What I learned during one month of veganism

At this point, I have completed one month of vegan eating (with the exception of the time I accidentally ordered a salad topped with cheese, and the time I mindlessly munched through half a bag of popcorn before remembering it had butter on it). It's been a worthwhile experience and a way of eating/living that I would like to continue, in large part because it feels like a contribution that I, as one person, can make towards sustainability.

Ten things I learned during my 30 day vegan challenge:

1) It's easier then ever to adopt a vegan lifestyle. Twelve years ago I became a vegetarian, and people thought I was crazy - even though I still consumed dairy products and eggs. They looked at my baked tofu as though they'd never seen such an oddity. Soy milk was only just starting to be offered as a milk substitute at coffee shops and restaurants. But now, vegetarianism is pretty mainstream, and it seems as though veganism is following suit. With the huge array of grains, nuts, legumes, fruits, and veggies offered by even the cheaper grocery stores, crafting a healthy and varied diet is pretty straightforward.

2) You might need to try a range of milk alternatives before you find one you like. I love almond milk, but other people think it's too thick. Rice milk is thinner but sweet. Soy milk is ubiquitous but - for my taste - a little grainy. Coconut milk is still a new one for me, and I've had it only a couple of times. The point is - there are options, and they're widely available.

Same goes for ice cream made with said milk alternatives!

3) Dark chocolate: vegan! Coffee: vegan! Red wine: vegan! One reason this challenge was doable was that I didn't have to give up all of my vices.

4) Flaxseed makes a great egg substitute. 1 egg = 1 tbsp ground flaxseed + 3 tbsp water. And flaxseed contains much-lauded omega fatty acids.

5) Things that taste amazing when you're craving something rich and umami, but cheese isn't an option: avocados (especially with a little lime juice and salt). Hummus. Stir fry made with sesame oil, nuts, and tempeh.

6) Rice and dry beans are relatively inexpensive. For a grad student, this is a big win. Quinoa is a little more expensive, but now that more stores sell it, prices seem to have dropped.

7) Fresh fruits and veggies are really good at standing on their own or with only a few additional ingredients. That means cooking vegan is easy. For instance: Brussels sprouts, beets, or carrots lightly coated in olive oil and salt and pepper, then roasted. Tomatoes, cucumbers, and avocado chopped up and mixed with a little olive oil, salt, and dill. Baked sweet potato topped with roasted garlic and steamed greens.

8) Vitamin-fortified cereals are a good way to top off daily recommended amounts of vitamins and minerals (especially iron and vitamin B-12).

9) Chia seeds may be a wonder food, but my Magic Bullet doesn't do a very good job of incorporating them into smoothies.

10) With a little planning and preparation, it's possible to be vegan and gluten-free without feeling deprived. If anything, these dietary changes have made me a more adventurous eater and a more confident cook.

So tired

It's only Monday, but I feel like I'm ready for another weekend. I'm exhausted. After getting stuck in traffic at 4 p.m. and inching home through a wintry mix of sleet, snow, and rain, I saw my bed and crashed. Napped for an hour. Now I'm dazed and totally unrefreshed.

Next time we move, I am living within walking distance of my workplace. End of story. I'm over commuting.

Things have been stressful at school. There's a lot going on in our labs, and people seem a bit on edge. I've been thinking more about my job search, which will start later this year oh.my.god. It's totally overwhelming. Grad school is going by so incredibly quickly and soon I'll be out there, outside of the little think tank cocoon I've been in for the past three years. Sometimes I feel like I don't really know what I'm doing. I suppose that's normal... Fake it 'til you make it and all.

I'm a little worried that I'm slightly anemic, despite my efforts to eat leafy greens and fortified cereals.

I'm a little worried that the dreary weather is getting to me.

I'm a little worried that I'm biting off more than I can chew.

And I really wish I could go back to the beach right now.

What the heck does a gluten-free vegan eat?

