Grabbing groceries with a two small kids—sort of like running with scissors.
Read moreSimple Pleasures
I've been a cranky bitch lately but I gotta give myself credit where credit is due: I'm a lot more grateful for life's simple pleasures than I was, say, 10 years ago. Three examples:
I felt lucky as hell to have a private yoga session at lunch.
I wasn't going to go to yoga today—too much to get done—but a meeting was wrapping up just a few minutes before I had to run down the hall (how freaking lucky is that) to the class, if I was going to do it. Then I realized that today was the last day for my unlimited pass (read: "free" class) so I went for it. And—no doubt because it was 50 degrees and beautiful today—I was the only student who showed up. Jane read an piece by
(it included "dog poop" - awesome) and then led us through a invigorating flow. She helped me figure out how to get into a headstand, balancing on my forearms instead of my hands. It was super fun.
My friend Holly bought me the sweet vintage apron (hanging over my face) a decade ago.
I wear it to wash dishes because I'm super messy.
I was totally psyched to get my hair trimmed.
When to comes hair changes, I'm usually not satisfied with subtle. (This once led to a major hair disaster 2 weeks before my wedding.) Again and again, I grow it long mostly so I can lop it off into a pixie. Total makeover. Dopamine rush. Before that I started that cycle, I used to have Nathan streak it with shades that varied from high-contrast blonde to crayon red. I aim for a high-impact change. But right now I'm growing it out so all I got was a trim—which usually just leaves me bored. Tonight, I was just happy to hang with Hannah. And I do have less of mullet than I did at 5:59.
I'm actually digging an evening work session.
Even though I generally love what I do for work, second-shift sessions can be a drag. Tonight, though, while I type in this room (taking some time to procrastinate by writing this post), Olin is working on his computer in the next one. The Clash is on the radio. I'm sipping chai and eating chocolate. He's drinking Dogfish. We took a time-out so I could show him my new headstand—and he could one-up me with his fancy side crow. Whatever, dude.
Living in the Future is Sometimes a Matter of Survival
Most of this cold, windy and rainy weekend, we spent trying not to kill each other—literally exerting great effort to not bark or yell (often unsuccessfully), push, shove, kick or kinesphere-invade (often unsuccessfully). Yesterday, I did a long muddy run (with three fantastic women). Jon and Kai did a T25 workout. Jules wrote a book about it—and, by that, I mean, yes, he recorded the details of Jon and Kai's exercise session in his field "diary." In which all notes are spelled phonetically. (It's pretty awesome.) Both boys escaped out a birthday party sidedoor. It was not cool—but I get it: they had anxious energy to burn. They were quickly captured. Shortly after, both boys fit in some training runs for the Yam Scram—through the aisles of Gardener's Supply. The employees were very kind. We quickly rounded up the track team, paid for our purchases and left for home. Where we forced the boys to do jumping jacks and lift weights.
This morning, the boys swam at their lesson with Annie. Then, with two friends, they did some more Yam Scram training sprints, down the long hallway of the office building that houses the pool (and my office). Screaming like wild men. Straight past the yoga studio where a Kundalini class was just beginning. They were ushered home. Where they prompted began a game of evading kinesphere-invasions. A game that involves much tattling and crying. One kid was directed to the basement for a private yoga session. Then Jon did a T25 workout. Or maybe two. Then everyone geared up in snow gear and headed out for a sleet hike. (Yes, it was sleeting.) We spent almost an hour striding through slush and ice (me, in slippery rainboots) in an attempt to—I'll say it again—not kill each other. One kid, one adult and one dog loved this. One kid and one adult did not. The not-liking-hiking kid cried—understandably, because his boots and socks were soaked through. The liking-hiking adult carried him piggy-back for the rest of the hike. The liking-hiking kid asked the not-liking-hiking adult for a piggy-back ride, too, because "IT'S NOT FAIR" for only the soaking, sobbing kid to get carried. She obliged, in her slick and slippery rain boots, gingerly stepping over slush and ice and snow, miraculously not biting the mud.
Upon arriving home, cocoa was serving and the formerly crying kid soaked in a lavender-scented jet tub, which turned his attitude right around. For 15 minutes. The not-liking-hiking adult was instructed to go to yoga—at the same studio the shrieking kids sprinted past earlier in the morning. She gratefully obliged, as there was much swirling energy to be tamed.
