my kids. I could be hiking. I could be living my gosh dang life.

But I’m waiting.

I’m waiting for the pounds to go,
Or waiting for the funds to flow,
Or waiting for the world to change,
Or waiting to feel a little less strange.

I’m waiting for some muscle tone,
Or tasks to get done by my very own clone.
Or the kids to eat, or the fear to numb,
Or waiting for the right words to come.

I’m waiting for the work to slow,
and the food to cook, and the flowers to grow.

I’m always just waiting.

And I get so sick of it.

They also covered the current state of the world on that podcast, specifically how everyone is living out of fear. And a fear-based life can really ruin the time you have, which is a surprise to no one, and yet, I know I can’t shake it. But the only thing you can do is live your truest life. You can only focus on creating change, not what others are doing to destroy it. You can only focus on your actions, your intentions, your mind. And if you’re in a good place with all of those things, the fear should subside a bit.

Or so they say.

Uncategorized, Wellness

The day after vegan

October 9, 2017

Some of you have asked about the day after The Livin la Vida Vegan Challenge, and I guess, in hindsight, I did kind of leave you hanging a bit. Blogging every day for 14 days was a little intense for me. If you don’t want to read on, or suspense just isn’t you’re thing, yes, I finished the half marathon, and yes, I ate ALL the things, and yes, I got sicker than a dog. Read on if you’d like a deeper dive into any of the aforementioned statements.

The big race.
This was my third half marathon (running, sixth if you count the times I walked that mug). The beautiful thing about coming into a race like this with a few under your belt is the reassurance that you will, eventually, finish. It might not be pretty, but you’ll get there. I think that’s the most encouraging mantra to keep in your back pocket. “I will finish this. I will not die. I will finish this. I will not die.” People always say, “I couldn’t run that long,” or ask, “How do you do that?” and the truth is, you just keep shuffling along.

Jackie (my partna) and I are not record-setters. We don’t wear the fancy, fast shorts that look like bathing suit bottoms. We don’t have compression socks, or special sunglasses. We are just a couple of moms, with semi-soft bodies (me more so than her), who’ve been friends for a couple decades, who like to come out together and turn in a lackluster performance. That’s just us. That’s our m.o. We own that.

Forget your corral letter, forget your pace group, that is the categorization that matters. When you know who you are and what you’re doing there, the perspective really alleviates the pressure. We’re pretty content in the middle of the pack, because, for us, it’s just about proving our bodies are still capable of carrying us that far. We are not broken. We are not entirely swallowed up by our roles as mom or wife or nurse or writer. We are strong, amateur athletes with veracious lions (or more like angry kittens) sleeping just beneath our skin. At least for one day of the year that’s what we are.

The morning of the race was chilly. I didn’t eat any meat or dairy. I made a smoothie with spirulina, 1 scoop protein powder, coconut water, spinach and some Beet Elite. I ate a bowl of multigrain Cheerios, too, because it sounded good. That was it. And my stomach felt … off.

It was touch-and-go right up until the cannon went off marking the start of the race. Once we got moving, things in my belly really calmed down. In fact, the first 3 miles flew by. I felt great, Jac felt great. We were right on the heels of the 2:20 pace group. Considering we finished around 2:23 last year, that was pretty damn good.

“At Mile 4, let’s stop and have a chew and some water,” I said.
“Yup, that’s what I was thinking,” Jackie agreed.

This would be the biggest mistake we made all day.

Mile 4 is where the course takes a turn off of the initial long drag. In the past, it’s been a point where we picked up momentum. This year, it was the death of it. There was a gradual decline in our pace from Mile 5, on. I felt fine mentally, and it was an absolutely gorgeous day, but my legs just started running out of steam. Like, in my mind they were flying, but in my shadow they looked more like a baby colt in a pool of tar.

We walked a few times, but we knew our friend Molly would be waiting at Mile 10.

“If we can just get to Molly,” Jackie would say.
“Right,” I’d agree.
“If we can just make it to Molly we’ll stop, have a chew, and then finish strong.”
“Yeah.”

And then …

“There’s Molly’s ass!” Jackie yelled.
“That’s not Molly’s ass.”
“Isn’t that her ass?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“There’s Mol!!” I said, pointing to our dear girl, standing on a corner waving with her two kiddos.

It was like seeing a well in the desert. We’d been talking about her for so long. I think we both thought something might spark deep down inside us when we reached her embrace on that sunny September morning. But instead, we just felt full of dread.

Three miles to go.

My hips for sure hurt, though not as bad as they had on our longer training runs. Jac’s knees were getting to her. But bottom line, we just had nothing left in the tank.

“Oh shit,” Jackie said, motioning her head over her shoulder.

I turned to see the 2:30 pace group right behind us, seconds from passing. I shrugged and reminded her we just wanted to finish. We were racing ourselves. And all the other bullshit we tell ourselves to get our broken down bodies across the finish line.

And cross the finish line we did, at 2:31. “Totally plant-powered!” I exclaimed in a rush of dopey adrenaline. Jac wasn’t into it.

Passing my small tribe on the way into the arena, I was reminded, yet again, why we do this. Why we log the miles for 12 weeks beforehand. Why we abuse our aging bodies and spend so much time away from the kids. It’s for that moment you look down at your feet, knowing you can stop. That your children are watching. That you and your best friend just ran 13.1 motha truckin’ miles, together. Just a couple of moms, with semi-soft bodies (me more so than her), who’ve been friends for a couple decades, who like to come out together and turn in a lackluster performance, just ran 13.1 miles.

I ate 1.5 donuts and half a Gatorade. My stomach, again, was … off.

The very hungry caterpillar.
At noon, I had a Big John from Jimmy Johns and chips, but I was still hungry.

At 12:45, I had 2 cookies, but I was still hungry.

At 3, I had 2 giant chocolate truffles, but … I had to go to a wedding.

Dinner, and a deathblow to veganism.
The wedding was so amazing. It was touching and lovely and just entirely enchanting. I had to leave before the reception and head over to Matt’s for his Second Annual Fancy Dinner Party. I chugged water with an electrolyte tab on the way over and prayed for a solid stomach.

My brother bid on a special dinner-in-your-home package at a live auction last fall, and that night a special group of friends, myself included, would garner the rewards of that bid. The theme was Bourbon Pairings, so, on the plus side, we all knew we were in trouble right outta the gate. There wouldn’t be any surprises.

