Archive for April, 2010
Thought I’d update you on both going vegetarian in today’s post. This is how cute a town I live in. I mention on the blog that we’re going vegetarian and some good townsperson leaves 3 vegetarian cookbooks on our porch while we’re out lollygagging around. Thank you, nice neighbor person. Let me know who you are so I can return them in due time! In the meantime, oh, such good ideas!
I’ve been asked what our parameters are for going vegetarian. My hope was to not eat fish or eggs (in addition to the other vegetarian no nos like red meat, pork, and chicken) but I am not sure that I am brave enough to bake without eggs. I was, at first, but then my friend Nikki (read her fabulous food blog here) walked me through why eggs are important in recipes (while giving me good advice about how to try to cook without them) and I got a little nervous. So, eggs in baked goods are okay for now. And dairy. Dairy is a yes. So dairy and eggs are yeses. Fish is a no. And the other rule is that I will not ask anyone to cook differently for me so whether it is book club or extended family dinner night, whatever is served is what I will happily eat.
So what have I been eating the last few days?
Monday’s breakfast was yogurt, Go Lean Crunch, and berries. Snack was string cheese (because I stole it out of Happy’s bag). Lunch was white bean, diced tomato and tortellini soup (made with vegetable broth which did not at all compromise the taste) and a salad of romaine leaves, artichoke hearts, avocado, carrots, cucumber, and goat cheese. Afternoon snack was a piece of toffee (yeah, I know, but I had to go to the PostNet right next to the chocolate shop and I totally support local businesses. It was for them, not me). Dinner was black bean and corn tortilla pie (We love this recipe).
Tuesday’s breakfast was the same as Monday’s. Snack was an apple. Lunch was black bean and corn tortilla pie and watermelon. Snack was spinach and artichoke dip with pita chips. Dinner was spinach ravioli casserole and green beans.
Wednesdays breakfast was oatmeal. Snack was an orange. Lunch was the last of the white bean, diced tomato and tortellini soup and edamame. Snack was white bean dip with pita chips. Dinner was cheese pizza (it was pizza night with friends) and the same salad from Monday.
The cookbooks I am perusing these days are Sundays at Moosewood Restaurant, Top 100 Finger Foods: 100 Recipes for a Healthy, Happy Child, Moosewood Restaurant Cooks at Home, A Year in a Vegetarian Kitchen, The New Moosewood Cookbook, and Veganomicon.
Our vegetarian time coincides perfectly with the opening of the local famer’s market this Saturday. My plan is to go there, shop for what’s appealing, and then come up with next week’s menu based on what I find. I’ll definitely share any recipes worth trying!
I am wrapping up my fourth semester of teaching in the Women’s and Gender Studies Department at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. Teaching this seminar on body image has solidifed for me a few things that I felt were true regarding body image and self-awareness before I started teaching. Item # 1 on that list: It’s never about you.
You have a mother who laments your weight all of the time- no matter your size. You can be at your thinnest and certainly, she feels, you could do better. You could be at your heaviest, and she definitely lets you know it (because, for whatever reason, she has convinced herself that there’s no way you noticed on your own). She says, “You would be so much happier if you just lost twenty pounds.” The translation? She would be so much happier if you just lost twenty pounds, but the truth is she won’t be. Until she’s happy within herself, she’ll never be happy.
Here’s the thing. When people choose to offer commentary about your appearance, it is never about you. It is about them, about the thing that paralyzes them, about the story they have told themselves, about the narrative they are choosing to live.
“How can this be true?” A thin, tall student asked me last semester, tears presssed into the corner of her eyes. “A guy I worked with last night told me that I was too skinny. That he could never find me attractive because of how skinny I am. How can that be about him?”
I turn to her, tenderly assessing her tears, hoping she’ll understand so that his words won’t wound her so badly anymore. Just as I can’t wish away weight, she can’t wish it onto her reedy frame.
“What are you too skinny for?” I ask her.
“For him to think I am beautiful,” she answers, wondering if I have gone mad and missed her earlier explanation.
“That’s right, honey. For HIS definition of beauty. For HIS understanding of things. He’s the one that has made it a rule to see beauty in just that one way. He is the one incapable of admiring anything outside of the beauty box of his understanding. He is the one that feels that beauty has to have such a narrow, unrealistic definition. Not you.”
Her mouth forms a sudden O. She gets it.
Each semester, this adage is tested. But always, we come back to the fact of it. When someone tells you that you are not enough because of your hair, your eyes, your weight, your height, she is judging you based on what she believes to be true, what she has prioritized, what insecurities she nurses.
It’s never about you. I promise. And I hope you’ll remember that.