In other news, we got a bunch of seeds and a new grow light. We are so excited that it's March 30. Officially spring!
I Choose Cheap Thrills
Sometimes trying really hard just doesn't cut it and trying harder just makes it worse. Some days, you question every choice you've ever made. (Every. Choice. Down to what you ate for breakfast.) But they're all good. No regrets. You're just in a pissy mood.
You should go for a run, take a yoga class, make a date with a fun friend.
I've suggested all of these solutions at one point or another in a story for this women's magazine or that one. Unfortunately, you can't squeeze this sort of stuff in between meetings or in the middle of mediating a wresting match between two small people dressed in costumes.
And that's why, tonight, I painted my nails. Specifically, I painted them Essie's Chinchilly. Tomorrow, when I feel like a total trainwreck who has nothing at all under control, I can look at my fresh manicure and say, "damn, girl, you got your shit TOGETHER!" Instant boost.
And, now, allow me to introduce a list of five more low-investment ways to turn a shitty mood around, no physical activity required:
Make a cup of coffee from the "fancy" "espresso" machine at work.
Scroll through photos of people and things who/that amuse you (for me, it's often the two small people, perhaps in costumes, probably not wrestling).
Watch this video.
Play this song.
Text your sister. If you have one. And she's as cool as mine.
How I Strive vs. What Makes Me Feel Alive
We are all frail. We all make mistakes. We all fall prey to a thousand emotions and exaggerations... In truth, it is not the tissue of our humanity that defeats us, but rather our refusal to accept who we are and to live accordingly, limitations included.
Jane, the awesome yoga teacher, read this bit from Mark Nepo's book, The Book of Awakening, today at the end of class. It resonated so I looked it up again this evening. Then I bought the book. The purchase is a Compact violation, no doubt, as the copy I ordered is new but... 1) It seems the book could ultimately make me more mindful, less wasteful and 2) I have an Amazon credit—birthday gift from Jon's parents—that, week by week, is being eaten away by Walking Dead zombies. And I don't even watch the show. Actually, I think my second point actually makes the Compact violation worse. So maybe scratch that one.
In any case, I've been spending a lot of time lately thinking about what I'm not:
A person takes detailed digital notes and files them logically.
A daughter/sister/friend who sends birthday cards and gifts before the actual anniversary.
A mom who always remembers when it's snack week in the kindergarten class and bring-a-book-from-home day in the preschool one.
Someone who always knows just the right thing to say and the right times not to say ANYTHING.
Definitely not me. But all week, I'm been wishing things like this were true. Wishing I were not the person who scribbles to-dos with purple pens on random scraps of paper and scatters them across the earth. Who is still carrying my mom's birthday card and gift in my purse, 2 months and 1 day later. Who forgets Pirate Booty, and then a pirate book, on two consecutive days. Who blurts out 97% of things that cross my brain.
I can certainly strive to do better; I can stand to evolve. But now it strikes me that I also need to keep in mind what sorts of things most make me feel really happy and alive—like watching brilliant people do things that have nothing to do with order and measure and restraint.*
Or the OK Go dudes who combined campy choreography and rolling treadmills into one mindblowing video that makes me giddy every time I watch. And that's just what I do when I'm in a really shitty mood: I load up that OK Go video.
Because that's the kind of person I am. Whatever that means.
*I realize it most definitely took order and measure and restraint to produce this art but you get what I'm saying, right?
Sometimes It's Dope to Mope
I am not moving to Australia. Because that simply seems like far too much effort. And I'm not going to claim that I had a "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day." Because it wasn't really. I know this. Everyone is safe. Everyone is healthy. I have a job. I have a home. I have heat (at least I have this warmth while inside the home, or the office, or the car). And plenty of food. But I'm in a super shitty mood.
Maybe it's because I didn't run this morning and didn't unroll my yoga mat this afternoon or evening. Maybe it's because things feel fuzzy and I like solid boundaries. Maybe it's because one kid melted into a mess of tears when I asked the two of them what "superfun" things they wanted to do this weekend while daddy was away. He doesn't want daddy to be away. And he also doesn't want daddy to have a meeting tonight. I take this personally. But I try to hide it, best as I can. And it mostly works to turn the tides. We three play Monopoly and make static, swirling our straight hair on synthetic fabrics. They "swim" in the jet tub while I urge them to wash behind their ears. We read Chapter 3 of Harry Potter. There are snuggles and back scratches. I pass as a more-than-acceptable second fiddle, I'd say.
