Obligatory "New Year, New Me" Post

When you're a blogger, even an occasional one like myself, it's like an unwritten rule that you have to post a New Year's blog.  So, here's mine.

The last part of 2013 was eye-opening for me.  In October, I realized that I weighed more than I ever had in my my life, including when I was nine months' pregnant with my daughter.  My skin felt uncomfortable.  I wasn't sleeping well at all.  I had no energy to play with my preschooler.  I felt very much like a human tank, lumbering through life and crushing anything calorie-laden in my tired jaws.

I also take medication for hypertension (high blood pressure), aspirin for blood clots, and Celexa for anxiety and depression.  I'm basically a disaster with boobs.

Knowing myself and my inability to control myself around food, I decided to look into bariatric surgery.  My OB/GYN referred me to a surgeon she trusted.  I had a consultation and he determined that I was an excellent candidate for a gastric sleeve procedure.  I felt relieved!  Having a physical limitation that would keep me from overeating was just what I needed.  Then, I found out that my insurance would not, not ever, not for any reason, cover bariatric surgery.

I cried.

Then, I put on my (very) big girl panties and had an honest, unflinching conversation with myself.

"Look here, Self.  YOU put yourself in this position.  YOU are the only one who can change it.  It is YOUR responsibility to make yourself healthy and whole.  YOU must take charge.  Blow your nose and get to it."

Myself is pretty hard-core when she wants to be.

The bariatric surgeon referred me to his nutritionist, gratis (probably because I had already paid him a co-pay), so I sat with her for two hours one afternoon.  She went over my medical history, my vitals, my family's medical history (also a disaster), and my goals.  She helped me understand that having an emotional relationship with food is as bad for me as being in an abusive romantic relationship ("Would you stand by and let your best friend be abused by someone she loved?  No.  So don't let yourself be abused, either.").  She laid out a few different meal plans for me, referred me to several websites and books, and told me I should be proud of myself for taking this first step to better health.

I started the very next day: I began a Paleo-influenced diet, with limited grains and dairy, no wheat or white flour, low fat, and minimal sugar.  Very limited alcohol (boooooo).  I have to count calories until I'm familiar with portion sizes by sight.  The nutritionist asked me to do 30 minutes of cardio 4 times a week and to do some form of strength training every day.  Within a week, I'd lost two pounds, my stomach bloat had greatly diminished, and I felt better overall.

And I've stuck with it, for the most part.  I confess that I have enjoyed the treats of the holiday season and haven't exercised much and, as a result, my stomach has bloated back up and I gained back 5 pounds of the 13 I'd lost prior to the holidays.  Instead of berating myself though, I'm taking it as a lesson on what my limits need to be.  I've been experimenting with recipes that are low in calories, dense in nutrition, and above all else, tasty!  I'll share them here in the coming weeks and months.

Here's what my typical shopping list looks like now:

For comparison, here's me in late September:

And here's me on Christmas Eve:

Sure, I'm wearing more make-up and my crazy hair is slightly less crazy, but my eyes are brighter, my face isn't as puffy, my skin is clearer, and the bags under my eyes aren't as heavy and dark, because I've been sleeping so much better.

My sister-in-law recently started a "Fit For '15" challenge on Instagram (follow her here) and I'm using her extensive knowledge to get my booty in shape.

A few other inspiring Instagram accounts:

Confessions of a Clean Foodie

Nom Nom Paleo (also, their cookbook by the same name is fantastic)

FlavorGod Meals (his spice blends are game-changing, by the way)

So there ya go.  I've fulfilled my blogger's responsibility.  Here's the thing: if I can, you can.  Let's do it.

Groovy Recipe: Superhero Smoothie Boost

I am not SuperMom.  

I am TiredOverworkedStressedOutPartiallyBrainDeadMom.

My daughter is SuperheroOnOverdrive Kid, aka The Naked Tornado.  It's nearly impossible to keep up with her.

I need help.

Since a month-long, expenses-paid vacation in Tahiti isn't going to happen, and the Super Nanny isn't knocking at my door, and coffee just isn't cutting it, I decided that I needed to find a super-awesome, super-nutritious boost for my daily smoothie (the kid's, too).  While discussing this with my SuperMom sister-in-law one day, she mentioned that she had been thinking of making her own protein powder, but wasn't sure what to put in it, how much to measure, if it would be cost-efficient, etc.  "Well, you'd probably want to use, like maca, and probably chia, and some flax seed.  Maybe some kind of supergreens concentrate or something?" came rambling out of me.  And then, because I have oodles and oodles of  free time, I offered to experiment on it for us.

It only took two adjustments to come up with this, and I'm pretty happy with it.  It's 100% vegan and NO SOY.  I definitely feel the effects of the ingredients: physical energy, mental focus, and, um... healthy bowel movements.

Look, that last bit is really important, even if it's not lady-like to discuss.

Superhero Smoothie Boost

(can also be added to fresh juice)

*Makes about 1 cup

Ingredients

1/4 cup raw chia seed

1/2 cup raw maca powder

2 tbsp raw flax seed

2 tbsp concentrated greens powder (I used MacroLife MacroGreens)

I used a spice/coffee grinder to very finely grind the chia seed and flax seed.  Combine all ingredients together in a glass jar with a tight-fitting lid.  Shake all your frustrations out on that jar.

Simply add a tablespoon to your smoothie while blending, or to fresh juice (just make sure to really stir it in well).  For children under 12, add only 1/2 teaspoon.  If you are pregnant, breastfeeding, or have medical concerns - please speak to your care provider first!

