How to Stop a Pity Party

1. READ the Word. Truth is the best thing to re-route your thoughts.

2. JOURNAL all of those thoughts. Sort them out. And then act on them accordingly, or let them go if necessary.

3. Find a TASK with a clear beginning and end and accomplish it (Ross probably wishes I'd sort a pile of papers, but going for a run worked for me).

4. BAKE a childhood comfort food.

Here's the gluten-free version of the best Oatmeal Muffins my mom made growing up:

1 cup all-purpose gluten-free flour (I used Namaste brand, but King Arthur Flour has a good one, too)
1/3 cup powdered sugar
3/4 cup gluten-free rolled oats
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1 beaten egg
3/4 cup unsweetened, unflavored almond milk (or milk of choice)
1/4 cup cooking oil

Preheat oven to 400 degrees and prepare muffin tin. In a medium bowl combine flour, sugar, oats, baking powder, and salt. In a small bowl combine egg, milk, and oil. Add egg mixture all at once to the flour mixture and stir just until moistened. Batter will be lumpy. Spoon batter into prepared muffin cups, filling each 2/3 full. Bake at 400 for 18-20 minutes. Cool in muffin cups on a wire rack for 5 minutes and then remove from muffin tin and serve warm.

Preferably with butter and grandma's strawberry jam on top.

Christmas Traditions

I think this is the first year I've realized that Christmas is more than the remembrance of Jesus' birthday, and that Advent is more than a countdown to Santa Claus. (Obviously, it's been a few years since I waited for Santa and spread reindeer food around our backyard with my brothers.)

Growing up, Advent was very present in our house and around our table. We had an Advent wreath, and my brothers and I took turns lighting a new candle each successive week and saying the prayer before dinner. I still remember it:

Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation. In the darkness and in the light. Blessed are you in this food and in our sharing. Blessed are you as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ. Come Lord Jesus. Come quickly.

But as things often are when you're a child, I don't remember experiencing any deeper meaning behind this prayer. It was a family tradition and we always fought over who got to light the candles and who got to blow them out. What I do remember about Christmas is the magical feeling of anticipation. The warmth of family and food and laughter around the table. The stillness of walking home in the snow after evening Mass and entering a warm house that enveloped you like a hug. Sitting in the living room looking at the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree while Bing Crosby sang Silent Night.

My parents were careful to focus on the real meaning of the season in addition to the usual excitement of gifts. Us kids added handfuls of straw to Jesus' manger for each selfless deed performed during Advent. I don't remember being told to be good because Santa's watching, but I do remember setting out cookies for him the night before and delighting in the crumbs that he left the next morning, along with a note in curly-cued handwriting congratulating each of us for our achievements in the past year. We also got three individual presents, because  Jesus got three presents from the wise men.

Growing up, my parents certainly fostered generosity. Not in an over-the-top way, but definitely in a way I've come to see was an incredible blessing, not to be taken for granted. The older I get, the more I simultaneously appreciate it and grow uncomfortable with it. My mom and dad have been incredibly supportive of my brothers and me, and it's humbling.

The last few years, I've been the hardest person to shop for because if I want something, it's usually something really specific which takes away any element of surprise on Christmas morning. Also, for the third time in five years, I'm scheduled to work Christmas Eve and Christmas and this year. But I'm actually somewhat looking forward to it for once... oh man I am so ready to squeeze some baby cheeks and fall into the familiar role of NICU nurse. (I had no idea how much this new job would stress me out. But if you know me at all, though, you're probably not surprised.)

All this rambling to say, I'm so blessed to have fond memories of Advent and I'm excited that Ross and I are starting memories and traditions of our own, as well!

To Give His Only Son

To lose a child seems unbearable. I've seen the anguish on parent's faces in the NICU when the doctors tell them nothing more can be done. I've held little ones with hours left to live. I've given last baths and taken pictures and made baby handprints in times of joy and in times of sorrow.

The first day of this year was the first day I said goodbye to a baby I'd been taking care of. And I'm so very aware that my distress was only a shadow of the pain her parents felt. Her parents held her for hours, saying quiet goodbyes. When that sweet dad started crying, it was the first time I teared up at work enough to have to step away from the bedside. When her parents left, I had nested her in the bed with a cute outfit on and for a moment, she looked so normal that I had to listen with a stethescope again to make sure there was no heartbeat and no breath in her lungs. She was eerily silent.