And then when they go to bed, I get back to feeling sorry for myself. Olin returns home and agrees it's OK to mope about my rut. In the other room—for just a little bit. So that's what I do. And then I get back to creating order out of my emotional mess: making lists, sending emails, outlining ideas for a short story I'm starting on—in my purple Moleskine notebook with a strange syringe-shaped pen I got at some medical conference.
I feel better already.
Gurus and Groups
One of the studies I cited in my master's research found this: even people who predicted they'd lose more weight with individual counseling were more successful at shedding pounds when they were assigned to group counseling. I don't remember exactly how the scientists explained this (and I'm too lazy to look it up) but it totally makes sense. And, for me, a major theme of 2014 has been that a good group, and a great guru, helps you get better. Some examples:
The five little guys below are spending part of their Sunday mornings Swimming with Annie. Annie (the guru) speaks to them like the small people that they are—tiny little men with hopes and fears and lots of energy. It's obvious she knows what she's doing. They're responding. In just two sessions, every single one of these boys has made marked progress. The one who was more comfortable sticking by the steps on Day One was paddling through the pool and jumping off the side on Day Two. Another who'd resisted getting his hair wet in the first class was repeating dunking himself in the second. A third suddenly started kicking and scooping under the water, unassisted, this past Sunday while his dad shouted,
"He's swimming! He's swimming!" in disbelief.
Much of this forward movement has to do with Annie knowing her shit. But some of it, I'd say, has to do with the fact that these small dudes are a solidly supportive crew. They're clapping and shouting encouragement for each other—and they're also fostering a healthy sense of competition.
Same thing happened during our Saturdays Smuggs: no doubt, the "Team Eagle" Mini Mites Snowboarders pushed each other... to the point that all of the littler shedders were on the lift and riding an actual green run by the end of the 8-week session.
And I've also been benefitting from accountability and social support that comes with a crew:
At the mountain, I hit the jackpot with Gaby, my guru. In 8 weeks, she patiently talked me down (and listened to my verbal diarrhea often focused on fear) Sir Henry, and then a bunch of green runs and, finally, Snowsnake, a blue. But pairing up with Laurie definitely made me a braver, better rider. When she jumped at the chance to take the next step—hop on the bigger lift, pick up the pace—I didn't want to be left behind. Or hold her back. I'd take a few deep breaths and go.
For the last couple of months, I've been working on writing—things beyond this blog and content on weight management and diabetes. It's because, every Monday, I sit around a table with a group of intelligent and insightful new (and old) friends who offer me deadlines and smart suggestions for refining first drafts. Plus, their writing—all so good—inspires me.
Back in January, I recruited a bunch of friends who could rally each other to run. I promised Kate I'd do the VCM 2-person relay in May and knew I'd need a posse to push myself through the half-marathon training. I'm only up to 5 miles but, so far, it's working. And it's fun. Friends make you better. This—at least for me—I know is true.
When We Resist Reality
Yesterday morning, I wrote this "Haiku to a Winter That Just Won't Die"
Today, sweet bird bands
Chirp cheerful songs in mild skies
Tomorrow, I weep.
Yesterday, at lunchtime, I took a great class with Rachel at Yoga Roots. It wasn't entirely pleasant—there were moments where she asked us to hold the asanas a good bit longer than was comfortable—but it was wonderful for me in all sorts of ways and I knew it.
I looked at these tulips a lot today.
Yesterday, during class, Rachel wisdom something along the lines of this: When you resist your reality, you create suffering. Learn to live skillfully within your reality to eliminate unnecessary struggle.
Today, I needed that advice.
Yesterday, it was 30 degrees and, for most of the day, beautiful and sunny.
Today, school was cancelled because it'd soon be dumping snow. My reality was that I'd be hanging at home with the boys but getting at least a little work done would be necessary. I knew there would be squabbles. And screen time.
And there was. But it was fine. More than fine.
I'm not sure my approach to the snow day was particularly skillful but I shared some sweet time with the kids, got some stuff done—and, overall, managed to keep the suffering to a minimum.
Plus, this week's snowstorm should make for some good riding on Saturday and, truth is, this winter will die soon. It will be spring again.