Nutritional Info

per tablespoon; approximate

Calories: 41

Fiber: 3.5 g

Fat: 1.5 g

Protein: 2.5 g

Iron: 18% DV

Plus, a ton of potassium, magnesium, vitamin C, B vitamins, vitamin A, and minerals.

I make our smoothies with a handful of frozen spinach or kale, two handfuls of frozen fruit, coconut water, and local raw honey.  You can't taste the boost at all, but you definitely feel the effects.

Go on, SuperMom!

And Then We Became Me

When I first began seeing my therapist, shortly before Babydoll's Daddy passed away, I was struggling with the idea of no longer being half of a couple.  His passing was imminent and we had been us for so long, I didn't know how not to be us.

I was sitting on her couch, legs tucked under me and tissue clutched in hand, when I asked her: "When will we become just me?"  She looked at me, with a slightly sad smile and said simply: "It's going to take awhile.  But you'll get there."

Nearly a year later, I have gotten to the point where I am mostly thinking in terms of "me" and "I" instead of "us" and "we."  It's been hard.  It's been shitty.

It really fucking sucked, to be blunt.

When I started this blog, after the birth of our daughter, I would have never guessed the direction it would take.  The point of my writing, then, was to track our progress as a family in becoming healthier, happier, and tighter.  It was more for me, than anyone else.  A place to store recipes I came up with; the transitions we made in what we ate; the struggles we faced as new parents and then as parents of a toddler; my personal struggles with being an impatient person, a working mother, a Judgy McJudgerson, basically an unhappy lady.

Lord, if I'd only known then the extent of unhappiness I could feel, I'd have kept my damn mouth shut and just stuck to ranting about GMOs and toddler terrorism.

The thing is, I've learned a lot and done a lot in a year's time.  I've had a few breakdowns and more than a few rebounds.  What cancer did to our family, and what I allowed BD's mother to do to our family, as bad as that all was, I'm a better person for it.  That's the point, right?  God wouldn't have thrust so much upon me if I didn't have a few things to learn.  It was an opportunity to grow.  I have made peace with that.

I still miss him.  Every day, I miss him.  I still love him.  I've come to terms with who he was and who we were as a couple, and I've sorted through the guilt and grief associated with that.  That was a real bitch of a process, let me tell you.

What you don't know, until you lose someone you really love, is the extent to which you can miss them.  It's unfathomable.  It's consistent.  It sometimes takes over your whole being.  It becomes an extra body part, in that you always carry it with you, no matter where you go or what you do.  You forget what it was like to NOT miss them.

So, anyway.  Just some things that have been floating around in my brain lately.  Thanks for hanging out with me.  Have a great day!

Missing

I miss you, sweetheart.  I miss you everyday.  Our daughter asks for you, asks about you, everyday .  She tells me, clearly, that you are happy in heaven.  She tells me, "My Daddy is happy."  It's hard for me to believe that, to understand it.  How can you be happy, when you aren't with us?  When my heart splinters every morning that I wake and you aren't here?  Perhaps the freedom from pain, and suffering, makes you happy.  I want that, for you.  I want that, for me too.  But I miss you so much.  It's almost Christmas, here.  I put up our tree.  I hung your ornaments, and your stocking.  What do I fill it with?  It seemed wrong to leave it in a box...but I don't know what I should tuck inside it.  Our dear, darling daughter is excited for Christmas this year.  She's told Santa that she wants a big girl princess bike and a puppy.  The bike, I can do.  The puppy?  Yeah, I'm not sure I can keep another living creature alive.

I really miss you.  I miss your mocking of my collection of Barbie ornaments.  Guess what?  Our sweet daughter has requested a pink, sparkly, dolly tree.  I guess my Barbie ornaments will come in handy this year.

I really miss you.  I miss Bailey's and coffee and pancakes with real maple syrup and your insistence upon pork sausage, not chicken sausage.  I miss our dreams of teaching our sweet daughter to ride a bike on Christmas morning.  I miss our late-night toy-building sessions on Christmas Eve.  We only got one of those and it's not fair.  I miss sipping a glass on wine while you struggled to make heads of a trike building instructions.  I miss the Christmas Eve toasts we gave each other, before slipping into our warm bed

I miss all of you.  I miss you so much, that I can't stand it.  But I know I must.  Our daughter was the most important person in the world to you, and I promised you, at the end, that I would do everything I possibly could to make her happy.

So, my sweetheart, I will do as you would have.  I will make this time of year magical, and enchanting, and special, and everything we promised each other, for her.

I love you.  I miss you.  I hope you are happy and at peace.  That is all we ever wanted and it's all I want for you.

Just Wait

"Just wait."

People start spewing those two hideous little words as soon as you announce your pregnancy.

"You think you pee a lot now?  Just wait until after you give birth, you won't be able to sneeze without wetting your pants."

If someone says this to you, give them a detailed description of Kegel exercises.  Perhaps ask if they'd like a demonstration.  By the way, this little gem isn't true for every woman. 

"Oh, you think your back hurts now?  Just wait until you're in labor."

No pregnant woman on Earth expects her labor to be a breeze.  Don't be Captain Obvious, idiot.

"You should sleep as much as you can right now.  Just wait until the baby is born.  You'll never sleep again."

Obviously, you've never been nine months' pregnant.  It is impossible to get a decent night's sleep, between the constant trips to the bathroom, the inability to get comfortable, the aching back and hips and breasts.