We started with bourbon sours. They were that perfect storm of delicious flavors in small glasses. When we ordered another round after the first course I think we sent ourselves down the path of mass destruction. It was a force greater than ourselves. They were too delicious. The glasses seemed so tiny, so harmless.

Basically, from there what transpired was a parade of meat butters and creamy dairy delights. Goat cheese-stuffed dates, fancy tater tots with a sauce you want to cheat on your husband with, duck tongue tacos (I know, I had the same reaction, but those tongues were tasty), pork belly that fell apart the second it touched your tastebuds, and bourbon s’mores. As meals go, this one was up there with the Wicked Spoon buffet in Vegas and last year’s Straight Outta Compton Fancy Dinner.

First Course
Herb De Provence chevre stuffed dates / wrapped with prosciutto ham / blue cheese fondue

Second Course
Patatas Bravas / Parmesan-truffle encrusted / smoked paprika aioli

Third Course
Duck tongue taco / bourbon barrel smoked salsa rojo / spiced red onion escabache / queso fresco/ achiote crema

Fourth Course
Pork belly confit / bourbon gastrique / pickled English cucumbers/balsamic pearls / charred tomato dust/orange blossom mousse

Intermezzo
Blood orange sorbet

Fifth Course
Woodford reserved braised short ribs / oaxacan mole sauce/lemon scented farro grain / coconut espuma

Sixth Course
Bourbon Marshmallow s’mores / ”campfire smoke”/ snap-crackle-pop graham crackers / dark chocolate ribbon

 

I emerged from my brother’s basement – the scene of the meat butter massacre – around 11:30, sat down, and let the doom wash over me like a 50-gallon bucket at a waterpark. I was in trouble. My stomach, my head, my body. I’d been still long enough for everything to catch up to me and now there was no running from it. My legs were too tired. My tummy was too full of all the animal things I turned away for two weeks. Plus, the bourbon. I gave Hank “the look” and we made an exit.

I slept on our new bathroom floor.

It was cold.

Linoleum.

And that, dear friends, is what happened the day after the Livin’ la Vida Vegan Challenge.

Kids

Giving parenting the finger

October 4, 2017

“We’re going to give it 6 more months, and if she can’t stop, we’ll talk about putting in a rake,” my dentist/friend said, at our last family appointment.

He was referring to JoJo, my pathological finger sucker. This child … ahhhh, this child. God bless her sweet soul, I have a picture of her sucking her fingers in my womb. And then a thousand pictures after that of her doing the same. The habit is rooted in her DNA. It’s just always been part of her, like her laugh or insanely thick hair.

My girls each have their quirks. Spike does this strange thing where she rubs her head back and forth when she’s tired or falling asleep. She told me once it makes her “feel silly and dizzy,” and she’s into that sort of thing. I remember the first time I saw her do it with her chunky little baby head. It totally freaked me out. I have another friend whose twin girls used to bang their heads against the side of their pack n’ play when they went to sleep. I imagine it’s a similar sensation? Kids are so weird.

Sloppy Joan’s thing is rubbing the yarn on her special blanket between her fingers. It’s not as ingrained in her, and obviously conditional upon her having the actual blanket with her, but it’s her habit just the same. Well, that and pooping like 20 times a day.

So, now we come to my dilemma. How to intervene.

In the case of the spit-soaked fingers, it’s a matter of dental despair. I had braces for like 20 years, so the odds weren’t in her favor to begin with, but given her tendencies to put those things in her mouth, those teeth really don’t stand a chance.

The hygienist was kind enough to pull up an image of the rake for JoJo to see. It’s your typical orthodontia gem; a mouth apparatus that looks like a torture device crafted in a dungeon at the turn of the century. We got in the car and she immediately started sobbing.

“What’s wrong, doll?” I asked, over the sound of the sniffles.
“I don’t want a rake!” she wailed.
“Honey, you have six months. You can do it.”
“No, I can’t! It’s too hard!”
“Honey …”
“And I like sucking my fingers!”
“Babe, you have to stop.”
“But why?”
“JoJo, we’ve talked about this … It’s moving your teeth. Plus, you’re putting yucky germs in your mouth every day.”
“But it’s too hard and it’s going to hurt if they put it in,”
“Nah!” I comforted.

[more sobs.]

And every day since then, we’ve engaged in tense exchanges in which she repeatedly puts her fingers – the pointer and middle to be specific – in her mouth and I, running out of patience, remind her to remove them. This might come as a gentle, “Hey, JoJo, fingers,” or, if it’s been a long day, “Honey! Get your fingers out of your mouth! For the love!”

It’s frustrating. Parenting. And you can only do so much. Take this morning, for example. The girls were screwing around wrestling at the bus stop, which is at a busy corner in our neighborhood. I yelled and yelled, “Girls! Don’t do that so close to the road! Girls! Back up!” Nothing. Like I wasn’t even there. Then, Bus #53 pulled up, honking their horn like an ambulance in a traffic jam. It slowed and the door flew open, revealing a red-faced older gentleman behind the wheel. “Hey! You girls shouldn’t do that so close to the road. You could fall into the street and get run over by a car!” Then he drove off. I smiled and yelled from the porch, “Told ya!” I can only do so much.

Hank is, as usual, much more patient about the whole finger thing. He’s always the more patient one. But what is my role here as a mother? If I don’t stay on her, she’s left to her own willpower which is comparable to my own stoned at a donut factory. If I hound her, she gets frustrated with herself, and me, and ends up melting down. I just can’t do it! This is so hard! I hate this!

I have another friend whose son is obsessed with sugar and baked goods. He finds comfort in treats, and it drives her nuts. But this boy, as I explained to her, is everyone’s spirit animal. He fears that the good treats won’t be available if he waits. Something inside him is screaming for that treat, that instant. Like the ocean called to Moana, sugar calls to him, and I get that. That speaks to me. But, as his mother, my friend questions when and how to intervene. I get that, too.

JoJo is hard on herself as it is. And my nudges to quit doing what she’s doing on a 10-minute rotation are not helping. She has a special glove that my mom found online, and when she wears that, she can keep the habit at bay. So, our discussions often turn to her neglect of the glove. Why aren’t you wearing it all the time? Do you want the rake? You have to make up your mind to really try.