I'm on Day 19 of the PETA 30 Day Vegan Challenge... and so far, it hasn't been nearly as challenging as I'd expected it would be. The rundown on what I gave up:

Meat, including fish: This wasn't very difficult for me. I've never been all that hooked on meat, thanks to the section in my 5th grade science textbook on the hazards of food-borne illnesses (my mom wasn't too pleased when I came home and started questioning her cooking techniques...) On the rare occasion when I crave meat, it's always for a big, juicy steak, which is something I wouldn't want to consume on a regular basis anyway.

Milk: I've been drinking milk alternatives, especially almond milk, for a while now. Almond milk tastes rich and creamy (like milk) but not too sweet (unlike ricemilk), and it doesn't have soy's distinctive texture. No problems here, either.

Yogurt: I mostly miss the convenience of yogurt. It's a great way to get a substantial dose of protein, calcium, and energy in one little bowl. Soy yogurt is readily available, but again, I'm not a fan of the texture. Coconut yogurt is decent, though.

Eggs: Eggs on their own, I can take or leave. It's harder to avoid them in baked products or things like waffles and pancakes, but I just read labels a little more carefully.

Cheese: I thought I'd be craving cheese! I've never met a cheese I didn't like, even the stinky, goopy, blue ones. But I'm not hankering for it. Not yet, anyway. I'm most surprised by this particular aspect of my vegan foray.

Here are some of the things I've been enjoying during this challenge:

Fruits and vegetables, of course!

Almond milk. Oatmeal. Sometimes together.

Carb- and protein-rich basics

 A probiotic drink, since I'm not eating regular yogurt anymore

Earth Balance spread (a little goes a long way, and it's so good) and corn tortillas

I feel good and am thinking about extending the challenge another two weeks once this month is up. Am I ready to commit to a total vegan lifestyle? I don't know yet. I have another work trip (with non-veg coworkers) coming up this month, and although I will have access to a refrigerator and microwave, the kitchen situation is a little sparse. So I'm going to try the vegan thing in that situation and see how it goes. If it's too stressful, though, I'll reevaluate. I travel a lot, and as prepared as I try to be in terms of having snacks on hand and planning where to shop, it's not always easy to find food that meets the gluten free/vegan requirement. Nor do my traveling companions always have patience for what some of them see as pickiness.

Aside from that, though, I am 100 percent behind veganism in that it supports sustainability, a healthy environment, and animal welfare. And those reasons, too, have been part of the motivation making this challenge pretty straightforward.

Marginally-Homemade Vegan Chocolate Nibbles

I have an issue with vegan energy bars, and it's that most of them (with the exception of Zing bars, which are my absolute favorite but which are expensive and not readily available around here) are date-based. Dates are tasty, but they're also texturally dense and very sweet. When you add to that things like dried cherries, walnuts, and agave, they turn into brick-like sugarbombs.

If I had to pick a favorite - Zing not included - it would be the Pure Bar:

The chocolate one especially. It doesn't really taste like a brownie to me, contrary to what the package says, but the cocoa cuts the sweetness a bit. The cherry cashew is... okay. When I'm desperate for a quick snack in the middle of the day, I'll eat one if it's the only carb-y thing around. 

But still... These things have heft, and once I eat one, I can feel the heft in my stomach. See? Dense, dense, dense:

However, they make a fantastic base for quick and easy chocolate nibbles. All you need is a bar and some dark chocolate. I use Trader Joe's: it melts well, and it's inexpensive:

Cut the bars up into little bite-size pieces...

...and then melt a few of the chocolate bars in the microwave. Heat on medium-high for 2-3 minutes, stirring once every minute.

Then just drizzle the chocolate over the bites. My five-year-old son did this part - his method was to dot each bite with a glob of chocolate. My method is to cover the whole thing (chocolate everywhere!), but I like how his chocolate dribbled over the sides. He did, too: he now fancies himself quite the pastry chef.

So easy, a Kindergartner can do it! (He loves stuff like this.)

I'll keep them in the refrigerator and have them as dessert for the next few days. Two or three bites are enough to make me feel satisfied and chocolate-happy.

This "recipe" makes Sandra Lee's creations look like food worthy of the French Laundry.

Vegan for 30 days: Day 1 starts tomorrow!