A Many-Milestone Day on the Mountain
It was a little slick, a little snowy, a little scary and a lot of awesome. It was our 7th snowboarding lesson, and Laurie* and I ticked off some semi-major milestones on our learn-to-ride list:
1. We did a bunch of new-to-us green runs.
2. We made our way down a slightly more difficult green/blue run.
3. We rode with no hands (holding on to the bottom of our jackets) and did some fancy arm signals to work on our form. And, yes, we looked like tools. Which was fun. Silly offsets scary.
4.
We hit a box. (Go ahead and giggle. I'm ahead of you.) Also, a more accurate account of this milestone goes like this: Gaby lifted us up off of the box and held our hands while we dropped off and glided into a heel-side stop.
5. We fell hard - really hard. We did not cry. We got up again. And kept riding.
*So grateful to have such an awesome partner (and a kick-ass teacher) on this 8-week ride.
Living Lighter—We'll Start With the CSA
Two years ago, two of my favorite BTV people suggested that a bunch of us band together to support each other in an initiative (The Compact) that would help us all to reduce crazy consumption, cut clutter and waste and simplify our surroundings. It sounded really hard, but Jon and I were game. No, we could not commit to making our own laundry soap but, yes, we'd try really hard to not buy any new "things" for a year. With some exceptions. The effort was somewhat successful. (You can read about it here).
Fast forward almost exactly two years to a couple of weeks ago when I started feeling super overwhelmed by "stuff." There were 9 kinds of snack crackers in my cabinet. The shelves in our basement and guest room were (and still are) stacked full of packed brown boxes never opened after our move. Which occurred 10 months ago. My closet and drawers contain loads of clothes I don't necessarily like anymore, jackets that I don't wear because they have missing buttons and ripped pockets, underwear from 2001 and two pairs of jeans that will never again fit unless I stop eating carbs, start nursing an 8-month old baby or begin running a half marathon each day. And I plan on doing none of these things. Our kitchen is overrun with potatoes from our CSA because we can't keep up. Because we keep going to the store to get the ingredients for recipes that "sound good."
I wanted all of that extraneous stuff to go away. I craved The Compact. Or, at least, a Compact Lite. I* am planning to start again on March 1.
I'm still nailing down the details—including "am I in for a whole year? 3 months? 6?"—but, so far, here are some of the things on my list of to-do's for March:
Start meal planning with food we get in our CSA; supplement with grains and, a couple of times a week, fish (sustainably sourced) and/or meat (local or organic). Buy in bulk. Slow-cook beans instead of buying cans.
Clean out drawers and closets: donate, repair, swap. (Don't buy anything new—at least for myself—for defined period.)
Ditch crappy old cosmetics, toxic cleaning products, paints, etc. (disposing of them properly, of course). Use more natural cleaning products, making them whenever possible.
Stop buying convenience items like counter wipes, face cloths, etc.
Establish plans for a 2014 garden.
Switch from a credit card that encourages unnecessary spending on "things" to one that provides kickbacks that can be used toward experiences.
Tonight, we started planning what meals we'd make from tomorrow's CSA pickup, and Jon made carrot/parsnip soup and roasted beets from previous Pete's Greens bounties. Our shopping list for the week is quite small.
How do you simplify?
*Jon, who has far less trouble with accumulating "stuff" than I do, is supporting but not necessarily fully participating in this effort.
Snowboarding: Insights From a Scaredy Cat
This week's riding lesson rocked. I went in anxious - it was icy - but there were no tears, just some unnecessary verbal diarrhea about how scared I was. (Thank you, L and G, for indulging that process. I'm gonna try to keep it silent next week.) And then I felt fine.
This being the 5th class, I am more than halfway done, and though I probably would have said something different at 9:45 am this morning, I'm pretty bummed my Saturday days at Smuggs this season are numbered. Also, being on the "back 4" of this 8 week session, I feel now is a good time to capture some of the things I've learned thus far:
1. Third run's a charm. Run #1, I'm remembering which edge is my toe side (kidding, but only slightly) and stressing that I won't be able to stop. Run #2, I'm worrying that the people around me won't be able to stop and will crash into me. Run #3, things are clicking, my turns are connecting smoothly (mostly) and I'm actually enjoying myself.