But then I really back the train up, and ask myself if an 8 year old is even capable of making a conscious decision to commit to that kind of change. I mean if I can’t toss out a dozen cookies at 34, what would lead me to believe my little girl could halt such a compulsive tendency? And if she is capable of making that choice, how do I encourage her in a healthy way? When I decided to have kids, I was prepared for nose picking and hitting. Biting, sure. Tantrums, absolutely. But no one tells you they’re going to come out sucking fingers and rubbing their heads until a giant bird’s nest forms on the back of their scalp.

Sometimes I can discreetly reach over and touch her leg when I see her going for it, but other times, I find myself completely losing my shit … like when she does it right after walking out of a public bathroom or playing in the campground sandbox. It’s nasty.

I don’t want kids to make fun of her, either. I mean, let’s face it, there are totally normal kids out there getting hammered at the lunch table every day. A second grader who sucks her fingers is as easy a target as the kid who toots during ciphering.

So, there’s my stuff. That’s my battle. What kind of weird shit do your kids do? Do they lick rocks? Hide in chimneys? Pull the wings off of flies? Let’s hear it. And how do you help them? I’ve brought bribery, nasty nail polish and the glove to the table, but I’m at a loss beyond that. The whole thing just really … sucks.

Wellness

Livin la Vida Vegan Day 14 (food and gratitude)

September 30, 2017

Holy hot dogs made of carrots, batman! We made it to Day 14 of the Livin la Vida Vegan 14-Day Challenge. I doubt that anyone is half as excited as my husband and children, who are anxious to get the flour-coated gluten balls off their plates.

It’s an interesting day because it’s the day before race day and the last day of this crazy adventure. I’m very aware of my body today, I guess is what I’m saying. How does it feel … How will it feel in the morning … Was this smart … Will this pay off … Will I have enough gas in the tank come morning? I’m not quite sure what the ole’ girl has in ‘er.

7:30 a.m.
I gave myself a splash of the Califa this morning, against my better judgment, and went about blending up the same smoothie as yesterday. The spirulina gets less noticeable every day, but I need to find a way to get the chocolate protein powder completely out of the equation. Baby steps. I have to keep reminding myself that the work doesn’t end just because the jumpstart is over. Sunday can be vegan. Monday can be vegan. (Tomorrow is definitely not going to be vegan.)

12:30 p.m.
I picked up my race packet and grabbed lunch at an adorable diner downtown with a friend from work. There were so many vegan options, I was pleasantly surprised. I opted for this insane veggie panini (hold the havarti) and kettle chips. Big, meaty mushrooms and thin strips of zucchini and tomatoes … it was fire! The chips weren’t bad, either.

It’s interesting, you’d think it would be so hard to go out, but truly it’s just a matter of leaving off a few things here and there. And honestly, as heavy as they sauce and suffocate things with cheese these days, I find they actually taste better without all of the fixins on occasion.

5 p.m.
I ate celery and almond butter for no good reason.

6 p.m.
Every Friday night we have dinner with my folks, then come back to our house and play three hands of euchre. We have an ongoing tally: Boys: 204, Granny Panties 157. It’s always a big deal … Where are we going to go? What sounds good? It’s a tradition rooted in food and an ultra-competitive card game. Tonight we went to a local place with a huge menu. I assumed there would be something to bring us home on this thing.

There wasn’t much. Hank got a veggie wrap that looked less than awesome (and he reported tasted as such) and I got veggie tacos. They had a pound of black beans on each tortilla (blech) topped with a corn relish and sliced underripe avocadoes. It came with, what else, a side scoop of black beans. Not the coolest way to go out, but I did the job. We were fed.

I stared at my mom’s pulled pork sandwich like a little girl outside a bridal shop.

8 p.m.
A vegan everything cookie to silence my screaming internal sugar demon and some ginger kombucha. For the record, just so everyone is crystal clear on the matter, my father believes that the Standard American Diet, paired with exercise is really what people need … none of this microbiome, gut health mumbo jumbo the kids keep yapping about. Write it down, somebody. We’re all going to regret shooting apple cider vinegar and gagging down tubs of sauerkraut one day.

9:50 p.m.
I feel like a half an almond butter sandwich is a smart choice right now. I don’t think I got enough protein tonight and I’m nervous about my plant-powered 13 in the morning. I’m just going to sit here and think about it until I get up and make it.

It was the right call.

10 p.m.
So … final thoughts on this whole thing. I guess the most common thing people ask is, “Do you regret doing this?” No. I learn something every time I try one of these challenges, and I think that, even though I didn’t lose 20 pounds in 14 days, which, let’s be honest, I was secretly hoping would happen, I did change my mentality a bit. And big change often starts with “a bit”.

I’m sleeping like a dead man, my head fog is gone and I move easier when I exercise. In truth, I doubt 14 days is sufficient for something like this, though I suspect I knew that all along. It was a convenient, manageable chunk of time, but now, on the other side of it, the ending feels abrupt, premature. But I’m sitting here, fingers on the keys, focusing on all the wins.

I can remember, not that long ago, staring at my Pinterest boards for hours trying to come up with Meatless Monday ideas. I’ve known for some time that less meat, less dairy, less animal fat, is better, but I’ve really lagged on the execution. Now, I know that this house won’t crumble without a deep freezer full of the cast of Babe chillin’ in it. I know we will eat our tofu lettuce wraps and carry on.

Every day, for 14 days, more than 500 people stopped by to see what we ate, how it went over and how we were feeling about the whole thing. That just blows my mind. From your time here on these pages, whether you’d been to the blog before or not, I can only hope you garnered a laugh and an actionable takeaway. Maybe that was a product recommendation (likely from Costco, let’s be honest) or a recipe to try. Whatever it was, I pray that our experiment sparked one of your own.

If you’re a veteran vegan or a newbie or considering a change or just a supportive friend, I thank you for spending some of your day with me and, of course, I invite you to stick around for the regular DSS chatter on life, love and losing my shit on a daily basis. Your interest and advice has been one of the greatest pearls from this whole experience. Every text, every email, every instant message, every private message, every comment, every shared pin, every everything. Your kindness was an unexpected, beautiful byproduct of dipping our toes into the vegan pool. I feel humbled and encouraged.

As for us? Well, tomorrow is Vegas, not vegan. I plan to chase the half marathon with donuts and a tub of cookies, none of which I will apologize for. Then we have a fun dinner with friends on the books for the evening and I plan to wear maternity pants and just get into bed with all the foods. All of them.

But after that, we’ll see. I finished my meal plan for next week and it’s all meat- and dairy-free for me. These other yahoos will have to sort things out for themselves. Of course, I do 90 percent of the cooking, so it could get interesting.