"You guys should have all the sex you can right now.  Just wait, after the baby is born, you'll never have sex again."

A: gross.  Your sex life is no one's business.

B: again, you've obviously never been nine months' pregnant.

C: yes, you will have sex again.  Probably even frequently.  You're not sleeping anyway, right?

"So you're thinking of natural childbirth?  Just wait until you're in labor.  You'll trade your husband for an epidural."

This one drives me up the damn wall.  Women planning on natural childbirth should be encouraged, supported, heralded even.  I believe in you, mama.  You can do it.

"You think you're hormonal now?  Just wait until you have the baby and postpartum depression sets in."

This one drives me nuts, too.  First of all, every woman experiences major hormonal shifts during pregnancy.  That emotional roller coaster can make you feel crazy, happy, sad, listless, energetic, sexy, extremely un-sexy, and excited.  After giving birth, many women experience Baby Blues.  It's temporary, it's normal, and it's okay.  Baby Blues is NOT the same as Postpartum Depression and anyone who gives you the idea that they are has, again, never been pregnant and given birth.  Postpartum Depression is a serious condition and your care provider (OB/GYN, midwife, and/or doula) can help determine if you have it. 

"You think your toddler is driving you crazy?  Just wait until the new baby comes.  You'll lose your mind."

Hey jerk, instead of saying that, why not try this: "After the baby is born, I'd like to come over and give you a hand with Toddler.  I'll bring dinner, too."

Honestly, I don't know why our family, friends, co-workers, and strangers think any of the above comments are helpful.  They aren't funny, either.  And really, WHY would you mess with a pregnant woman?

20 Truths About 2-Year-Olds

Nothing strikes fear into the hearts of parents everywhere more than the words: "two-year-old."  The Legend of the Terrible Two's is not a myth, friends.  It is for real, and it is frightening.

The first year of parenting is essentially about survival - for both you and the baby.  If you can keep the baby alive until her first birthday, you have conquered the world.  You can relax...for a minute.

Then, your baby turns 15 months, or 18 months, or 23 months, and suddenly, it's a whole new game and guess what - there is no instruction manual.  Here are the twenty truths I learned during my daughter's second year of life.

1.  There will be a fight every day.  

Sometimes, it will last from morning until the middle of the night.  Sometimes, it will come on like a blitz attack and be over just as quickly.  But no doubt about it, you and the two-year-old will fight about something EVERY SINGLE DAY.  Also:

2.  You have no hope of winning the fight.

There is no rhyme or reason to the two-year-old's mindset.  Don't try to understand.  Just wait out the storm, then take a few minutes to cuddle your child and remind yourself why you had him in the first place.

3.  A two-year-old mind moves like lightning.

They are brilliant, these small people.  A two-year-old will pick up on language (so watch your mouth), behavior (so watch your finger), and any number of things with a quickness you wouldn't believe.  Tied to this truth, is:

4.  A two-year-old grows bored immediately.

Because their minds are working overtime, the two-year-old needs almost-constant stimulation.  My daughter will insist upon coloring, then promptly discard her crayons in favor of her VReader, only to discover that her play kitchen needs immediate attention.  Try not to get dizzy.

5.  She will watch the same movie five times in a row.

Every day.  Get used to it.  We've seen/listened to "The Lorax" approximately 18,000 times.  She loves it.  I sing "How ba-a-a-d can I be?" to myself subconsciously.  No big deal.

6.  They will save their very worst behavior for the public's viewing.

The two-year-old will be having a fantastic day, behavior-wise, so you'll think that it's a good time to run into Target.  This is two-year-old trickery at its finest.  Mid-store, the child will suddenly flail about in the cart, throwing his popcorn, screaming at the top of his lungs, and possibly hitting you.  He will do this until you are a sufficient shade of red and at least ten people have noticed his behavior before he will chill the F out again.

7.  You can't predict the two-year-old's mood.

They are as moody as, if not moodier than, teenagers.  See # 6.

8.  The two-year-old attitude knows no bounds.

Your sweet child will "humph" at you, kick up the sass in an instant, and stare you down with her hands on hips.  Try not to lose your shit, and remember: you aren't going to win.

9.  She will become a kid overnight.

You will put your baby to bed one night, and the following morning, you will realize that she is most definitely not a baby anymore.  Also:

10.  She will tell you daily, hourly even, that she is "a big girl."

This is usually in response to your trying to assist her with anything: going potty, getting dressed, fixing dinner.

11.  Embrace that she is "a big girl."

Use it against her when she acts like a baby.  When she screams and cries because WHATEVER has happened, you can calmly remind her: "I thought you were a big girl?  Big girls don't behave this way, do they?"  But:

12.  Don't expect reverse psychology to work.

Like I said before, they are brilliant.  Whatever scheme you can come up with is no match for the two-year-old's brain.  She will call your bluff and you'll be left standing there, like "Oh God, now what?"

13.  Every day is Independence Day.

We all hope that our children will grow to become independent adults, capable of handling whatever life sends their way.  Well, my friends, the independence starts early.  It is great and horrible at the same time.  She will insist that you do not help her with her shoes, only to scream at you a moment later that she can't put on her shoes.  Your child will insist upon dressing himself.  Let him.  He'll choose pajama bottoms, a Sesame Street t-shirt, flip flops, and his superhero cape.  No one really cares what the kid is wearing.  Anyone who DOES care, well, whatever.  It's not worth the fight.