I've been thinking a lot about veganism. It's something I tried this past summer and fall, and for much of that time, I felt really good about not eating animal products. My primary reason for going vegan was sustainability: calorie for calorie, a plant-based diet is better for the environment in that growing crops requires less water, creates less pollution, requires less energy, and supports more people than does raising animals for food.

Veganism didn't stick - but somewhat surprisingly, it wasn't because I couldn't say no to a slab of steak or a grilled cheese sandwich. I like to cook, I like fresh produce, I'm addicted to rice and beans, and I still had my dark chocolate and coffee (which I absolutely refuse to give up, ever). I was fine with giving up animal products. Rather, it was because I started to feel like a giant pain in the ass whenever I ate with people other than my immediate family. Keep in mind that I also follow a gluten free diet, for health reasons (reasons like, I don't like having headaches every day and sinus infections once every month or two, and I do not enjoy stabbing pain in my stomach). So that meant that whenever I went out to eat with friends, or attended a party, it would turn into this big THING. 

Let's go out to for lunch/dinner!

Oh wait. You can't eat gluten. So where can we go? [This alone causes unnecessary drama way more often than I'd like, despite the fact that the vast majority of restaurants/eateries now have GF options of some sort.]

Uhhhhh AND you can't eat meat? Really?

Or cheese? No dairy at all?

...Eggs? NO?

Oh god. That really limits our options.

And that's when this is going on in a major metropolitan area. This doesn't include the issues that unfold when I'm on a field trip and my advisor wants to cook camp food for everyone, every night, or when people invite my family to dinner and want to know what they should cook.

I really DON'T want it to cause drama, and yet it so often does. And I hate - HATE - inconveniencing people. Just the sense that I'm creating problems makes me feel horribly guilty, like I'm draining all the fun and all of the options out of the event. Then it degenerates into me wanting to crawl under a table, covering my ears and rocking back and forth. Really.

So I gave up on veganism, somewhat reluctantly but also with some relief from a social standpoint. I tried to stick to organic dairy products, free range eggs, and meat from farms that supposedly treat animals properly - though of course, depending on the situation and where I was, I didn't always have much control over that.

Then, two days ago, I watched the documentary Vegucated. It wasn't the most engaging documentary about food I've ever seen - it was no Food, Inc. - but it definitely made me reconsider veganism. One thing this movie did that others have not is look at the truth behind labels like "organic" and "free range" and similar terms carefully chosen to make the consumer feel good about her food choices. For example: "free range" doesn't necessarily mean than birds are allowed to freely roam the farm. More like, they're not stuffed into cages but instead have to trip over their cohorts and walk through mounds of poop in giant indoor chicken pens. Those same "free range" facilities may still cut off the beaks of chickens and chop up live male chicks for cat food. Another example: Even cows that are not stuffed with antibiotics may have their babies taken away from them and, if they get sick, are often put down with a bolt to the head.

More than the horrible video footage, I was disgusted by the hypocrisy. Companies KNOW that most consumers aren't aware of what goes on behind the scenes, and they take advantage of that.

I'm not saying that every meat or dairy farmer, or every food purveyor, operates in a hypocritical way. But I don't feel like having to dig for the truth every time I purchase an animal product. So, considering the environmental issues I already mentioned, and the health benefits I haven't touched on, I decided to go back to veganism for 30 days to see how it goes. I took the PETA 30 day challenge. I know that my friends and extended family have their own point of view, and I know I may end up inconveniencing some of them (especially at the holidays!). But this is something I want to try, and I hope the people will try to understand my reasons for it.

30 days starts tomorrow! My breakfast plans include a coconut milk "yogurt" with granola, orange juice, and of course coffee.

Inadequate words on a tragic day

Today a young man shot and killed 20 elementary school students. Little kids. The same age as my son. Of all the horrible acts of violence that have happened in the last few years, I think this is the one I understand the least. It makes my brain reel. I was doing all sorts of things today, and doing them sufficiently well I guess, but my mind was half somewhere else. 