Good night, sweet friends, old and new. It’s time for me to turn in. Tomorrow seems like a great day for a run, doesn’t it?

Wellness

Livin la Vida Vegan Day 13 (cheese heaven and carbonara crap)

September 29, 2017

Despite our temporary vegan insanity, somehow, miraculously, the world in our house keeps turning. For instance, all the chicks have a cough, Spike lost her second tooth yesterday and, perhaps most notable, the pen pal saga continues. I thought we were past it, but then I got this in my notebook from JoJo this morning:

Dear Mom,
I Don’t know why But I still Don’t want you and Spikey to Be Pen pals. I mean Spike still eats her snot And sneaks food and never is around to Play. She even punched you once and she fuses a lot!!!!!!!

Secret: I can Do a Back Pull over!!!! What do you think? Hey mayBe we should start sending secrets right?

Love,
JoJo

How to heal this wound? How … how … how? These are the special things you run into as a mother and just smile up at the heavens for placing such adorable dilemmas in your lap.

Then you have Spike, whose note simply read:

Dear mom,
Do you know that ALL are LOVE is Like Coming in My Haret more LOVE and More LOVE Thank you for ALL the ClEning Up DOn AFter the [SOMETHING]. Thank you for you anD DAD

That girl has a very special soul. They all do. I cherish the gift of peering into their little hearts. And then you have Sloppy Joan, who stood in nothing but her Pull Up at 6:30 this morning screaming at Spike, who was perched on the pot, “I–have–to–POOP!!!!!” She, too, is a delicate flower. Perhaps the most delicate of the whole bouquet.

7:30 a.m.
Don’t fall over, but I managed to leave the crack creamer out of my coffee this morning, saving myself 6g of sug. I added only a splash of cashew milk. I felt very grownup about the whole thing. Again, working to get my sugar (satan’s juice) stats down, I left the banana out of my smoothie this morning as well, opting simply for: 1.5 teaspoons spirulina, a handful of spinach, turmeric, 1 scoop chocolate protein powder, 1 teaspoon hemp seeds, cinnamon, 1 tablespoon plain coconut yogurt and cashew milk. It was tasty. Turquoise and tasty.

I’m trying to pound the water today in preparation for the race Saturday. It’s go-time for hydration. Do you guys follow Heidi Powell at all? She’s Chris Powell’s wife (Extreme Transformation), and she offers up some really helpful fitness and nutrition tips here and there. Anyway, I read this post on her blog … or maybe it was a caption on Instagram … that suggested taking 10 gulps of water every time you bring it to your lips. It helps you hit your fluid goals a little easier. I even say, “chug, chug, chug,” to myself in my head while I do it, so I feel like a girl of 19 again.

Noon
Ohhhhhhhh, you guys. I did something really bad that was so, so good at lunch today. I couldn’t do a salad today. I just couldn’t. It’s a little cool here and I found myself craving a grilled cheese sandwich. Now, I’ve had several of you mention that you aren’t necessarily interested in a vegan lifestyle, but you are going dairy free. Well, you are going to be happy you opened this post today.

I have found THE CHEESE. It’s the Chao Original Creamy dairy free cheese and it is freaking outstanding. True to its name, it’s so creamy and indulgent, making it both a miracle and the birth of a very dangerous union.

For today’s episode of “I shouldn’t have, but I did” I took two pieces of sugar-free whole wheat bread, put vegan shortening on one side and kite hill cream cheese on the other side of just one of the slices. I then added a slice of heaven (the Chao) and a generous handful of spinach. I was drunk on sodium and thoughts of the dairy of yesteryear and it was all just too perfect. I nearly ate the whole damn thing before I snapped a picture. My hand was in serious danger here.

Sensing my mistake (that I’ll never apologize for), I panicked and threw some things in a blender a la Rich Roll to try and right the wrong. I grabbed a cup of kale, a small cooked beet (mistake), ¼ cup blueberries, one chuck frozen mango, 2 tablespoons coconut yogurt (plain), ½ cup coconut water, and 1 tablespoon chia and flax mix with cocoa and coconut. It was … earthy, which is a common term around here these days. It was like licking an entire garden.

The whole thing tallied up to 755 calories, so dinner will be lettuce wraps, with lettuce filling and water sauce. I make the BEST water sauce.

5:30 p.m.
Opened these. Had a mouthgasm.

6:30 p.m.
Vegan Tempeh Carbonara. What we have here, folks, is a common case of something looking, smelling and operating under the facade of something delicious, when in fact, it is not quite … good. I should preface this by saying that I don’t like pasta IRL. I am not the person who goes face first into a giant plate of spaghetti or has a sauce recipe to hand down to my children.

Nope, I like my mom’s lasagna, my friend Nissa’s manicotti and other than that, I’m good without the stuff. So, vegan pasta didn’t really stand much of a chance.

I used edamame pasta from Costco, which might be good with stir fried veggies or something, and my new best enemy flax tempeh, and followed the recipe other than that. The first bite was promising, but much like last night, it got worse as it sat. The cashew cheese sauce had a nice flavor but the consistency totally grossed me out once I took it off the stove. I’m beginning to think that the vegan community paid the Pinterest and cookbook communities a ton of cash for some false advertising and I’m buying it up like a housewife at Tuesday Morning. I feel duped.

I did have some killer white nectarines for dessert. Thank you, fruit, for always being true to your breed. Apples taste like apples, peaches like peaches, watermelon like watermelon, berries like berries … At least a gal stumbling through a vegan no man’s land can count on something.

P.s. Hank just told me there’s Parmesan in pesto, and I put that on our sandwiches this weekend, so this whole thing just became a giant lie and I feel the need to confess to you, 300 people who are invested, because I am just as big of a fraud as those bait-and-switch images on Pinterest.

7:30 p.m.
This also happened today. I’m thinkin’ I’m into it.

Just one day to go! Viva la Vida Vegan, baby!

Wellness

Viva la Vegan Day 12 (disappointments and talk of tempeh)

September 28, 2017

Don’t panic! Nobody panic! The cookies are tucked away in a pan with a lid and a slice of bread to keep until Saturday after the race. Phew! It’s all going to be alright. Not even being temporarily vegan can stop me from taking some cookies to pound town.

(p.s. This is not a birth announcement. This is Sloppy Joan workin’ some hand-me-downs. Don’t freak, Mom!)