Since I'm not a parent myself, I can't even imagine the loss of a part of yourself. This latest shooting has reminded me how fleeting life it. It's reminded me that the Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.

I can't pretend that there's a rhyme or reason to tragedy in light of the recent Sandy Hook losses. Sin is sin is sin. We live in a fallen world and free will doesn't always equate to good will toward fellow men. Every good gift comes from God. Often, children in their innocence and curiosity are the best gifts one will ever receive. I say this not even having any children to hold: but how do you hold them loosely? How do you remember that, sure, you 'made' them, but God orchestrated every second of their lives before they entered your life? Then how do you deal with someone taking that life in an unjust, unexpected way?

I wish I had answers because I'm sure it's true what they say: when you have a child, you will forever have a part of your heart wandering around outside your body. When they die, a part of you dies. I cannot imagine the anguish and I'm so sorry for those who know this pain inside and out.

Please know that I'm not trying to diminish such a loss or try to make light of it and expect mourning parents to find sense in a senseless tragedy. But it does bring Christmas close to home. God willingly sent his son into a lost and broken world, knowing that His child would suffer and His child would die. Knowing his mother would have to watch Jesus' final breath. God did this because it was the only way to save us.

In the Christian story God descends to re-ascend. He comes down; down from the heights of absolute being into time and space, down into humanity... down to the very roots and sea-bed of the nature he has created. But he goes down to come up again and bring the ruined world up with him. One has the picture of a strong man stooping lower and lower to get himself under some great, complicated burden. He must stoop in order to lift, he must almost disappear under the load before he incredibly straightens his back and marches off with the whole mass swaying on his shoulders.  -C.S. Lewis

Jesus came once, and he will come again because the God who has promised is faithful (Hebrews 10:23). How deep the Father's love for us, who gave His son that we might live. Jesus will come back one day to wipe away our tears. As my friend Melody says, he will make all of this sadness untrue. We are not without hope!

Baby Beluga

We got a new car yesterday! It's pretty much the antithesis of my old car. And of Ross' gas-guzzling truck for that matter. Meet Baby Beluga:

Wait, you don't know the Baby Beluga song!? Am I the only one who grew up with Raffi music?

I'm so, so, thankful that my parents gave the old Honda to me for our wedding. It saved me a ton of money and hassle at a time when I was a new grad on night shift, planning a wedding. However, maybe it's rebelling against winter like its owner, but it's seen better days. Ross and I had a rough week with a single car last week, so it was time for something new.

We ended up leasing this car, because we will probably need something bigger in the next 3 years. But oh man, this car has it all:

Working radio!
Anti-lock brakes!
Automatic windows!
Automatic locks!

I'm so excited! For now, back to studying.

Snowball Donuts

When my brothers and I were little, we always looked forward to the first snow of the season. Even if it wasn't enough snow to cancel school, it still meant our mom would make snowball donuts! Mmm little bites of heaven. I'm pretty sure we ate them just as fast as she pulled them out of the fryer and powdered them. I introduced Ross to the concept of snowball donuts when we moved here last year, and he's hooked.  Starting in November, I made sure to have the necessary ingredients on had so we'd be able to celebrate whenever the first snow came.

Thankfully, it's been a mild winter and we only had our first real snow last week. But it accumulated, and that's enough to justify donuts!

Snowball Donuts

Ingredients:

1 can buttermilk biscuits (not the 'Grands' rolls, just plain buttermilk ones)
1-2 cups Crisco
1/4 cup powdered sugar
1/4 cup granulated sugar


Directions:

1. Scoop Crisco into a sauce pan and turn burner to medium-high.

 
2. While Crisco is melting, cut biscuits into quarters and mix the two sugars together in a bowl.

 
3. When Crisco is fully liquid, drop 1-2 dough balls into the hot oil at a time, turning quickly. If they brown almost instantly, turn the heat down to medium.

4. Remove from fryer when balls are browned on both sides. Place on plate lined with paper towels.

5. Every so often, dump all the "snowballs" from the plate into the bowl with sugars and roll around to coat. Repeat until all the donuts look like snowballs.