2. You can, and should, breathe while riding. I just learned this today. Game changer.
3. Every pair of Burton gloves has a soft spot that superbly absorbs snot. Game saver.
Pretty sure I'm going to make a midweek night ride happen this week. Yeah!
My Husband's Squad
I didn't share a childhood with these people. But we've grown up together.
I married into the most fantastic group of tight-knit, solidly awesome grade-school friends. Who all married the most amazing of women. And then spawned a bunch of pretty special kids.
I wasn't there when these guys played video games in middle school or threw parties in their parents' basements after high-school football games - but I was around for Round 2, in the three-bedroom Queens apartment they rented post-college. The one where John and Dan shared a room with two twin beds. The one where I ended up after an evening at the Irish Cottage, one April night in 1999.
Without this crew's acceptance, no doubt, I wouldn't have lasted long. And when Olin left for Cali, these people kept me company: taking me to cooking classes and on bike rides through Flushing Meadows Park, packing my shit into a U-haul and then navigating it through Manhattan.
We've danced at each others' weddings and celebrated new starts at celebratory showers; knit gifts for fresh babies and and offered tips for dealing with obstinate kids and tricky situations.
Now, on the rarer times when we're together, we eat and drink (far too much) and pass the time with fun and games -kid-friendly themes by day, irreverent ones by night. We laugh. And we laugh and laugh, realizing all the while how lucky we are to have each other.
Our 15th February 14th
In the 15 years Olin and I have been together (10 of them married), we've created various Valentine traditions. We've gifted underwear (which is way less sexy than it sounds - fancy cold-weather first layers, like long johns, are favorite picks for this). For a number of years, we did 7 am breakfasts at Penny Cluse, saving the evening of 2/14 for our Platonic Pancake Lovefest. This was a pancake party for all of our friends - singles, couples, kids, whoever.
The most memorable of these happened 8 or so years ago, when 2 feet of snow trapped most of our guests at home. Not S and A. They snowmobiled over. Right down North Ave. And two single friends made it. Now they are married and expecting a baby. Like I said, Lovefest. Back then, when we were newlyweds. Or, at least, back then, when we were kid less and had more time for dates.
Today, our love looks more like this:
He is driving because the snowy, icy roads are dicey and that makes me super anxious.
He who remembered my mentioning months ago that I love the Vermont hats from Syrup Shop and bought my favorite one, even I never told him the colors.
He who has been listening to me, for at least a week, obsess about my lower back pain. What if it's a kidney infection and not a snowboarding-induced strain?
He'll give me one of his kidneys, he jokes. And then, noticing real worry on my face, he listens to me read, aloud, a list of symptoms from WebMD.
He who pushes me to get behind the wheel at other times when I'm scared, to head back to the mountain when it'd be easier to just stay home and make the chili. Because he knows I'll be pissed at myself if I don't.
And he cares.
He Wasted All of His Money
I scan the tables where kids are painting swirls of pink, white and red, looking for his dirty-blonde head and colorful plaid shirt (which he's actually not wearing). He's not there—nor is he on the floor playing cards. Then I see him, huddled, head-down, with four little buddies. They whisper as I approach, and he quietly gets up, tucking a big book under his arm. He walks over and pushes the tome toward me.
"Look what I got."
He pauses, looking proud and slightly tentative.
"It was 19 dollars."
It is Lego Minifigures: Character Encyclopedia. Which is, essentially, a glorified 203-page hardcover catalogue. Which, apparently, purchased on Amazon, costs $10.55.
"Wow,"
I say.
"So that's what you decided to get?"
After much discussion about the school book fair, Jon and I had somehow come to the decision that we would let him spend the $20 he had saved on whatever books he wanted. Initially, I'd preferred that one of us supervise his purchases at the fair on Thursday night—but we talked it through and decided that we'd go ahead and let him take his money and make the buy during his class "field trip" to the fair (a class activity that I think is crazy) today. The deal was this: First, Jules had to do some comparison shopping with me online last night. He agreed to this happily and we took the list of 8 books (6 of them came with toys) that he'd made when he'd visited the fair with his class the day before (!!!). We looked at them one by one—evaluating the pros and cons of each, and he actually crossed off 6 books, leaving only the two most expensive choices: both came with toys; one was the book he actually purchased.
"Yes!!!"
He is so excited he's shouting (louder than normal).