This morning, on my drive in, Rich Roll was discussing his Vitamix blends. Essentially, homeboy rounds up every ingredient of the earth – fruits, veggies, hemp, herbs, coconut kefir, spirulina, nuts, chlorophyll – throws them in the high-powered blender (whole, i believe) and pulverizes them into various juices. He has one for breakfast, one before dinner and one after dinner, if he wants dessert (fruit, coconut milk and cocoa). His ingredients vary, depending on whether he needs energy or recovery.

Curious, I jumped online. I want to pulverize healthy stuff and drink it. Did you know that the most basic Vitamix is $300? Three hundred dollars!! For a blender. A small machine with blades in the bottom. I’m really going to need to turn up the heat on this side hustle business if I’m going to procure a $300 blender. Can it possibly be worth it? Would I get my money’s worth? My questions are endless.

7:30 a.m.
I changed up my smoothie today. My Ninja suddenly seeming subpar, I managed to liquify my experimental recipe: 1.5 teaspoons spirulina, .25 of a banana, 1 scoop chocolate plant-based protein powder, 1 tablespoon slivered almonds, 1 teaspoon hemp seeds, ginger, cinnamon, turmeric, 1 cup spinach.

This drink is turquoise, man. Surely it should turn me into a superhuman powerhouse with one sip. If I don’t finish this post, that happened.

Noon
There’s an appreciation cookout at work today. It’s a meat fest. I wonder if I will ever get to a point where slow cooked pork just isn’t appealing to my olfactory senses in the least. This spread featured phenomenal smelling Korean BBQ sandwiches, Black and Blue Salmon Burgers and hot dogs … For me? Bagged lettuce and asparagus. I decided to head home, instead, for a delightful repeat of my taco salad from the day before. Leftover taco “meat”, guacamole, a dollop of plain coconut yogurt, salsa, and crushed tortilla chips. Today I also added a tablespoon of Seeds of Change quinoa and brown rice. Hoping to feel a little fuller a little longer today.

Confession time: In some ways it feels like I’m not doing this right, or my body isn’t adapting. Something is off. The last few days I’ve felt so bloated. Like, none of my skirts fit and it kind of looks like I’m a tad pregnant … with twins. Not exactly the look I was going for when I set out on this whole thing. I launched a full investigation, meaning I pulled up MyFitnessPal and started diving into the macros, because that’s the only thing I know to do. My sodium was high yesterday; 900g high to be exact. I’m thinking that’s part of it.

The biggest offenders appear to be the fake meats (seitan and “beef” crumbles), which tend to be pretty high in sodium, as does guacamole, which I didn’t really realize. I cooled it on the nuts and seeds, because I suspected those were contributing to my vegan weight explosion, but I was still over yesterday without them. And I can’t lose the guac, you guys, I just can’t.

Guacamole has been my constant. Through all of the Whole30s and sugar detoxes and now vegan experiment, guacamole has been there. It’s a comforting, indulgent, familiar friend that makes me smile in every way. On an egg sandwich, with tortilla chips, on hot dogs, on burgers, on fried tofu, on tacos. I don’t care, I love it. I need it. I want it. I can’t fathom the thought of a world without the green stuff. I don’t want to. So that sodium in particular is going to have to stay.

Luckily there’s Google to fetch me a sea of strangers who have experienced or are experiencing the same crazy things as me. According to the blogosphere, bloating is incredibly common for beginner vegans and usually subsides within a month or so of adopting the diet. So 16 days after this experiment is done, I’m going to be in good shape.

These veteran vegans recommend a range of things to get your tummy moving in the right direction. Those who attribute the bloat to a messy microbiome, suggest strong probiotics and foods that naturally promote more of the good bacteria in your gut. Others point the finger at the dramatic increase in fiber and carbohydrate consumption that accompanies the vegan diet, and recommend good grains, patience and Beano.

The answer for me, specifically? No clue. Bigger skirts.

But it does feel like, although I am feeling some success in other, more subtle, ways, I’m not seeing the weight loss people probably expected or were hoping to see (no one more so than me). And that kind of feels like I’m letting everyone down, mostly myself.

7 p.m.
Another night, another recipe that demands way too much time to prepare. I made a Madeira Peppercorn Tempeh from the Crazy Sexy Kitchen cookbook. It’s my fault, I should have read ahead. The tempeh had to sit in a stovetop sauce for an hour, at least. Then the sauce had to sit and thicken for 20 extra minutes. I ask you, who has 80+ minutes to watch something cook?

And let’s talk about tempeh for a sec, shall we? It’s soybeans fermented to make a cake. Earth Fare had original, flax or whole grain. I figured original would be best for a beginner. I ate it. But I still don’t really know what it was. Who knew that soybeans could be manipulated to create so many questionable food things?

Everything was going wrong tonight. The fuse in the kitchen kept popping and dinner was already running late because of the generous marinating times and JoJo was trying to climb the crabapple tree in the backyard and it was all just a big, messy shit show. And to top it all off, it wasn’t that good. I hate nothing more than when I work my ass off to make something and it tastes like pink school erasers in a semi-decent breading.

It wasn’t a total loss. The sauce with this recipe was good. A pain in the ass to make, but good. It was basically scallions, wine (I used Chardonnay because who the hell has Madeira laying around), vegetable stock, vegan butter and thyme. It had a really nice flavor, which was good, because the tempeh was less than awesome. In the recipe’s defense, it would probably be really good with tofu. The tempeh texture was bizarre and off putting. Even Hank struggled with it. It got worse the more I tried to push through.

I rounded out the meal with baked potatoes (I put vegan shortening and half a slice of this new Chao Creamy Original cheese I got at Earth Fare that was so good), roasted beets, sweet potatoes, parsnips and carrots, and berries.

Then I ate two vegan sugar cookies – such a loser – and watched the premier of This is Us. You guys, that last scene …

Wellness

Livin la Vida Vegan Day 11 (pissy pants and sizzling seitan)

September 27, 2017

I need to take a pause from the vegan diet updates for just a sec to talk about something very troubling. It’s pee. Piss. Urine. Golden streams. Or yellow puddles. In my regular routine, I come into contact with pee – not my own – no less than three times a week. Whether it’s my kid, or another kid, or a dog or a frog, there is a No. 1 situation flowing right through my day, at some point in my day, every day.