14.  The two-year-old will take on her own responsibilities.

She wants to put away her laundry?  Let her.  She wants to load the dishwasher?  Let her.  She wants to feed the dogs?  Let her.  She won't do it perfectly, of course, but it is far more important to her pride and to her development that you let her do it herself.

15.  The two-year-old needs to hear how awesome he is.

ALL THE TIME.  Major self-esteem development is happening right now.  Your child is more likely to take pride in himself and in his actions if he hears you tell him how well he's doing.  My daughter loves being told "You are such a good helper!  You are so smart!  You are amazing!"  She lights up like fireworks when I express how proud of her I am.

16.  Hunger strikes will happen.

Try not to freak out if the child insists that he only wants four grapes and a cube of cheese.  All day.  More than likely, he'll plow through your fridge the following day.

17.  Naps may not happen.

Your child, who previously took a two-hour nap every single day without fail, may suddenly decide she doesn't need a nap today.  It will occur on the day when you have the most to accomplish in that two-hour window.  Don't fight it.  See # 2.

18.  The two-year-old is hilarious.

My daughter is beyond silly, when she's not pitching a fit.  Her sense of humor is off-beat and cracks me up.

19.  The two-year-old will make you feel like the best and worst parent ever in the history of time.

You are The Meanest Mommy In The World (actually you aren't, because I AM).  You feel like this small person is going to send you straight to the madhouse (actually, you already live in the madhouse).  You will question every single decision you make, every word you say, every action you take.  Don't sweat it.  Really, don't.  At the end of the day, your little person loves you to death, thinks you are amazing, and is in awe of you.  There is nothing better in the world than having little arms wrapped around your neck while a little voice says "Mommy, I love you."

20.  My two-year-old is not like your two-year-old.

Just as with infants, you really can't compare one child with another.  You can, however, commiserate with other parents.  More than likely, they are all too familiar with the tantrums, the fits, the weird outfits, the hunger strikes.  Don't be afraid to vent to other moms and dads just how f'ing frustrated you are with the two-year-old's attitude.  You'll feel much better and, trust me, you are not alone.

Seven Months Down, A Lifetime To Go

I'm feeling a lot lately...the gamut of emotions is running a marathon through me.  I'm overjoyed and deliriously happy about my Babydoll's growth this year.  She is speaking so well and making connections.  She's very affectionate, and independent, and sassy, and funny.  SO funny.  Her memory is amazing.  Physically, she is just beautiful (sure, I'm biased, but really she is).  She's even beginning to read.  I couldn't be prouder of her.

Then, I'm overtaken by sadness.  Her Daddy is missing all of this.  He hasn't seen the last of her babyness fade away to her becoming a full-blown kid.  He hasn't heard her be bossy with the dogs (and everyone else).  He hasn't witnessed the unbelievable growth spurts.  He doesn't know that she has watched "The Lorax" 86,000 times.  He hasn't sat beside her and listened as she read one of her books all by herself.  

"He sees everything from Heaven."  Well, that sure is a nice sentiment, but IT IS NOT THE SAME.  This morning, another child told my daughter that she doesn't have a dad.  My heart split into a million pieces.  My spunky little girl shook her head and said "My Daddy is in Heaven!"  Pride overflowed from me, but the sadness has been pricking my eyes for hours now.

He's been gone for seven months.  It is not getting easier.  There have been periods where I thought it was, but nope.  It actually seems harder now than ever before.  In the grand scheme of things, seven months isn't that long, I suppose.  But F-WORD, I need to know that it's not going to hurt forever.  Some days are a lot harder than others...today is one of those days.

Groovy Recipe: Lentil Kale Soup with Sweet Potato and Andouille

My dear friend and business partner recently gave birth to her fourth child, and I wanted to make a tasty, nourishing soup for her.  Lentil soup always makes me feel comforted and warm, and I always have dried lentils on hand, so I threw open the fridge to see what else I could throw in the pot.  Behold, a spicy, filling, extra-yummy soup that is so full of goodness, even the most exhausted Supermom will gain back some of her super powers after grubbing a bowl.

The wine was for me.

Lentil Kale Soup with Sweet Potato and Andouille

*serves 6(ish)

Ingredients

6 cups vegetable broth

1 cup dried lentils (I use green)

4 links cooked chicken andouille sausage, quartered and sliced

2 sweet potatoes, peeled and diced

2 cups kale, torn into small pieces

1 large onion, diced

1 cup carrots, diced

6 cloves garlic, minced

2 tbsp coconut oil

2 tsp turmeric

2 tsp smoked paprika

1 tsp nutmeg

Salt and pepper, to taste

Method

Heat the coconut oil in your stockpot over medium-high heat and add the onion.  Cook onion until translucent and it begins to just caramelize (about 10 minutes).  Pour in the broth and bring to a simmer.  Lower the heat to medium.  Add the lentils, sweet potatoes, and carrots.  Stir in the paprika, nutmeg, and turmeric.  Let simmer for 20 minutes, then stir in the sausage and garlic.  Let simmer another 10 minutes, or until the lentils and vegetables are tender.  Drop the heat to low and stir in the kale.  Simmer for 5-10 minutes, then remove from heat.  Season with salt and pepper.  Grub.

You can spice up this soup to whatever heat you like.  I didn't want it to be too spicy for the postpartum mama, because she's breastfeeding.  And if you've been a postpartum mama, you know that spicy food is not always kind to your lower half.

The soup came out great.  So great in fact, that my friend got exactly one bowl out of the batch and her husband Bogarted the rest.