"I wasted all of my money on this one book!"
Not quite grasping the nuances of similar words is one of my favorite traits of five-year-olds. Clearly he meant that he "spent" all of his money on his choice, and I quickly explain the difference. Which he appreciates.
"Oh, yes, spent!"
He laughs heartily at his mistake as if we're old friends. He's in a spectacular mood. Even more so when he pulls out his backpack to show me the other prizes he "got" (read: bought)—erasers in various shapes—after finding another $1.25 in his wallet. Ironically, one is in the form of a miniature $50 bill.
Our evening centers solidly around his purchase: while I make black-bean quesadillas and cut strawberries, he assembles the toy soldier that came with the guide and lets Kai play with the koala and lion prizes (which might be erasers or might not, I realize upon closer inspection). After a shower, he flips through the pages, "reading" about the characters to Kai. He requests that we read this story—which is not at all a story—before bed. Kai's into it too. And so we do: covering ho-hum characters like Cheerleader girl and Skater boy but also discovering Tribal Hunter, an intriguing shy-guy who apparently has a talent for finding lost objects and an obsession with dancing when nobody's looking. As the "story" goes, he's got mad moves. This guy, I'd like to meet.
When it's time for bed, Jules carefully places his new bible on the shelf next to his scrolling animal nightlight and crawls under his covers, patting down a place for me. The moment I lay down my head next to his, he asks earnestly, in a whisper:
"Do you think my book was a good choice?"
I deflect the question:
"Do you?"
"Yes,"
he says confidently.
"Me too,"
I whisper back. And I'm not even totally lying.
I Am Not The Most Relaxed [Anything]
"I'm not going to cry today, Mama," Kai told me matter-of-factly en route to the mountain. "I'm just going to give you a GREAT. BIG. HUG."
Context: Last week, Kai cried—sobbed—when we dropped him off at his snowboarding lessons. And then he was fine.
Keeping his word, Kai did not cry. He hugged, great-big-style, just like he promised. And, then, from what I hear, Kai, age 3, proceeded to "kill it" on the hill. He rode down Sir Henry all by himself. With the five-year-olds. Julian, age 5, did not cry either. He gave me a hug and stoically waved me away. And then went on to connect S turns. First time. Fab day.
Tonight, gold-medal-guy Sage was called the "most relaxed competitor" in the Slopestyle. Today, I earned the title of "most high-strung rider" at Smugg's. #superlatives
Today, I cried - after dropping myself off at my snowboarding lesson.
Last week had gone fairly well but I'd caught some edges and bruised my tailbone. All week, anytime I moved the wrong way, tailbone tenderness reminded me of my hard falls—and the UVM student who fatally crashed skiing at a different mountain on the same day. I worked myself up, big time. Adding to this was the fact Jon was staying in town to guest-lecture in a friend's class, so the responsibility of driving the boys to the mountain was all mine. Which also made me anxious. I convinced myself I didn't know how to get there (!!!) and actually GPS-ed the route (which seems completely ridiculous as I write it now).
Again, the boys' drop-off was entirely uneventful. Regardless, my anxiety continued to rise. To the point at which, after I left the little guys, I shut myself in my minivan and blasted songs like A-Punk and Oxford Comma in an attempt to calm the fuck down. It worked a little. It was time to go to my lesson. So I went. And then my instructor announced that since we'd been "rockstars" last week, we were heading straight to the lift and she was going to "push us." I protested. Weakly. She reiterated that we were ready to be pushed.
And that's when I started shedding tears and listing all the reasons I was scared shitless to "shred" on this day. I don't remember exactly what she said but it turned out to be the right stuff. My riding partner helped me rally. My tantrum meltdown was done. I was ready. Ready enough.
So we headed straight to the lift. My first few turns were tentative. My legs were super shaky (fear-adrenaline shaky, not tired-muscle trembly) at the end of the first run. But by the end of the day, I was snaking down the mountain and connecting tighter turns. I learned how to hold an edge to steer out of the way of speedy skiiers and a certain burgundy-clad beginner who always seemed to be riding wrecklessly out of control. I even kept my balance and bantered back when Ben and Brian shouted to me from the lift. Basically, I kept up with my kids today. Physically if not emotionally.
It was a good day. A hard-won good day.
Next week: No tears. Just hugs.