It’s like running a kennel for special puppies with small bladders. Yesterday, when I got home from work, JoJo’s sheets were in the laundry room. One of the kiddos who comes to our house during the day had an accident during nap. It happens. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that we basically live in a giant urinal. Well, my eldest was having nothing to do with it. She funneled her fury – which was only further fueled by her discovery that Spike and I might also start a pen pal exchange, similar to the one JoJo and I have – into a very strongly worded letter.

It read as follows:

Dear Mom,
Tomorrow I’m giving MeeMee (the sitter) a piece of my mind about my bed!!! I’m ganna say that no more kids in my room and no kids sleeping in there! And you and Spikey canot be pen pals! Focus on you and my Because I’d crie to my death.

[Illustration of JoJo with a happy heart (“Mom and JoJo pen pals”) and then a messy stick figure with the caption “me cring. heart Broken.” just below that.]

Love, JoJo

But oh how the mighty do fall. At 4 o’clock this morning, I woke to the gentle whispers of our oldest daughter, confessing that she herself had an accident on our floor. Why she was on our floor, right next to the hairy, nasty dog bed, and not in her sister’s cozy queen size bed? I don’t know. I never know. This is an every night thing in our house. Does anyone else know?

Hank threw a towel over it, cleaned her up and moved both her and Spike (who was spooned up next to her on the ground) back down the hall so we could go “back to sleep”. Of course, we’re never really back to sleep, are we? Parents. Anything past the REM cycle is considered a luxury at this point in life. Right up there with solo time on the toilet and sitting. I guess that’s just what this chapter looks like … tired souls with urine on their hands.

7:30 a.m.
I put a full teaspoon of spirulina into my smoothie today, and backed down a bit on the powdered peanut butter, which has more sugar than I’d like. The algae flavor was slightly more noticeable, but not enough to tickle the ole gag reflex, so on we go. I’m thinking phase 2 is cutting the creamer from my coffee. It’s a liquid sugar bomb, and it’s got too tight of a hold on my heart.

I had a text from my bud Ryan:

I mean it’s not hard, because that’s really what this is. It’s totally doable, but also an insane life choice that’s making everything ten thousand times harder. It’s natural and against my human nature. It feels healing and like all my weaknesses are exposed. It’s funny because it’s really just food, but the change is making me a bit of a kook. And kooky people are freaking hilarious.

Noon
Earth Fare run for seitan and tempeh at lunch. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d type.

I came home to throw together a taco salad with my leftovers, but something was wrong. Terribly wrong. There, on the counter in the kitchen, sat a box with a dozen cookies from my favorite local bakery. Come inside my sick mind for a sec, k …

“What … the truck … is that? Why are those there? Who put those there? Is someone messing with me. Someone’s messing with me. Is there a camera in here? Who would do this? What kind of sick, twisted person would do this?! [Find card.] The car dealership?! Why in the hell is the car dealership sending us cookies?! It was a gosh dang trade in for crying out loud! Those bastards. Those car-selling bastards, with their sweet treats and good customer service. OK, I’m just going to lift the lid. [Lift lid, stick nose into sugar cloud. Close eyes.] Oh, shit. Alright, what’s my end game here? Should I throw them away? Just throw them away. My God, you can’t throw these away! You’ll be arrested. I’m a grownup, just set them out for the kids. But they won’t appreciate them the way I would. Maybe we can freeze them. Yeah, I’ll freeze them. We’ll just pull out our favorites and freeze those, give the rest to the kids. But I love them all. I’m going to put them down in this cabinet until Hank gets home. He’ll know what to do.”

And then I put the box of cookies down low, behind my slow cooker, and walked away; unable to discard them and unable to give them up. This, brothers and sisters, is how you know you are ill.

I assembled my salad: leftover taco “meat”, guacamole, crushed up tortilla chips, a dollop of coconut yogurt and salsa. It was bomb. I stood, leaning against the cabinet door where my cookies were sleeping and enjoyed every single bite.

“Goodnight, sweet cookies. I’ll see you again soon.” I whispered.

3 p.m.
What I really want is chocolate and popcorn, so what I’m having is the rest of my suja organic ginger kombucha. Really hoping that quenches the craving.

6 p.m.
Made it! Tonight, we’re cookin’ up some Crispy Orange Seitan from the Vegan for Everybody cookbook. Oh my gosh … you don’t know what seitan is? How do you not know what seitan is, you silly, carnivorous fool. Psych! I don’t know what the hell it is, either. And I looked at the ingredients, so that makes it extra scary. From what I gathered, it’s like globs of gluten or something? They call it “wheat meat”. So there ya go.

The toughest thing about these recipes is making sure you have all of the ingredients on hand. “It looks like you emptied out your cabinets,” our sitter said, as she watched me assemble the handfuls of sauce components. But once I had it all in there, this one came together pretty fast. The nice thing about cooking with these fake meats – tempeh, tofu, seitan, veggie crumbles – is they cook up fast as Rizzo. It’s a big time saver.

I used bagged cauli rice from Costco for a side, along with some peanut butter + celery courtesy of my sous chefs and chopped up plum, mango and blueberries for dessert. (I’d like for it to be known that I did NOT have a cookie tonight.)

This was pretty darn good, I gotta say. The cauliflower needed a little more flavoring, but the seitan was a pleasant surprise, as seitans go. Hank dubbed it “fine” which, if you speak Hank, you know translates to, “not exceptional, but good”. I would make it again.

This is my 6-year-old on seitan:

7:30 p.m.
I knocked out my last training run before the race Saturday; A snail-like 3 miles with lots of sweat. I notice on this diet, I don’t cramp as much and I can steady my breath a little easier during the run. Could be the training or it could be some vegan magic. Either way, by the time I was done, I knew my body needed something. I slammed a handful of walnuts, dried blueberries and pumpkin seeds.

JoJo was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. She found the notebook I gave Spike so we, too, could be pen pals. She told me I broke her heart. That she wanted to be special. That Spikey could never write messages as special as hers would be. It felt like the emotional climax of a Nicholas Sparks novel. I think I got her down off the ledge enough to sleep tonight, but we’ll see. There could be tears. Or pee. Maybe pee.

Wellness

Livin la Vida Vegan Day 10 (Bad habits and creepy cheese)

September 26, 2017

The alarm was particularly obnoxious this morning, but here we go Monday. I see you, ya little chump. We have just five days left in this Livin la Vida Vegan 14-day challenge, and I gotta say, it’s flying by. The pace isn’t necessarily a reflection of the food so much as everything revolving around it, but, all the same, we’re in the homestretch here.