Groovy Recipe: Cream of Asparagus Soup

Truth be told, June in the desert is not what one would call "soup weather."  But, I discovered a bunch of asparagus in the crisper drawer that was in desperate need of being cooked.  Immediately.  It had started to wilt slightly, so salad was out.  I looked on Pinterest and other websites for a good cream of asparagus soup recipe.  I looked at about 10, none of which struck my fancy.  So here's what I came up with (I served it with a slice of zucchini quiche):

Cream of Asparagus Soup

* 4-6 servings

Ingredients

1 lb fresh asparagus

1 medium onion, diced

4 large cloves garlic, roughly chopped

3 tbsp butter

3 tbsp olive oil

4 cups vegetable stock

1 cup dry white wine

1 cup cream

Salt

Pepper

Method

Trim the rough ends off the asparagus, then cut the remaining stalks into 2-inch pieces.

In a large sauce pan, melt the butter and olive oil over high heat.  Add the onion and garlic, season with plenty of salt and pepper, then saute over high heat for 15 minutes, or until it begins to caramelize.  Reduce the heat to medium and cook for another 10 minutes.  Pour in the wine to deglaze the pan, using a spoon to scrape up any browned bits.  Simmer the wine for a few minutes, then stir in the stock.  Bring to a simmer and add asparagus.  Simmer until the asparagus is tender, about 10 minutes.  Pour in the cream and bring back to a simmer.  Turn off the heat and use an immersion blender to puree the soup (if you don't have an immersion blender, you can use a regular blender - make sure to vent the lid.  Return the soup back to the pan after it's pureed).  Bring back to a simmer until the soup is heated through.  Season with salt and pepper, if needed.  Grub.

The toddler ate it!

Groovy Recipe: Strawberry-Banana Muffins

These are full-on hippie muffins: two fruits, full of fiber and protein, and CHIA!  Despite all that, they're delicious.  I promise.

So pretty, so delicious

Strawberry-Banana Muffins

* 18 regular-sized muffins

Ingredients

3 large, very ripe bananas, mashed

1 1/2 cups diced fresh strawberries

1 cup sugar

1/2 cup plus 1 tbsp coconut oil

2 eggs, slightly beaten

2/3 cup almond or coconut milk

1 tbsp apple cider vinegar

1 tbsp vanilla

1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour

1 cup unbleached flour

1 tbsp chia seed

2 tbsp uncooked quinoa

2 tbsp ground flax seed

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp salt

Method

Pre-heat oven to 350.  Spray a muffin tin with coconut oil or olive oil.

Stir the chia and quinoa into the mashed banana and let sit for 10 minutes.  Sift together the remaining dry ingredients in a bowl.  Beat together sugar and coconut oil; stir in the eggs until well blended.  Add in the almond milk, vinegar, and vanilla, then stir in the strawberries.  Mix in the bananas until well combined.  Stir in the flour mixture just until moistened.

Spoon equal amounts of the batter into the muffin tin(s).  Bake at 350 for 25-30 minutes (begin checking them after 20 minutes).  Cool in pan for five minutes, then remove the muffins.  Grub right away (no butter needed) or store in an airtight container up to three days.  

Tip: after you've sprayed your muffin tin (or loaf pan, casserole dish, cookie sheet, etc.) use a paper towel to wipe off the excess spray, before baking.  It keeps your pans from getting that gross, sticky, gunky residue that never, ever comes off (no matter what Jillee claims).

It Takes A Village, Seriously.

During my mommy group's monthly gathering yesterday, several of us commented on that old adage "It takes a whole village to raise a child."  That is the God's honest truth.  There is no way to (sanely) raise a child solely on your own.

Your village is not necessarily where you live.  It's your community, your family, your friends, everyone who helps you with the upbringing of your child(ren).  I've become that woman in the store who approaches the parent with the uncontrollable, screaming child, asking if I can help.  Sometimes, I get the look that says "Get the hell away, crazy lady."  But often, I get the look that says "Oh yes, thank God!"  We've all been there.  There are days where your child simply will not listen to reason and especially not to you.  But when Grandma, or Auntie, or Crazy Lady steps in, the kid simmers right down.  That's your village.

As a newly single mother, I'm still figuring out this solo babyraising business.  I hardly had time to figure it out as a co-parent, before I was thrust into doing it all on my own.  It is every bit as hard as other single parents claim.  Harder, actually.  In the last two months, I've had more bad days than good.  The good days are very good, but the bad days are soul-crushing.  I'm only being the slightest bit dramatic.  I often drop my head in both my hands and cry.  Fortunately, my parents have been extremely involved with taking care of both of us.  My sister-in-law has become a second mother to my Babydoll, and both of my brothers happily (and easily) fill the father-figure role.  My friends... oh, man.  I'd be lost without them.

Everyone needs a village, and not just for raising children.  Life is hard.  At times, it's so hard that it's ridiculous.  You need people on whom you can rely to pick you up when life has knocked you down.  Someone to call at 2 am who will answer their phone.  Someone to bring you a bottle of wine or a box of cupcakes.  And you definitely need someone who doesn't make you feel like a whiny crybaby when you unload all of your problems on them.  I have lots of those someones.  I'm a lucky girl.

The Widow's Lament

I'm gonna bitch for a minute, about some random shit that's been on my mind ("it's my blog and I can do what I want," if you will).  