If you had asked me last week if I am scared of snakes, I would have told you that I wasn’t the kind of person to go running from a snake (well, unless my life was endangered). And there is evidence of this— I have been around snakes in the past without absolutely freaking out. But then this weekend happened, and, as it turns out, I am the type of person to go running from a snake, even if my life is not endangered.
Here’s the story: We have four enormous oak trees in our yard, and BF is obsessed with picking up all the crap they drop every weekend year round (which, by the way, is totally fine by me as I have zero interest in picking up anything they drop and they drop a crap load of stuff).
As he does this, he comes in and out of the house– getting water, changing his sweat-drenched shirt, etc. You might recall that BF and I set resolutions for each other at the beginning of this year. The resolution that I set for him? Shutting the door.
So on Sunday afternoon, BF was hard at work on his yard project, and baby was hanging with him in the front yard. I thought I would use the time to do a little laundry in baby’s room. Just as I rounded the corner into baby’s room, I happened to look down rather than keep my gaze at eye level. And what do you know? There is a snake crawling underneath baby’s crib. A long, black snake.
So, what did our heroine do? Well, she ran out of the house like Phoebe in Friends. Screaming at the top of her friggin’ lungs. I kid you not. I know some of you don’t KNOW me, but, seriously, running out of the house like Phoebe screaming at the top of my lungs is so not me. I am more of the I Can Rescue Me type. Or so I thought.
Anyway, in the yard, I found BF who asked why I was yelling.
“There’s a snake under baby’s bed,” I screamed. And he looked at me like I was hallucinating.
“Can you get it?” Then he looked at me like I was crazy. Because BF– though he does not look like it– is the kind of person who would run away from a snake screaming, and he’s the first to tell you that.
“No, I can’t get it.” So I cajoled BF over to the neighbors’ house. Mike, Carly’s husband, was in the yard, and I heard BF say, “How are you about snakes?” And Mike said, “Not good at all, but Carly doesn’t mind them.”
Sure enough, Carly, who is equally gifted with cupcakes or raptors, came right on over to our house (in running clothes and shoeless!!!), marched into baby’s bedroom all by herself and when she didn’t see the snake, looked under the crib to find where it had coiled itself into its smallest shape in the corner, reluctantly took the running shoes I made her put on to protect her toes, moved the crib by herself because I was standing on baby’s bathtub (with a camera) and BF couldn’t even be in the house, picked up the snake, identified what it was, and then moved it across the street after holding it up on display and telling us all about it in the yard (‘he wouldn’t have hurt the baby, Rosie, I promise. He just wants to eat mice’). That, my friends, is a steel magnolia. And I am absolutely confident that she will be baby’s favorite person while he’s growing up. As Carly nonchalantly went back to her own yard chores, I hollered out to her, “You cannot ever move away from us, Carly.” She laughed like I was a funny girl, but I am even thinking about asking her to spend the night. It’s going to be a long time before I can go barefoot again in this house, and I cannot even think about what would have happened had I not walked into baby’s room just at that moment to see the snake making its home under his crib. Yikes!
On another note, snakes occupy not one iota of my thinking and, yet, coincidentally, this morning, I wrote an article on summer safety tips and one line that is sticking out in my head now from it is “don’t reach blindly into spaces where snakes like to hide” as they often retreat in the summer to places where they can cool down. It’s 90 degrees this weekend in NC, and Carly’s sure that Mr. Black Rat Snake wasn’t expecting it to go from 60 to 90 in a day and moved inside, with the help of our open door policy, to regulate his temperature. Close your doors, people. Put your shoes on. And don’t reach blindly into spaces where snakes like to hide which, I will have you know, is everywhere.
PS: BF has now fully committed to closing the door.
In the last few weeks, I’ve been moving through my to read shelf and I have one book that I want to share with you from a body image perspective.
Dara Chadwick’s You’d Be So Pretty If: Teaching Our Daughters to Love Their Bodies- Even When We Don’t Love Our Own starts “I grew up listening to my mom bemoan everything from the size of her thighs to the shape of her eyes. So you can imagine my dismay the first time someone exclaimed, “You look just like your mother!”
And if you think that is the only time where Chadwick’s words will flash recognition in your own mind, you’d be surprised. With a mission to help mothers change the body image legacies their daughters inherit from them, Chadwick helps readers understand their own body image history while educating them on how they help the girls in their lives avoid a body image crisis. It’s thoughtful, honest, and helpful and a great tool for moms who do not want to do to their daughters what was done to them.
Funny that Friday’s class is on Alterations to the Self. We’ll be looking at the ways we alter our bodies (tattoos, piercings, weight lifting, steroids, hair dying, and CERTAINLY hair straightening) and how those things impact our body image. I’ve had straight hair for the last 3 hours and I don’t know that I’ll feel any different than I usually do– right now, I just feel like I had my hair cut (because I always have my girl straighten my hair when I get it cut since I don’t have the patience or talent to do it myself). It’ll be interesting to see if this process gives me manageable hair everyday and if it does then if and how that impacts how I feel about myself. More on that later.