Pretty unscientific, I know, but so fun and easy to make!

Change the way you see, not the way you look

If you watch Oprah or Good Morning America, you may have already heard about Operation Beautiful this summer. I heard about it because the author, Caitlin Boyle, also writes one of my favorite blogs: Healthy Tipping Point. In honor of her book being published, she dedicated a week of blogging to discussing how women need to change the way they see themselves, instead of focusing so much on hating the way they look.

Spring Break 2006

It's almost embarrassing to talk about this, because I'm 25 and married. I have a good job and a good life. Yet put me in front of the mirror for too long and I'll go crazy. Most days, I don't wear makeup. Some people would mistakenly think I make that choice because I'm so comfortable in my own skin. In fact, it's because when I really try to do my makeup and hair for a special occasion, it never turns out the way I had hoped. I get discouraged and end up feeling less attractive than I did before putting effort into my appearance.

I am slowly learning to see the merit in dressing up and feeling better about myself (a 'fake it 'til you make it' approach). But most days you'll either find me in my scrubs, workout clothes, or sweats with no makeup, and my hair in a ponytail.

Amarillo 2007

I'm big on negative self-talk. It's a habit I've been trying to break ever since I started reading positive blogs like Caitlin's, but it's a long process. It doesn't help when I work with all women. As a group, we are catty. We gossip. Not only are we not supportive of each other as often as we should be, but we're often not supportive of ourselves.  It breaks my heart when I see a friend struggling, yet I think nothing of beating myself up for my supposed flaws. I'm an intelligent woman. I know this doesn't make sense. But how can it stop?

Part of my answer is seeing that other women have moved beyond it. Many of the blogs I list as my favorites are more than just food blogs. These are women my age writing about being healthy in the real world-- physically and MENTALLY. They are not diet blogs. These bloggers bake amazing cookies with real butter. They train for and run ultra-marathons in addition to working full-time jobs. They publish books at the age of 26. It's amazing what you can accomplish when your mind and body work together instead of against each other.

Colorado 2009

I took a picture of my own Operation Beautiful note this morning and actually thought, "maybe I should put makeup on to cover this huge pimple on my forehead and the circles under my eyes. I look gross." But then I caught myself in the middle of negative self-talk! Ashamed, I took the picture and walked away.

Ross didn't know this was my handwriting. Boys.

Afterward, I went to my friend Tiffany's apartment to do a ballet DVD. She's the one who got me into ballet back in 3rd grade! We talked and worked out for 30 minutes. Good for the body and the heart.

Early in the afternoon, I took cupcakes to work to say goodbye to my primary and my associate patient. (They both went home on the same day. Work will be sad for a little while.)  I bought a treat for myself, too, and enjoyed it with relish!

Chocolate! Picture courtesy of Dolce Baking Company's website.

Then I went to Lawrence with Ross and hung out at a coffee shop while he went to his first grad school class of the semester. We went to dinner at The Local Burger and grocery shopping at The Merc. It was the most time we'd spent together in a long time, between me traveling and our opposite work schedules. We had fun talking about nothing and everything.

This evening, I was running on the treadmill and it faces a mirror. I could have been thinking, "eww that jiggles" or, "maybe I shouldn't wear spandex this tight." Instead, I only 'allowed' myself to think positive things like, "it's awesome that you actually went running after putting it off all day!" And "look how strong your legs have gotten." Corny as that is, it actually did cheer me up!

There are a few posts from "Change the Way You See, Not the Way You Look" week that really resonated with me.  One was by a mom named Sarah who is raising two little girls. She says she actually wanted to have girls in hopes of raising "confident, strong, and secure girls since I never was myself." She has a few ideas about how to do this, and I recognize these as things my own mom did as well: Value girls for who they are instead of what the look like. Don't talk about other people's bodies. Lead by example. Sarah says,

Somewhere along the way in my first few years of parenting girls, my own confidence grew and my acting became believing.  I thought about how I would feel if my girls scrutinized themselves they way I had.  I looked at their rounded bellies, their full cheeks and chins and their dimply thighs and imagined what I would tell them if they agonized over these “flaws.”  Most of all though, I worried about how I could teach them about valuing themselves and valuing others beyond what they saw in the mirror, if I wasn’t willing to give that gift to myself.