People say truly comforting, supportive things when you've lost a loved one.  They come out of the woodwork to let you know that you are not alone in your grief, that they are thinking of you and praying for you.  Sympathy cards arrive in the mail, with powerful messages of love.  In your time of need, friends and family come to your aid, sit by your side, and just hold your hand or squeeze your shoulder.  They step in and take care of your child, without being asked, so you can fall apart for a minute or two.

Then, there are those people who say really shitty, insensitive things.  Like what, you ask?

"What did his body look like after he passed?"

I don't know.  You're seriously disturbed.

"Do you think he knew what was happening when he was dying?"

I hope not.  I'd imagine that would really suck.

"Oh, you weren't with him when he died?  That must be hard for you to live with."

Yeah, it pretty much consumes my thoughts every day.  Thanks.

"How much life insurance money will you get?"

None.  Why?  Did he owe you money?

"I don't know if cancer is what really killed him."

I'm pretty sure it was, since he had it all over his body and brain, and cancer's main goal is to kill you.

"He's in a much better place now."

How do you know?  Have you been?

"He'll always be watching over you."

I hope he's not while I'm pooping.

(I know a lot of people think that last one is comforting, but to me, it's creepy.  I don't want to be watched 24/7.  I hope Heaven is not just a big viewing room for "Big Brother: Earth Edition.")

And finally, there are those people who don't know what to say, so they just ignore you.  They won't look you in the face, they'll pass by you in the halls without acknowledgement, they'll whisper about you to another person then stop abruptly when you walk into the room.  That's the worst.  Does losing my partner mean that I'm branded with a scarlet W for the rest of my life?  I don't look good in red.

When someone you know is losing, or has lost, a loved one, the simplest thing to say is generally the best: "I'm sorry and I'm here for you."  That's it.  Trust me, that's all anyone needs to hear.  If you don't hear back from them for a few days, or even a couple weeks, it's okay.  When your husband, or anyone else you love, dies, it's pretty easy to lose track of time.  There are days when the only thing you can focus on is getting out of bed and feeding yourself, and remembering to respond to an email, or phone call, or Facebook message, or text, just isn't priority # 1.  But eventually, you'll catch up.

And you don't have to mope around as a grieving widow, forever in black (with that big scarlet W).  It's perfectly acceptable, wonderful even, to move forward with your life in whatever time frame suits you.  Missing someone doesn't mean you shut down.  Missing them means that you keep living, while a little bit of you, a tiny piece really, will always be looking for their face in a crowd or subconsciously expecting a phone call from them.

The thing about life is, no one gets out alive.  So live it.  And enjoy it while you got it.

Thou Shalt Not Wallow

Shit happens.  To everybody, at one point or another.  No one is immune.  Once we all accept that, it makes it a hell of a lot easier to deal with the shit.

I'm not a wallower.  Never have been.  I've had my moments, certainly, of brief wallowing, but I never linger in it.  I asked my mom (aka The Rock) if maybe I am just a little less sensitive than other people, a little more cold in the heart, or hard around the edges.  "No," she replied.  "We are just resilient people.  We're strong.  We bounce back pretty fast."

I sat back and thought on that awhile.  I think she's right.  Everyone in my family, we've all had our share of ups and downs, collectively and individually.  But none of us are broken.  None of us have become so damaged that we cannot move forward with our lives.  Many of my friends have been knocked down by life, too.  Everyone gets back up, brushes off the shit, and moves forward.  I'm surrounded by a very muscly bunch of folks.

My friend K, another rock in my life, sent me a quote and I can't recall the phrase exactly.  It was something along the lines of "everyone grieves in their own time frame" or "you can't grieve on anyone else's schedule."  How true is that?  Some people cling to their grief the rest of their lives.  Others give themselves a schedule ("I will get over it in exactly six months...one year...ten years.").  Some of us, me included, hold onto bits of it because it has become attached to the love we feel for those we are without.

None of that is wrong.  I can't judge anyone's grief, nor will I answer to anyone's judgement about mine.  We all, in our own time, move forward.  Not "on," just "forward."  I've found that my Babydoll propels me quite a bit.  Her young age means that she doesn't have full comprehension of what has happened to us.  She knows when Mama is sad, and my tears bring on her own.  In fact, she cries any time someone else does.  She's a very sensitive and attuned person.  My life's purpose is to make her happy, so wallowing in my grief simply will not do.  When I smile and laugh, she does, too.

And there it is.

Finding Our Way, Or How To Have Faith When Life Hurls Shit In Your Face

I haven't written in awhile.  A dear friend told me yesterday that she misses my blog.  My response to her was that I haven't been inspired, but that's not entirely true.  I generally try to share information that is relevant to my style of parenting and my lifestyle, and I always try to keep it upbeat.  My inspiration, of late, has been dark and melancholy, without a hint of sunshine anywhere.

My family has been through an unbelievable trauma.  I don't want to use the word "tragedy," because while our loss has been tragic, I don't consider it a tragedy.  But "trauma," that word fits.  Cancer struck our home and ripped it apart.  My dear, sweet daughter, my most precious charm, my angel, is without her father, and I am without my partner.  I will skip the details, because, quite frankly, I don't want to talk about it anymore.

What I've been working on is maintaining my faith.  My family has helped me tremendously.  The love within ours is fiercely protective and unconditionally accepting.  A hug and look from my mother reassures me that I will get through this, that I will undoubtedly pull myself together, and that life will absolutely go on.  The quiet strength and resolve of my dad lends itself to everyone in our family - some things don't need to be spoken.  They just are and always will be.  My youngest brother provides proof that laughter is the best medicine, and my other brother always demonstrates that hard work and perseverance, never giving up and never accepting "No," always pays off in the end.  My sweet sister-in-law gently lifts us up and brings us together in so many ways. My aunt gives the the tightest, most heartfelt hugs and small whispers of encouragement, and sometimes that is all you need to keep going.