3.75 is the Age of Absurdity
Absurdity entertains me. That's why my celeb crushes tend to run more toward Tom Green than Brad Pitt. It's why I've been an SNL fan for decades, fully embrace Portlandia and totally dig Flight of the Conchords. It's part of why I married Jon Olin and why I'm psyched to be living in the age of viral video. It's also why I love age 3.75.
The connections made by a 3.75-year-old brain are absurdly entertaining to me. Lately, Kai's been making some bold statements that keep me smiling—like these three random ones, just from the last two days:
"I can say poop. Because I'm in the bathroom." (Said tonight just before starting to brush his teeth. After announcing that he could say poop did not actually say poop again.)
"My daddy and I went on a kayak. And had a bagel." (Said to my parents via FaceTime today, 2/3/2014. The lake is frozen. This bagel was consumed on a kayak in July 2013).
"You know what I like about Legos? Making a dinosaur out of Play-Doh." (Said 2/1 while playing with Legos, which apparently need better branding.)
I suspect that some of stream-of-consciousness conversation makes complete sense in his not-quite-four-year-old brain. Maybe it something to do with a not-fully-formed frontal cortex. Or something like that.
I suspect that these super-cute idiosyncratic sayings will soon fade away (into another stage that will enthrall me in new ways—I know from my experiences with J). But I've been doing my best to keep capturing them—and I've been doing a decent job of it, thanks to a fab app called Notabli, which is designed to do just that ("Save the story of your kids."). Check it out.
Snowboarding for Scaredy Cats: Day 2
Big day for me and my riding partner L on the mountain today. Major level up: we moved off Sir Henry (the training hill) and rode the lift up Morse Mountain.
There, I realized a few things:
1. The lift was easier than I'd anticipated. Getting back down, upright, on the other hand, was harder than I thought it'd be. But, overall, I'm gonna call it a win.
2. You gotta go for it. Speed is scary but timid tentative moves are what lead to hard falls.
3. A little junk in the trunk is a good thing. Today my tailbone is grateful that my bottom runs more toward bodacious than bony.
4. A challenging Friday yoga class pre-Saturday riding might not be a smart move. My legs might have stayed solid longer had I skipped it.
5. I need to work on my F-bomb restraint. Smuggs, after all, is America's Family Resort.
A (half) day well lived. Off to find the boys!
What Will You Do for Some M&Ms?
"Maybe we can use these for training."
Huh? I'm unloading the dishwasher and have no idea what Jules is talking about. When I swing around to face him, I see that he's waving a plastic tube of mini M&Ms branded with a Valentine's Day theme. They arrived the other day—in a big brown box, along with chocolate mustaches, superhero shirts and various marginally healthy snacks, all from Aunt Kate. The most thoughtful aunt/sister/friend ever. (Seriously. It's sort of insane.)
"What do you mean, Jules?"
To me, training means preparing to run a 1/2 marathon or, after a long meeting yesterday, using an iPad to teach salespeople about a product. I don't think he means either of these things. Maybe he means potty training? Right or wrong, we used to reward BMs with M&Ms, I'll admit it. But there's no one here to train. Except perhaps the cat (is it Olive or Tina?) who periodically shits on the floor seemingly out of spite
"I mean you do an exercise and you get a candy. And then you get up to Level 10 and then Level 13. You can skip around."
My first thought: What a gamified world we live in. This kid is five. My second: Shit. Has he heard me say something mildly disordered about eating—like I don't get to have dessert, or wine, if I don't run? I try hard not to stay stuff like that. Did it slip?
Turns out, I did not. Or if I did, it doesn't seem to have made a big impression, because when I probe further about the origin of his idea, asking "did you play a game like this in gym class?" he tells me this:
"No, it's just my idea. I made it up after I saw the seals getting food for doing special tricks."
[Note: His kindergarten class is in the middle of a Sea Creatures unit.]
"So I thought we could do gymnastics and get these M&Ms. Use them for training. Is that a good idea?"
Sure, dude. I'm always up for a handstand contest. Game on.
What’s for Dinner? Rice Bowls
Over here, dinner is my deal. Generally speaking, it's my job to plan, chop, cook and serve everything my family eats. I know how this sounds but it's not about gender roles really. It's about me having gone to school to study food and eating, and then taking a job that pays me to think about food and eating. It's about me enjoying the process of planning meals (as well as cooking them) and about Jon hating this chore—the planning part—with all his being.