She ends her amazing post by asking, if you could write an Operation Beautiful note to your teenage self, what would you say?  I thought about it, and there are thousands of things I'd like to warn myself about. But considering that most of high school I was very preoccupied with my body, I think the message that would stick the most is, "being skinny won't make you happy. But being happy will make you feel beautiful!"

High school friends the summer we graduated

Looking back, the pictures I love most are those in which I'm happy, regardless of where I was in my body struggles at the time.  I've been relatively the same size for about 7 years now, but that can look very different (to me at least) from one picture to the next. The genuine smiles and glowing cheeks are what make the pictures look good or bad.  With this in mind, I actually like the pictures of me from my recent trip to Texas. I was having fun and I was in a comfortable environment. BLISS. (I'm convinced this is why kids can't take bad pictures. They're always so happy!)

Avery and me at Central Market

On the other hand, it's really hard to like what you see in the mirror when you know you haven't been nice to your body. Most recently, I hated how I looked on night shift. I was always puffy and tired. I ate anything and everything at work just to stay awake. Junk food at 3am makes you feel better briefly, but it makes you feel so much worse in the long run. Especially when it becomes a regular occurrence. Yes, I was working out during this time, but I was unhappy, unhealthy overall, and overtired.

A blogger named Emilie also recognizes this connection.  In her post, she says,

It's wonderful to be positive and to tell women:  "You are beautiful just they way you are."  And I love the sentiment behind Operation Beautiful, but Caitlin's mission, I think, is even more rich than that.  Some women look at themselves in the mirror and don't like what they see no matter what they see, and Caitlin is striving to teach women not to be so hard on themselves.  But for a lot of women, and this was true for me, the negative self image is connected to the knowledge that there needed to be some lifestyle changes.  I didn't like how I looked at all a few years ago, when I also knew that I needed to get myself in shape and start making healthier choices.  Now I'm pretty satisfied because what I see in the mirror, while by no means perfect, is coupled with my knowledge that I'm eating healthy and exercising regularly. 

This definitely clicked with me. I feel better about myself now that I'm running than I did 8 months ago, even though I haven't really lost weight. There have been several points in my life when my negative self image is connected to the knowledge that I need to make some lifestyle changes. It was impossible (and it almost felt hypocritical) for me to look in the mirror this last winter and think, you're perfect the way you are. I knew things needed to change. In junior high, my mom gave me a Christian book about inner beauty and one of the things that has stuck with me is that God can say, I love you just the way you are, and I love you too much to let you stay the way you are. We need to learn to tell ourselves the same thing sometimes.

Florida Keys 2009

The third post that really stood out to me was by an awesome girl named Angela. Her blog is positive, uplifting, and real. She's so good at putting things into words. I read her writing and think it's like she read my mind! She's a few steps ahead of me on the self-acceptance thing, though. Her post was on the idea of a 'happy weight.'  She says,

I always told myself in 10 pounds, I would finally be happy. All I had to do was lose 10 pounds and achieve ‘x’ weight and my life would fall into place. In 10 pounds, I could eat normally, binges would stop, and I could stop hating myself. All I had to do was lose 10 pounds and my problems would be solved. I would love myself in 10 pounds….but not yet.

Sound familiar? I recognize a lot of myself in this attitude, and I'm slowly coming to terms with it. When you think about it, isn't it obvious that when you allow an extrinsic factor to determine your happiness, you will never be happy?! In the end, Angela knows she's at her 'happy weight' now, but she doesn't know what that actual number is. And that's okay.

Here's her Operation Beautiful note:

There's a quote from the book Eat, Pray, Love that I highlighted a while ago (I'd also like to say I fell in love with the book when the movie was just a twinkle in Elizabeth Gilbert's eye). Gilbert is journaling as her life falls apart around her and says,

This is what I find myself writing to myself on the page: I’m here. I love you. I don’t care if you need to stay up crying all night long. I will stay with you…There is nothing you can ever do to lose my love. I am stronger than Depression and I am braver than Loneliness and nothing will ever exhaust me.