I weigh in every Monday and every Friday, first thing, preferably before coffee. I do this because I like to ruin both the beginning and the end of the work week. I find it humbles the soul. This morning, the digits were up a tick. Not surprising considering I ate an entire tub of guacamole and drank a case of beer over the course of two days. And all of the vegan marshmallows, too.

Just for kicks, I went searching for posts from other beginner vegans who found themselves gaining weight post lifestyle switch. There was a common thread throughout their musings. Basically, people will tell you that you shouldn’t worry about tracking your food or looking at portions when you go plant-based because it’s all generally good for you. But then you gain 10 pounds by eating an entire bag of shelled pistachios (speaking for a friend) and you realize that’s a giant wheelbarrow full of crap.

For me, I think I went around the Internet and local groceries hoarding every food item I could find that was compliant out of a fear we’d starve, thus creating a winter stockpile of plant-based goodies. And then we ate all of it to get through the first week because we didn’t know what we were doing with ourselves and we were panicked about protein.

But now I know we’ll be OK. There will be food. There will be things we can buy at restaurants and other such places, so there’s no need to stash it all in my cheeks and, eventually, my thighs. Instead, it’s time to go back to the basics of smart portions, smart foods, just within the vegan parameters. Combine the rules that apply to the standard American diet with the vegan principles and perhaps that’s where the magic resides?

Of course, one of my major goals is to lose weight for sure, but moreso, it’s to just feel good in my body. And I feel physically good, I do. But I’m 100 percent not where I want to be appearance-wise. I guess what’s important right now is that I feel more capable of getting there, so we’ll start there.

Now that I’ve said all that, watch as I royally F up this day, dietarily speaking.

7:30 a.m.
I added ½ teaspoon of spirulina to my usual smoothie this morning. The color is intimidating, like beta fish gills, so I backed down from the recommended tablespoon. I could taste it, but it wasn’t as offensive as one would expect from something that brags about its high algae content. I’ll add in a bit more tomorrow. Sometimes bravery trickles, rather than rushes in.

10 a.m.
Snack attack came early today. Trail mix with extra pistachios. I only ate half of the serving, so, see, I have some control.

10:35 a.m.
I ate the rest of the trail mix.

Noon
Hey, hey! The gang’s all here! The usual salad – mixed greens with Salad Topper and [too much] Greek dressing from Primal Kitchen – plus some leftover guacamole, Late July Chia and Quinoa tortilla chips, and the three remaining samosas. I also enjoyed a yummy suja organic ginger kombucha drink, which I will consume half of today and the rest tomorrow.

So, remember just a few minutes ago when I was talking about not being able to eat whatever you want, just because it’s technically vegan. Well, I just looked up the samosas. The fried casing really should have tipped me off. When all was said and entered into MyFitnessPal, the dressing, tortilla chips, Salad Topper and samosas came in around 150 calories each. So, what I’m saying is, I have like 100 calories left for the day going into dinner, which is tacos. Which I love. Which means I’ll be way over on my calories for the day, even though nothing I ate was too crazy.

It’s the nuts and seeds and dried fruit. It’s the healthy fats. It’s just all adding up to the same numbers in the red as when I’m not eating vegan. Same loss of control, different ingredients.

3:15 p.m.
A handful of Boom Chicka Pop because that is my favorite and there’s always an open bag in my top drawer.

6 p.m.
Hank had to work late tonight, so I threw tacos together. To get crazy, I also put this 10 Minute Vegan Nacho Cheese Sauce in the mix. I used beef imposter crumbles for the meat and it came out beautifully. I always just throw the seasonings – cumin, paprika, chili powder, salt, pepper, onion powder, garlic powder, oregano – in with whatever crumbly meat stuff I have nearby, and fake meat was no different. I made a taco first, with the meat, guac, lettuce, salsa and a torn up piece of daiya cheddar. It was good, but didn’t need the feddar (fake cheddar, get it? We’ve been doing this a lot.) Then I just put all those fixins on a plate and mixed ‘em around for a taco salad. Sensational.

I don’t know what that nacho cheese shit was, but it wasn’t anything resembling cheese. At least no cheese I’ve ever had. It wasn’t a bad taste, it was just not a great taste. Or a taste I’d ever need to taste again. Plus, it was misleading. Like if you fixed a recipe for chocolate chip cookies but they came out tasting like cheeseburgers or something.

Hank came home later and confirmed my take on the gunk.

“I don’t know about that cheese,” he said, as I put away laundry.
“Yeah, I know. It was strange.”
“Definitely not my favorite flavor.”

[Delete pin]

Then I ate three vegan sugar cookies. They were small, but does it really matter? This is where I set myself up for failure. The treats were left over from our camping trip, a purchase so I wouldn’t feel left out of dessert. If I hadn’t picked them up, I would have felt deprived and likely gone off course. But now, having them in the house, I’m going off course during the week … three times. I get caught in this sticky sugar web of mental trap doors and temptations a lot.

Plus, I was so irritable tonight. I don’t believe this has anything to do with the diet. Everything the girls did made me feel like a mad woman. Do you ever have those nights? JoJo wasn’t listening and Spike was hitting Sloppy Joan and Sloppy Joan was stealing apples and taking them to squirrel away all over the house and I had to get the downstairs swept and mopped, and dinner made, and three baskets of laundry put away, and I just had zero energy in reserves for their drama and rotten fruit. Some nights I can find all the blankets and solve all the fights, and some nights I just have to stick the babies in a corner.

Try That With Matt, Wellness

Livin la Vida Vegan Days 7-9 (happy campers with cucumber sandwiches)

September 25, 2017

I’m back! The girl who went into a weekend of camping on a mission to stay vegan and came out on the other side with recipes to share.

Friday had more landmines than the whole weekend put together. Thursday morning I got an email from my boss (like, my boss’s boss), asking if I wanted to grab lunch and catch up on a few key initiatives. Yes! I absolutely do. I most definitely do. I’m looking so forward to i– Aw, crap … What the hell am I going to eat? My official response went something like:

Dear inspiring leader,
I would be thrilled to catch up. One thing I feel like I should mention, I am doing this vegan thing for 14 days and it would be amazing if we could go somewhere with super boring salads or the one vegetarian place in town with questionable options. Great, thanks for this opportunity!