*   *   *

It was one of those days where, when I looked at someone else walking down the street, and he or she looked back, there was an immediate connection, an understanding, because we were reminded of our common bond as human beings. 

*   *   *

I believe that there's no such thing as "evil." I think that when we label someone else as evil, we do two things: we make them the "other," someone who has little to nothing common with us; and we strip them of a certain level of basic responsibility. After all, the purpose of Evil is... to be evil. "Evil" seems like this force that comes from outside the human realm, something we can't extinguish. But the truth is that normal, everyday people - people like me and like you - can do truly horrible, unspeakable things. They aren't monsters. Their purpose in life was not to create suffering, but those are the acts they chose for whatever reason (abuse in their own life, trauma, mental illness), and in turn they pass on their suffering to others.

I could talk about gun control (I have strong feelings about that) and I could talk about the importance of mental health support (strong feelings about that too), but ultimately, what's wrong here is much deeper than that. 

*   *   *
"If we are not happy, if we are not peaceful, we cannot share peace and happiness with others, even those we love, those who live under the same roof. If we are peaceful, if we are happy, we can smile and blossom like a flower, and everyone in our family, our entire society, will benefit from our peace." - Thich Nhat Hanh

Defunct pier, Berkeley marina

"No-one got the instructions. That is the secret of life. Everyone is flailing around, winging it most of the time, trying to find the way out, or through, or up, without a map. This lack of instruction manual is how most people develop compassion, and how they figure out to show up, care, help and serve, as the only way of filling up and being free. Otherwise you grow up to be someone who needs to dominate and shame others so no one will know that you weren't there the day the instructions were passed out.” - Anne Lamott

End of the pier, Berkeley marina

San Francisco Bay

Daydreaming, Part 2: Adventure

One time, I sailed as a deckhand from England to the Canary Islands on a tall ship. It took about a month, and we had to cross the Bay of Biscay, otherwise known as the "Bay of Sickbay" because of its stomach-lurching effects.

It was a really amazing trip - one of the biggest adventures I'll ever have, I'm sure. Things I best remember: drinking hot chocolate on the deck at midnight when I wasn't on watch, the brightness and density of the stars over the pitch black ocean, getting chased down the hall by a misplaced vacuum cleaner during a gale-force storm (one of two we experienced), getting hit so hard by a wave during the middle of the night that the water rushed into my Wellies and soaked everything I was wearing, learning to tie knots and stow rope, climbing up to the top of the main mast (terrifying), the weird things the British cook made us for breakfast and dinner.

It was pretty fantastic. I think I was happy and focused for 99.99% of that trip. Except that one time when the first mate yelled at me for not tying up a tarp as taut as it needed to be. Oh, and the time the cook made us eat hard-boiled eggs wrapped in stuffing and cornflakes. That was weird.

I love what I am doing now because I still get to have adventures. I get to spend time in the middle of nowhere and hike around for days on end. I get to travel. Sometimes I get to see places that I couldn't see as a tourist, simply because my studies give me a kind of "all access pass." I get to eat food cooked over a campfire. Every now and then I do things that don't seem very safe at all, which I both hate and love. Usually, at least one odd and unsettling (but ultimately harmless) thing happens on every adventure, and it makes for a good story later on.

And then I get to come home, be a mom, hang out with my kid and husband, go to school, work out, clean my house, go to the grocery store, fret over the balance in the checking account, and make dinner. All that is an adventure, too.

What are some of the adventurous things you do, either in your everyday life or once in a blue moon? What are the things that make your life awesome, that give you meaning, purpose, memories, adrenaline?

So I kiss goodbye to every little ounce of pain

Today I saw my therapist for the first time in several weeks. His wife just had a baby, so he's been taking a paternity leave.

Two years ago, a year ago, even six months ago, his absence would have been very difficult for me to cope with. The inability to reach him by phone, to set up an emergency appointment, would have made me feel panicked and abandoned.

(I know that might sound weird to some of you. All I can tell you is that when you have grown up feeling like you can't really depend on or trust anyone because they will eventually screw you over, and when you have so many relational hangups that are so ingrained in you that for the longest time you don't even realize they are there, when someone trustworthy and parental finally does come along and sticks with you, the bond is very strong. And age does not matter.)