Tonight, this strange interior gesture of friendship- the lending of a hand from me to myself- reminds me of something that happened to me in New York City. I walked into an office building and dashed into the elevator. As I rushed in, I caught an unexpected glimpse of myself in the mirror. In that moment my brain did an odd thing- it fired off this split-second message: ‘Hey! You know her! That’s a friend of yours!' And I actually ran forward toward my own reflection with a smile, ready to welcome that girl whose name I had lost but whose face was so familiar. In a flash instant, of course, I realized my mistake and laughed in embarrassment at my almost doglike confusion over how a mirror works. But for some reason that incident comes to mind again tonight during my sadness in Rome and I find myself writing this comforting reminder at the bottom of the page: Never forget that once upon a time, in an unguarded moment, you recognized yourself as a friend.”

Amarillo 2007

Some of the things I say to myself, I would never dream of saying out loud to a friend I loved. It would hurt their feelings and damage our friendship. (More to the point, I have never even thought these things about my friends because physical appearance is not what makes me love them.) So why on earth do I continue to say these things to myself? When it comes to broken hearts, I have no one to blame but myself. Treating myself with kindness should be the rule, not the exception.

Canada 2008

Finally, about my own Operation Beautiful note. The Serenity Prayer is wonderful because it's so applicable to so many situations:

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference. 

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.

Friends at my bachelorette party in 2008

I CAN do my part to reach out and make friends. I can train for a marathon and fuel my body with real food. I cannot change my weak chin or crooked nose. But with time and practice (and certainly a generous amount of gentle forgiveness) I can learn to accept those things the way they are. I can't change the way I look, but I can change the way I see.

Wedding day 2008

Jagged Little Pill

In my psych nursing class in college, we talked a lot about the "F" word. That's f for functioning, by the way. Everyone has their own personal neuroses and even shadows of various personality and behavioral disorders. But when a certain thought process or chemical imbalance overwhelms you and affects your day-to-day functioning, you're officially beyond being "quirky" or "in a mood."

Now this post is going to be a little deep. Possibly even too much information for some of you. But it has a happy ending, and I feel it's time to share it.

I have fond memories of childhood. In fact, most days I wish I could go back to those carefree days of playing outside until the streetlights came on. I remember being generally happy. I mean, I'm sure my parents can still tell you horror stories about the alien-looking baby they came home with who wouldn't eat and wouldn't sleep, but they loved me all the same.



My earliest memories (the few memories I have of living in Independence the first 2 1/2 years of my life) are bathed in love: watching lightning storms with my parents but never being scared of the thunder because I was with my mom and dad. Playing in the driveway while my mom went out to get the paper.



I oddly remember a huge fabric ball that our elderly neighbor made for me and I remember her having a huge organ/piano in her house (Mom, am I making this up?) I remember stumbling down the stairs during what felt like the middle of the night and eating a bowl of Rice Krispies with my dad (in retrospect, it was probably just 5:30am before he went to work).

When we first moved to Omaha, I remember baking with my mom and wearing scrub pajamas to bed and pretending to go to work like my dad.



Of course, I have many more childhood memories as I progressed toward school-age, but I'll spare you. They are almost all good memories, though. The more I learn about the "real world" and its harsh realities, the more grateful I am for having escaped childhood unscathed and un-jaded. (Thanks Mom and Dad!)

We moved to Kansas City after second grade and I was a little scared (I asked my mom if they spoke another language there), but it was just another adventure and I was too busy watching my baby brother learn to walk to notice much else!



In 5th grade, though, I hit a snag. I still don't know why. Maybe I was starting to outgrow being a tomboy and I didn't fit in as well when I played with my brothers and their friends. Maybe it's because I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad teacher that year. Maybe its because the other girls were starting to wear makeup and do their hair for school. I, on the other hand, started wearing huge wire-rimmed glasses. But even being able to read the chalkboard again couldn't help me through the misery that was adding and subtracting fractions.

Whatever the cause, I remember a terrible period of insomnia that year. I spent hours listening to Disney music and praying the Rosary in an attempt to fall asleep. I often ended up waking my parents up to cry about the fact that I couldn't sleep. Once the school year was over, I recovered a bit and had fun on summer vacation.