But people have a way of surprising you. Not only did she keep our lunch date after my pain in the ass request, she actually looked up the menu at the restaurant ahead of time and found a vegan-friendly salad for me. Say what? Michael Scott, hand over your World’s Greatest Boss mug, am I right? And, it was so damn good, you guys. I didn’t take a picture because, you know, corporate adulting, but it was a glorious mouthparty of cashews, avocado, cranberries, kale, spinach, fried tortilla strips and an avocado lemon dressing. I only had to have them hold the creme fraiche, and I don’t know what the hell that is anyway.

We were leaving for our camping adventure Friday evening. Our tradition on these weekends is for me to pick up Jimmy John’s on the way home and then we eat it en route to our destination. Welp, that’s not going to work. I came home and gathered all my Earth Fare booty I’d gathered the night before, packed our bags and got to work putting together a meal for the road. Less convenient, sure, but it really wasn’t that much of a bother.

I put sandwiches, nectarine slices and avocado oil chips in a cake pan with a lid for the chicks to share in the backseat. Then I made Southwest Quinoa burgers, and leftover warm cabbage slaw with crispy tofu for Hank and me. The burgers were just OK. They had whole lentils in them, which gave me some texture issues. I gagged a few times. No actual vomit, so don’t worry, everyone. Not my favorite meal, but it did the job. I find that the quinoa and lentils fill me up a lot faster than the meals I used to make. But forget those damn beans, man.

I couldn’t tell you much about Friday night. We pulled in after the sun went down, set up our home away from home, and I curled up and passed out to PBS Kids.

Saturday morning I got up and went for a nice 3 mile run around the campground. By nice I mean, the scenery was sightly until the sweat ran down into my eye holes rendering me completely blind. I stopped at a spot overlooking the reservoir and stretched my legs. I tried a little mindfulness, which was refreshing.

I phoned it in for breakfast and went with cereal (with almond milk) for my first meal of the day, with this bomb ass cinnamon coffee Hank picked up. He was still asleep so I took my mug outside to watch the sun finish rising. Just lovely.

Our friends arrived around 10 that morning. They have three boys, which is such a fun social experiment. Spike forgot to put underwear under her skirt at one point and we had to talk about when privates are appropriate (hardly ever). We started pulling lunch together after they set up camp. Nutella sammies for the chicks and my best invention ever for us. Get ready, because this layered creation is a thing of pure love. OK, I took a sandwich thin, opened ‘er up and, on one side, put vegetable hummus, and on the other, plain kite hill cashew cream cheese. Next, some basil pesto on top of the cream cheese. Then sliced cucumber, broccoli sprouts and mixed greens. I’m telling you it was a flavor fireworks show behind my teeth. I rounded it out with grapes and a few avocado oil chips.

Then I started pounding Summer Shandys and all was well with the world. We spent a few hours down at the beach because it was 12 thousand degrees outside, and then went back to the campsite for a water balloon fight and more beers for the grownups. Dinner was sausage and hot dogs for the others and buffalo quinoa burgers for me and the Mr.

You know what I’m finding? Good friends do things like humor you when you say you’re going to go camping but you can only eat things from the earth. Well, things from the earth and things manufactured to appear like they came from the earth … am I right? My girl brought a tasty salad (vegan approved) and some stellar trail mix. We roasted up some tiny potatoes and boom! Dinner was a wrap.

I’m a dessert junkie, so you know my ass was going to find a workaround for some s’mores. And I sure did. Dairy free chocolate (not so good) with gluten free graham crackers and vegan marshmallows. I also had vegan molasses and sugar cookies from Earth Fare and I threw a mallow on one of those molasses puppies just for kicks. I wasn’t mad at it or anything. Pretty tasty.

Sunday morning was stress-free. Mama had some vegan-friendly pancake mix, both plain and chocolate chip because you know I like my baked goods kind of dirty, with some butter-flavored coconut cream and veggie bacon. The vacon, as Hank called it, was interesting. JoJo loved it! It was kind of like the forbidden marriage of beef jerky to a dog treat. I ate a piece, but a piece was enough. The pancakes on the other hand … Gosh dang. Murdered those things. No evidence remained.

After a gorgeous, sweaty hike through the Sahara with six kids in tow, and one conversation about where babies come from, we went back to break camp, sadly. I recreated my green goodness sandwiches from the day before and wrapped them up for the road. I threw in some grapes and leftover guacamole with flax and chia chips to really get ‘er done and off we went. (I make that sound so simple, but it actually takes forever to get all that shit put away, the crap tank emptied and on our way.)

From the second we hit the driveway after a camping trip, it’s laundry and cleaning and running around like Elizabeth Shue in the last 5 minutes of Adventures in Babysitting. I’m like spraying counters with Windex and whatever just to make it look like a bunch of animals don’t live in this place. It never works. My toes just found a crayon the dog chewed up and left for me – along with 3 turds – in the front room. To be clear after rereading this, my toes didn’t find the turds, Hank did, earlier. Gross.

I had a 7-mile training run (my last long one), so I knew I needed to pull something together for dinner early so I could be pounding pavement by 7pm. I went to the freezer and pulled out a box of somosas I got from Costco. There is no picture because I ate these perfect little purses of flavor so fast, there was just no time for pleasantries. While there was also a chicken option in the variety pack, we opted for the potato and chickpea varieties, which came with a zingy little cilantro chutney that took things to the next level. I paired them with a quinoa and kale packet, also from … you guessed it, Costco. [pitter patter goes my heart]

I chugged some beet elite, and took off about 45 minutes later. I. felt. so. good. I mean, not like I could run forever good, but I really felt pretty energetic. After a typical camping trip, with all the baked goods and hot dogs and mayonnaisey salads, I could never go run 7 miles. It would have been an unthinkable task. But it wasn’t that big of a deal.

I interrogated Henry on our drive home earlier that day. I wanted to know where he was at, a week in.

“Do you notice anything?” I asked.
“I mean, I’m a bad person to ask,” he said. “I never really notice much. Like, even with Whole30.”
“Right.”
“I mean, my back hurts. Does it hurt less than usual? Maybe.”
“OK.”
“I feel like I’m eating enough, but when it’s time to eat, I’m definitely hungry. That’s probably a protein thing.”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Yeah, I dunno …”

So, there ya have it. An exciting report from the hubs. I feel invigorated just by how manageable it’s been, truly. I know people think I’m blowing smoke, but it hasn’t been too terribly hard. The convenient foods are so tasty, but I find they’re mostly made of shit. I’m encouraged by how relatively simple it’s been to eliminate the shit. Here’s to the next five days and no more convenient shit. Wait, …