For now, I’ll give you the play by play of the process.
Woke up, showered, put some hair product in, actually got the diffuser out (I had forgotten that I owned one) so that I could dry my hair the RIGHT way and make sure that I was still down with the straightening (I was although when BF walked in and said, “Ah, I am going to miss the curls,” I faltered for a moment. And then just wanted to smack him in the rump because, seriously, I’ve been having stress hair dreams for a week that I have told him about every morning and he choose TODAY- THE DAY- to tell me this. I didn’t (smack him) and I didn’t change my mind)
Thus, I began my day with hair that looked like this…
So, I got to my appointment and my girl washed my hair with a Keratin clarifying shampoo that stripped my hair of any products that were on it and just got it down to the essence.
Next, she dried it like she normally would and then she applied 2 oz of Keratin straightening product all over it (in small little sections) with the type of brush she would have used to paint hair color on if I were getting color done.
The product itself sorta smells like suntan oil (Bain de Soleil circa 1988. Don’t use that stuff, though. Use sunscreen).
So here is my hair all gooped with Keratin. Then, she put a shower cap on it and I sat there to let the stuff soak in for 15-20 minutes.
Next, she blew my hair out. And this was the crazy thing. There were flakes flying around and I was like, “Do I suddenly have the world’s worst case of dandruff?” It turns out I don’t. The product just does that as the hair is blown out for the first time. And then it is done with that phase.
After the blow out, she divided my hair into 1/2 inche sections and flat ironed each section 5-7 times. 90 minutes after she started, she did the last section and I was no longer a curly girl.
The end result…
So, here’s the company line from the Keratin folks…
This treatment will reduce curls by at least 80%, frizz by 100% and make one’s hair humidity resistant. You can’t wash your hair for 3 days after you have the treatment done and you can’t put barrettes or pony tails in during that time either (I am going to be looking FLY come Sunday). The treatment washes away over time so the less you wash your hair, the longer it will last. And you have to use Keratin shampoo and conditioner to wash it (which came free with the treatment). My hair dresser did her hair in the fall and took her about 4-5 months for her curls to come back and they came back un-frizzy and not quite as wild. So, we’ll see what it looks like the first time I do it (although my very first experiment is going to be to just wash and go since that is my dream, really) and we’ll see what it looks like each month as the curls start making their way back. I’ll definitely keep you posted.
* Thanks to Poppy and BF for hanging with Happy so I could go get my hair did. I appreciate both of you!
The little kid is making friends. By force. When we arrive somewhere friendly (the YMCA, a birthday party, etc but not Target) of late, he walks up to the people he doesn’t know, shakes their hand, hugs them, and then tries to coerce them into holding hands with him. This is cute at 20 months. May not be so cute at 20. Hopefully, this will wear off by then. For now, I am loving it and thanking all the nice folks who play along with Happy’s grand friendship scheme.
The veggies are in the ground, they are being watered, and we’re hoping that despite Happy and the neighbor dog who plays in our yard a lot with Lola, that we’ll still have something to harvest come June, July, and August. We’ll see.
I don’t get to do it all that often but I love putting Happy down for the night. We read two books, I sing two songs, and he gets two kisses (one from each of the mamas in his life) and then as I rock him into relaxing, I just quietly compose a letter to his biological mama in my head, telling her how he is doing, sharing everything I wish for her to know about him in my heart. Seriously, might be favorite parenting moment right there– it grounds me and reminds me of what a special gift we have.
The hair straightening is today (Thursday). I’ve had hair nightmares. In one, Happy throws up on my head, and I can’t wash it for four days (this comes from the fact that they put keratin in your hair for the straightening and you can’t wash your hair the first four days). Nice, eh? Hope the real thing is less nightmarish. More on that soon!
I’ve been doing a water running class at the Y that I love (as I have a self-diagnosed stress fracture in my foot. I imagine I should go to the doctor for that, but as other mom’s know, it takes a village for a mom to get to the doctor and I am fairly certain that he’ll just tell me to stay off of it as much as possible so I am self-treating at home by always wearing my Danskos and water running instead of real running) and it makes me STARVING. When I leave there, I want a McDonald’s hamburger (not a quarterpounder, just one of those lil’ burgers with the chopped onions and ketchup in ample supply). I am fairly certain that is a counterproductive desire since I run to help my heart by healthy. And I can’t help but wonder what I will be craving once I well into my vegetarian phase.
The little kid is 34 inches tall. That is more than half my height. At almost 20 months. Go little beanstalk, go!