During 6th and 7th grade, I suffered your typical junior-high angst regarding development, popularity, and boys. I eventually learned to blend in a little better but I can still recall a wistful feeling I'd get when I was alone... I didn't want to be growing up so fast!



Just when I started to "fit in" in Kansas City, we moved back to Omaha. Eighth grade was rocky and I certainly walked home crying from loneliness the first few months. But I made the "A" team in volleyball and was no longer the benchwarmer that I was in KC. Kids didn't "date" at my new school like they did at my old one, so I didn't feel so left out with my unrequited crushes. I was the heroine in the 8th grade play and had 3 best friends by the year's end. One was going to the same high school as me and we were so excited!


I could regale you with the dramas of high school, but that's (maybe) another post for another day. I had ups and downs, but certainly none of the stereotypical drama with boys, drugs, or alcohol. Most days, I loved high school (at least when I look back now and compare it to the mess I made of college).

February of my senior year of high school found me in bed one afternoon sobbing for hours for no discernable reason. I couldn't get out of bed to go to school the next morning. I couldn't go running, which was a big stress release for me. I couldn't even focus on a book, and I've always been an avid reader for fun! My parents recognized that this was beyond their comfort zone and took me to a doctor who prescribed Zoloft. I realize doctors these days over-prescribe anti-depressants, but for once, knowing what I know now, I wouldn't have had it any other way. That tiny little pill got me out of bed. I quit Calculus. I started running again. Within weeks, I was no longer on the verge of tears every single day. I graduated high school so proud of myself for having crawled out of a terrible black hole. Little did I know, depression is cyclical.

I will always defend mental illness and mental dis-ease and I believe that a responsible doctor prescribing the right medicine to a compliant patient can be a great catalyst for getting a life back on track if depression has derailed it. But that requires work, and not just a happy pill. I slacked off after leaving for college and learned this the hard way. Zoloft was not a blue pill, a one-time choice to lead an ignorance is bliss life. It actually has the potential to be the red pill... a catalyst that allows you to function in the real world and live beyond it, if I may. Once a humans basic needs are met, you can begin to make progress again, in that realm which we call living.

Maslow's hierarchy of needs (this pyramid) has always appealed to me. I believe that psychiatric medications, when used properly in a people who truly have a neurological disorder affecting their day-to-day functioning, can help re-establish basic homeostasis and lead to achievement, respect, and (if I may) self-actualization. For some people this may mean working through a traumatic event in their past. For me, it meant I was already predisposed to anxiety (what 5 year old has a panic attack about turning 6?) and negative thinking. When I encountered increasing amounts of stress, my normal coping mechanisms no longer worked. I'm still working on my coping mechanisms, by the way.

But I didn't realize any of this when I left for college. I kept taking my Zoloft and thought my problems had been solved.

*If you're still with me, you can read Part 2 here*

As if you could kill time without injuring eternity

Wednesday night was supposed to be a casual, fun night. I'd had a good day off and I was headed to sand volleyball. I've been to the volleyball courts before. There are approximately 3 turns from our apartment to the main street and then it's a straight shot west. Yet I got lost. I drove for 20 minutes down the wrong (but parallel) street, tried to cut over to the right street, hit construction and a huge detour, couldn't find where the right street started up again, and then quit. I spent an hour in my car and I was in a huff when I got home!

To calm down, I went for a walk around a tiny park by our apartment complex. It's always full of people in the evenings and that night the fireflies were out. Seeing the fireflies sent me from angry to nostalgic. Perfect seasonal weather (any season) always makes me nostalgic. Remember when you were a kid and there was nothing better than a perfect summer day?! No school, no homework, just a full day to play outside and wear yourself out!

Summer is made of sunshine and water. And free time. Little kids always know how to fill free time with fun.

When I was in grade school, my brothers and I could play with the neighborhood kids until the street lights came on in the evening-- that was our "curfew." And that golden hour was what we lived for. We wore ourselves out playing in the heat, but when the sun started to sink and the air cooled, we got one last burst of energy. Just in time to chase the fireflies who were waking up.

It was also the best time for a softball game.