And then there is my baby.  It is she who truly keeps me going, and it is she who reminds me that faith lives in my heart.  I do have faith that we will find our way together, and that we are, in fact, already finding it.  I've made some small strides in reclaiming my life in the last couple of weeks and one great big one is on the horizon.  I have faith in my higher power, in my loving family, in my amazing friends, and most importantly, in myself.

I hope that you will always have faith, too, in whatever form suits you, no matter what life hurls at you.

Groovy Recipe: Baked Butternut Squash Pasta

This year, I made the decision to become a full-on vegetarian.  Babydoll absolutely refuses to eat meat or poultry, and since I'm cooking for just the two of us most days, why bother buying it?  It's been 21 days, and except for the occasional cheeseburger craving, I'm not missing the meat.  I came up with this dish after seeing something similar on Pinterest.  It was one of those dishes that sounded great in theory, but after I read the recipe, I knew it wouldn't work.  Thus, I experimented with my own.  Voila.

Why do people do that, by the way?  Post recipes that don't work?  I made a dish off Pinterest last week, and it sucked.  The proportions were way off.  I'm a fairly competent home cook, so I know it isn't (always) my fault that a dish doesn't turn out.  I always test my recipes before I post them.  I don't want an angry mama screaming at me that my quinoa quiche was a big piece of crap.  Food bloggers, beware.  I'll call you out if your recipe wastes my time and resources.

Anyhoo.

Pre-baked beauty

Baked Butternut Squash Pasta

* 8 servings

Ingredients

1 bag whole wheat bowtie pasta (farfalle)

2 cups vegetable stock

1 cup butternut squash puree

1 cup butternut squash, petite dice

1 medium onion, petite dice

4 cloves garlic, minced

2 cups fresh spinach, chopped

1 cup low-fat ricotta

2 cloves garlic, crushed

1 cup shredded mozzarella

2 tbsp butter

2 tbsp olive oil

Salt and pepper

Method

Preheat oven to 375.

Mix ricotta with salt, pepper, and crushed garlic.  Set aside.

Cook pasta to al dente according to package direction.  While pasta is cooking, melt butter and olive oil in a large pot over high heat.  Add in onions; season with salt and pepper.  Cook onions until they are almost caramelized (about 10 minutes), then add in minced garlic.  Reduce heat to medium and pour in the stock.  Bring to a simmer, then stir in the diced squash.  Let simmer until the squash is very tender and the liquid reduces by about a third.  Smash down the squash slightly, using the back of your spoon or a potato masher.  Stir in the squash puree.  Bring back to a simmer.  Stir in the spinach and let simmer for a few minutes.  Remove from heat.

Mix the sauce with the pasta.  Spread half of the pasta in the bottom of a good-sized casserole dish.  Layer the ricotta over the top (it's pretty hard to spread the ricotta, so I just drop it in spoonfuls on top, then smash it down with the back of the spoon).  Pour the rest of the pasta on top, then sprinkle the mozzarella over it all.  Bake at 375 for 25 minutes.

Remove from oven and let sit for 10 minutes or so.  Grub.

The kid ate all of hers and almost half of mine.  That tells me it's a winner.

30 Days of Motherhood: Day 14

Day 14: Don't let the bastards keep you down.

If there is one lesson I want my daughter to learn from me, it's to believe in your dreams.  To not accept "No" as a viable answer to your heart's desire.  I found the above quote last night while cruising Pinterest and I instantly knew what I was going to write about today.

I have always wanted my own child.  Always.  You know that scene from "Steel Magnolias," the one where Shelby cries to her mama: "I want a child of my own!"  Long before I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, long before doctors began telling me I wouldn't get pregnant and, if I did get pregnant, I wouldn't carry to term, long before all of that - I watched that movie and that scene stuck to my heart.

The day I found out I was pregnant was surreal.  It was early morning and we were living quite a different life than we are now.  It took me nine months to believe that I was definitely having a baby.  I was scared the entire time that I was going to lose her.  I refused to take the tags off baby clothes and other gifts we received until after she was born.  I was reticent to put together her nursery (and we didn't move into our house until three weeks before she was born).  I was worried about giving her a name before she was born.  But still, deep in that sticky place in my heart, I knew that I was going to be a mama.

Some things, you just KNOW.  Many call it faith...I'm one of those people.  I had faith that, no matter what those bastards told me, I was going to be a mother.  I didn't know if I would give birth or adopt, but I just KNEW that some little person would call me Mama one day.  When I tell Babydoll that she is every wish I ever made, it's the truth.

30 Days of Motherhood: Day 13

Day 13: Experiencing Life

(looking for Days 2-12?  Check out my Facebook page here.)

My friend Sarah has a cute little firecracker daughter, who is a few months younger than Babydoll.  I like to call her Livyloo - she cracks me up, and Babydoll loves playing with her.

Anyhoo, the point of today's post is that Sarah often talks about giving her daughter new experiences.  I'm in love with this idea for so many reasons.  Namely, it's easy.  Think about it.  What does a toddler know about life?  Not much, really.  A task as simple as peeling a mandarin orange is mind-blowing for a little kid.  Pointing out a hummingbird in Grandma's garden is HUGE and cause for giggles and shrieks.  A simple walk around the neighborhood yields 100 things your babe has never seen, heard, smelled, or felt before.