Yet there are some weeks when I don't participate in this enjoyable process of planning meals. When this happens, behold The Rice Bowl. Simple, customizable and lightening-fast, this fail-safe dinner solution will please the pickiest of eaters. It will easily accommodate your favorite vegans and gluten-free friends. Think: taco bar with much, much more flexibility. The recipe is essentially rice (or "rice" - quinoa, farro, bulgur also work great) topped with whatever you can find in the fridge, the freezer or your pantry.
But I always appreciate a "recipe" so I'll share tonight's rice bowl spread and I'll give it a fancy name and a proper hednote. Enjoy!
Low-Hanging Fruit Rice (or "Rice") Bowls
This completely customizable one-dish dinner is inspired by the absence of a dinner plan. Every ingredient is 100% interchangable with whatever you have on hand.
Ingredients:
Black rice
Canned white beans (cannellini), rinsed
Napa cabbage (CSA share from a few weeks back), shredded
Avocado, cubed
Red onion (CSA share from at least a month ago), diced
Cheddar cheese, shredded (by Julian)
Pepitas, toasted (taking 3 minutes to do this makes a huge difference)
Frozen veggies (the gross-looking weird ones with unnaturally square carrots - my boys love them), nuked.
Directions:
Cook rice, according to package instructions. Put everything else—rinsed, shredded, diced and nuked—into small bowls and let anyone eating pile on what they want.
Tip: If you have a five-year-old, or a greedy eater of any age, remind him (her) that it's not polite to serve himself (or herself) ALL of the avocado.
I am Awesome at Picking People.
As someone who works in the field of behavior modification, I know that social support is a major "predictor of success."
A little help from your friends
...
It takes a village.
.. Cliche-say it however you'd like but I think most people would agree that life feels infinitely easier, and more fun, when you have "a strong social network." And by that I mean things like...
...Your partner doesn't lose his shit (or seem at all surprised, really) when he arrives home 1.5 hours after you do and, despite the fact that the kids have been watching videos since you walked through the door, the van is not packed for your trip. Nothing, really, is packed except the non-perishable food and your glasses and the snowboarding gear, which he stashed in the car the night before. It's not because you are lazy. It's because you're ping-ponging from room to room, over-thinking every item (and periodically pausing to thumb through a pile of pictures). It's because you suck at packing.
This guy.
Also, this guy (and several other awesome peeps) ate that (see below) pasta.
... Your totally selfless friend gives you the jacket off her back to wear so you can sneak in an extra snowboarding lesson after you discover that you left your snowboarding jacket at home for a long weekend of, um, snowboarding.
And then another kind friend lends you her ski coat to wear the next day for your regular lesson. And then a third rockstar friend texts you with a choice of Burton jackets for Sunday—she'll cart whichever one you want up to the mountain for you, along with her own ski stuff, her two small children and their ski stuff.
...Your friend turns up after a few hours out with "twice-price" spice packets from the country store, without your even asking, because you forgot all of the spices for the chili you're making on Friday night. This in spite of the fact that, a day earlier, you subjected all of your friends to a painfully granular list of all the food you'll be bringing so everyone will "know what we will are supposed to have." (PS: You also forgot the bagels.)
A strong social support network is also the one that, when the friend who lent you the first-day jacket discovers three small shards of the Ball jar from which she is spooning her homegrown pesto have broken into the beautiful pasta dish she prepared while tending to an infant, rallies to find the bits of glass and puzzle them together. And when just one tiny piece is left missing, someone runs next door to get hotdogs for the kids, while someone else scrapes off the top layer of pasta and a small group huddles at the table to run through a quick risk analysis, arriving at the measured consensus to play "Noodle Roulette." There are only two rules: 1) savor each bite mindfully and 2) keep the conversation dull enough to delay laughter until the danger of ingesting glass has passed.
Recounting a fantastic weekend, I take this away: I may suck at packing (and driving and controlling my anxiety-induced outbursts and many other things). I may not be good at snowboarding, or even know how to ride a lift—yet.* But I am extraordinarily skilled at surrounding myself with amazingly awesome people. And I kinda think that makes me a winner.
*I can, however, now connect turns and ride the Magic Carpet with the best of the 3-year-olds.