When did we lose that ability to make the most of every single day without even trying? I'm guessing the age at which we started learning phrases like "seize the day" is when we lost the ability to do so. When you think about anything too hard, it somehow eludes you even more. Like grasping sand in your fist, all the pressure does is cause it to slide through your fingers. I can never get a good grasp on time well spent.

Which leads me back to my present nostalgia and anxiety over the fact that I can't just enjoy a day any more. I only know how to be super busy, or kill time. ("Killing time" is a terrible phrase. Who am I to abuse the luxury of free time by wanting it to pass by faster?) I'm not good at living my life. I miss having friends to walk around the park with or little neighbor kids to run around with (as their babysitter now, but still).

I ended the night determined to spend less time on the computer reading about other people's lives and spend more time living my own.  Monday morning, I dug out my copy of Walden. Who better than Thoreau to teach me the art of embracing place and enjoying time? I could quote you paragraphs at a time that apply to my life, but this line jumped off the page: "As if you could kill time without injuring eternity."

Something to think about, certainly, but also something to LIVE.

Green Thumb

In honor of Earth Day 2010, I present to you my gardening attempts...

My gardening resume is patchy at best (no pun intended)! I remember my parents being really into gardening when I was younger, and I've cut my fair share of chives for salads and picked fresh bell peppers, basil, carrots, tomatoes, and zucchini when the time came. All that time, I never knew how lucky I was to grow up knowing that veggies come from the dirt.

In 2002, the summer after my junior year of high school, I did a 10-day volunteer program with some other students from Sacred Heart schools across the country. We were at Sprout Creek Farm in Poughkeepsie, NY and we did our fair share of volunteering at the inner city soup kitchen and helping out with day camps for inner-city kids (who don't always know where food comes from). However, what I remember most is the farm work. I LOVED it! I didn't know what I wanted to do in college, but I thought it sure would be great to go into AmeriCorps like some of the other volunteers and be back on the farm again. We weeded, cleaned barnyards, milked cows and goats, picked produce, made cheese, drank fresh milk with breakfast and made dinner every night with meat/eggs/cheese/veggies from the farm!

It was there that I first started to become interested in local food. So local that you picked it on your way into the dining room (or, in the case of taco salad night, so local that you met the cow a few days prior... thankfully they didn't tell me until dinner was over). Everything tasted so fresh and green. I loved the fresh air every day and nothing to do in the evenings but sit around and talk or play games on the porch as the sun went down!

At Sprout Creek, I learned that happy cows go out to pasture every day and eat grass, get milked twice a day, and don't get hormones or antibiotics. I learned that fresh milk is WONDERFUL. And I learned to recognize a few other veggies that we had never grown at home, like beets.

If you've only tried pickled beets from the salad bar, you're missing out

Feeding the goats

Baby sheep!

One of the less savory farm tasks

Much-deserved rest

Making a new picnic table

I'm always the barefoot one...

Did someone say dinner?!

Stacking cheese molds

Charades is just not my game

Baby cows! So fun.

LOVED the view every morning. I'd go back in a heartbeat!

(Click here to see more pictures from my trip to Sprout Creek Farm).

Two summers later, after my freshman year of college, I worked on a family farm must outside of Omaha. At Wenninghoff's Farm, I learned what kohlrabi and pattipan squash look like. I learned that you NEVER handle a fresh tomato more than necessary, lest you bruise it. I learned what corn tastes like fresh off the cobb and what beets taste like when you bite into them like a carrot. I learned that most veggies I'd previously only eaten cooked, tasted GREAT right out of the ground! I learned that picking okra is prickly business and it leaves my arms covered in rashes. I learned that baby eggplants are really cute. I learned that family farms are a dying breed and the few that are still out there don't make the money they deserve for their backbreaking work.

I learned to drive a truck and get it out of the mud on my own. I learned that it's always a bad idea to hoe barefoot (my toenail never quite recovered). I learned after picking onions, you lay them right next to the row and let them cure in the sun for a day. I learned that it's really satisfying to smash rotten bell peppers by throwing them on the ground! I learned that picking green beans is a never. ending. job. I watched tough boys cry like babies when they bit into the hot peppers we were picking in a field a mile away from any fresh water.