And the best part?  Seeing my child's joy over each discovery softens my grown-up hard-ass idea that I've seen everything already.

30 Days of Motherhood: Day 1

In honor of my sweetheart's upcoming 2nd birthday, I thought I'd share the ideas, images, and quotes that have inspired me as a mother.

Day One:

"I'm always available if he needs me, period."

~Alanis Morissette, about her son, Ever

When I am having one of those crazy days - the one where you're going non-stop from sunup to sundown, when nothing goes right, and the cat pukes in the middle of the one load of laundry you managed to finish - I try to remember to just breathe.  Breathe, and focus, and be present for my child.  It is all too easy to get caught up in the "have to's" of every day.  Sometimes, you just need to chuck it all out the window, snuggle up with the kiddo, and read "Little Blue Truck."

Motherhood Is Not For Sissies

Motherhood is not for sissies.  The end.

Just kidding...that's not really the end.

Before I had a child, I looked at other parents struggling with their children and would roll my eyes with disdain. I often thought to myself, as those without children do, "I will be able to handle my kids so much better than that."

Your brain tells you those kinds of lies, so that you will, in fact, procreate and make your own offspring.  It must be some form of evolution.  Any first-time parent will tell you: "I had no idea what I was getting myself into."  And that's the truth.  Motherhood, or parenthood, is not for the weak, the lazy, the feeble.

Of course, we all know at least one parent who couldn't care less what their kid eats, or where they sleep, or even who raises them.  I don't actually consider those people parents.  Parents, in my book, give a shit.

Your child will hit, bite, and kick you.  Your child will slap you across the face and then scream at you in the middle of Target.  That same child will keep you up all night, because she doesn't feel like sleeping.  Or, after keeping you up all night, will fall asleep at 5 a.m. just as your alarm goes off to get up for the work day.  Your child will throw food at you and go on hunger strikes.  She will pluck hairs out of the cat and swing the dog around by his tail.  She will refuse to sit in her car seat, instead hanging over the back of it, while saying "No" ever so sweetly.

Small children are kind of like pimps.

But after all of that has occurred, usually on the same day, that child will climb into your lap, snuggle into your neck, hug you tightly, and whisper in her baby voice "My mama."  And that makes you forget all of the crap she's put you through.

My beautiful baby will be two years old next month.  Time has flown, truly.  As her personality blossoms, as her language develops, as the twinkle in her eye gets even more twinkly, I'm just amazed that we've all survived thus far.  This shit is HARD.  

It's also awesome.  No matter how bad it gets, and it does get bad, I am always, always grateful for my child.  For who she is, and for who she makes me.  I never knew how strong I could be.  I never knew my capacity for not giving up, or giving in.  I never, ever knew how big the feeling of love and protection could be.  The word "love" doesn't even seem to encompass the feeling I have for my child.  It's too small, too simple a word, to describe how overwhelming it is to be someone's mother and to feel those thousands of feelings every day, every minute.

Thank you, my baby.

Groovy Recipe: Cheeseburger Macaroni

You see the title, and I know what you're thinking: "That sounds suspiciously like Hamburger Helper."  No way, dude.  Not in my kitchen.  Don't get me wrong - Hamburger Helper is delicious.  Salty, fatty, processed deliciousness.  In my late teens and early twenties, when I was starting out on my own, many a spoonful of Hamburger/ Tuna Helper made its way into my mouth.  But I'm a grown-up now and I have a child to feed as healthfully as I can.

This recipe was totally an experiment, the result of my missing two ingredients for meatloaf with macaroni and cheese.  It came out so unbelievably good, and my picky vegetarian toddler ate it all up, including the meat.  She even helped herself to my bowl, and then her Daddy's.  Then, she licked the serving spoon.

Mama wins!

Cheeseburger Macaroni

6-8 servings

Ingredients

1 package whole wheat elbow macaroni

3/4 lb grass-fed ground beef (the grass-fed isn't necessary, but that's what we do)

1 small yellow or white onion, petite dice

2 cloves garlic, minced

2/3 cup minced carrot

Several dashes Worcestershire Sauce

2 tbsp butter

2 tbsp flour

2/3 cup butternut squash puree

1 1/2 cups milk

1 1/2 cups shredded cheddar

1 tsp ground mustard powder

Salt

Pepper

Olive oil

Method

Cook pasta to al dente according to package directions, in a large pot.  Drain and return to the pot.

Drizzle olive oil in a frying pan and heat over medium.  Add onion and cook for five minutes.  Stir in the carrot and garlic, and cook another five minutes.  Shove the onion, garlic, and carrot to the side of the pan, then add the ground beef to the empty side.  Cook the beef until browned, then stir everything together and reduce the heat to medium-low.  Season with the Worcestershire, salt, and pepper, then cook for a few more minutes.  Drain the fat, then add the mixture to the pasta.

In the same pan, melt the butter over medium heat.  Whisk in the flour to make a roux.  Cook the roux for a couple minutes, stirring constantly, until it is an almond color and smells like buttery toast.  Whisk in the milk; bring to a slight simmer.  Whisk in the squash puree and season with salt, pepper, and the mustard powder.  Let the sauce simmer, whisking occasionally, until slightly thickened.  Remove from heat and whisk in the cheese.  When the cheese is melted, pour the sauce over the pasta and meat and stir well until everything is well-combined.  Serve in wide bowls.  Grub.