I (re)learned what I seem to learn every summer- that I LOVE fresh air and being outdoors and being barefoot and getting covered in dirt. I had about 5 different farmers tanlines. I learned what it's like to work HARD 5-6 days a week and how good it feels to shower when you're really dirty and sleep when you're really tired.

I was never actually this clean at work. This picture was taken when I was nannying the next summer and I took the girls out to Wenninghoff's to pick some produce.

And there you have it, my short but intense resume. This spring, I'm learning that picking and eating produce is much more my forte compared to growing it. At least starting from seedlings. It's harder than you'd think to get a seed to grow into a big plant on your first try! I have high hopes, though, and pictures to post once my beet seeds decide to sprout. I'm on my second attempt. The first round of beets and cucumbers sprouted a few weeks ago, only to die while Ross and I were partying it up in Omaha. Alas, the peppers weren't meant to be this summer. It's too late to sprout them now (although I finally got the seedling heating pad in the mail) and they probably wouldn't thrive on our shady balcony.

Happy Earth Day! And if you have any gardening tips, please share!

The Big 2-5

It's my birthday!

When you are very young, you have all the time in the world... And you keep wondering: Dear God, when is life ever going to start? Then you hit the age of 25 and you realize that your days are numbered, so to speak. You begin to understand that time is no longer infinitely elastic. And why did nobody warn you that you would be spending 30 percent of your time on things that are really tedious or difficult, like trying to find a rental apartment you can afford. This is a terrible time of life, the mid-20s, because you still don't know what real adulthood looks like. And since you probably don't have children yet, you can devote entire afternoons to questions like "Who am I?" which rarely lead down a pretty path.

-from an article in the the May 2010 edition of Real Simple

I was all set to write a melancholy post today. I remember panicking before ballet class when I was little because I was turning 6 the next week and I wanted to stay 5! I have anxiety issues. Ever since then, I've looked forward to my birthday with a combination of trepidation (turning one year older) and anticipation (a day to celebrate). Needless to say, my 10th (leaving the single-digits) and 20th (leaving the teens) birthdays also provoked anxiety.

I was expecting the same with the big 2-5. After all, now I'm in my mid-20s. I know I'll look back at this someday and laugh, but man I feel old! High school was just yesterday, right? Time flies way too quickly. (Except during a 12-hour night shift).

But really when you think about it, we get a day older each day. It's not like you suddenly age an entire year on your birthday. I say I'm 25, but it means I've actually just completed my 25th trip around the sun. Luckily, I've been too busy lately to contemplate this thought.

I woke up to a gorgeous sunny day today, which always improves my mood! In 8th grade, there was 100% chance of rain on my birthday and it poured from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to bed. I obviously still haven't recovered.

I grew a strawberry!

Great view from our balcony

Ross got me an awesome hummingbird feeder for my birthday. Now we just need to find out what to put inside...

April 14, 2010 ended up being a good day! Ross and I went to blanc burgers + bottles on the Plaza for lunch. His mom sent us some money to go to a birthday dinner, so it was actually a dual celebration of our April birthdays.

Lunch was awesome and I already want to go back!

Sweet potato fries as an appetizer. We inhaled these.

Of course, Ross needed his own tray of dipping sauce after I cross-contaminated the chipotle aioli and homemade ketchup (!)

Ross with his bison burger (with meat from a local farm) and onion rings

Spicy lentil burger and salad (it tasted better than it looks). I'd read a review in which the writer raved about this burger. It certainly was good, but not as spicy as I'd hoped. I'll be trying a different burger next time.

Trying to keep all the yummyawesome veggies in

How old do I look?!

After our great lunch, I had to go home and take a nap because I had to work that night.
And speaking of late nights, Ross brought a Baskin Robbins turtle pie to work when he got back from his night class! When I was little, there used to be a Baskin Robbins in Dundee and we'd walk there after dinner every now and then to get a cool treat on a warm summer night. I remember Tommy always getting bubble gum ice cream (gross) and I think it was my dad who started getting turtle pie. One bite and I was hooked! I haven't had it in years and it was just as good as I remembered.

Cookie-crumb crust, praline ice cream, and carmel on top. What's not to love?!

Thanks to everyone who sent birthday wishes! I know I'm bad at keeping touch, but it's nice to know that out of sight isn't out of mind.

I've grown a lot in 25 years!