But this time, I just felt happy for him. I was so busy with running, working, traveling, parenting, having fun with friends and my husband, and - dare I say it? - thoroughly enjoying my life that when my therapist finally did call me back to set up a new appointment, I didn't get around to calling him back for nearly a week. I was just in my zone, and I wasn't in a hurry to see him again. As it was, I felt like I had little to discuss.

Fast forward to my session with him today. We talked about recent goings-on, how being nice to myself by "talking" to myself in a positive way is actually working, about how even though circumstances haven't really changed (including the common presence of difficult emotions), my way of handling them has. I have worked very hard to change the way I treat myself, to be more self-aware, and to give myself space and encouragement. What I've recently realized is that little by little, I have established an internal "new normal." 

These are all very good things, but I ended up crying quite a bit during the session . I don't quite understand why, but I think part of it is the sense that this very difficult part of my journey is coming to an end. And although this journey to deal with the past and rewire old behavioral patterns has been hard, it has also been intensely profound. One amazing thing about it is the bond I have developed with my therapist. It is a deep and meaningful relationship, as is any relationship in which individuals overcome an exceptionally difficult challenge together. 

But I don't need my therapist the way I used to. Even if I do feel depressed again, even if difficult situations arise (as they surely will), I am simply less dependent on him now, and that likely won't change even if circumstances should nosedive. It's a good thing, but it makes me feel sad, too, because it means that our paths are starting to diverge.

It's not just about him. It's also about the hard things I have realized, the difficult memories I've had to look full in the face, the struggle to take responsibility for my own life now. I'm not the same as I used to be. And even though I like my life now, I guess there is some sadness in realizing that there are certain things I am moving on from.

This post sounds sappier than I intended it to be. I heard this song on the way home and was struck by how it mirrors the mood in my head right now:

Two Fingers - Jake Bugg

"So I kiss goodbye to every little ounce of pain

Light a cigarette and wish the world away
I got out, I got out, I'm alive and I'm here to stay
So I hold two fingers up to yesterday
Light a cigarette and smoke it all away
I got out, I got out, I'm alive and I'm here to stay

There's a story for every corner of this place
Running so hard you got out but your knees got grazed
I'm an old dog but I learned some new tricks yeah"

Embracing the Mom Jeans

Tonight, after years of deluding myself into thinking that I can make low-rise jeans work, I finally gave up and bought what I suppose some people would call "Mom Jeans."

Yes. I did. Because I just can't deal with the muffin top anymore. More than that, I can't deal with the possibility of anyone else asking me whether I am pregnant. (As it turns out, that question really bothered me. I didn't think so at the time, but not a day has gone by since that I haven't looked at myself more critically in the mirror.)

I can't remember when it was that low-rise jeans became the go-to jean fit (seven years ago? More?) but let's face the fact that a good portion of the population, in shape or otherwise, can't really make these work. At least, not if they're buying cheap, mass-produced department-store brands like I do.

Here's the thing. I'm in the best shape ever, for me. I feel strong. I can see muscles in my arms now, and muscles in my legs that I didn't know existed before I started marathon training and ballet/Pilates. In Xtend Barre class, I can plie, releve, and squeeze a ball between my upper thighs multiple times without thinking twice about it (three months ago, that move almost made me collapse in a sweaty, shaking heap). Plank, times two? No problem. 20 mile run? Not easy, sort of painful, but I can do it.

Yet I have hips. I have stomach flab. I have extra skin that will never go away unless I get plastic surgery, which I would never do because even if I HAD the money, which I do not, I'd much rather pay for a fancy tropical vacation than go under a knife. No question.

But do I really want my I'll-never-leave-you muffin top doing all the representing? No thank you.

I hesitated to try on the dreaded "mom jeans," and even when I had them on I was sort of cringing at first... But then I looked in the dressing room mirror and was like, HEY! Look at that! I can work this cut. No fleshy waterfall, no pseudo-baby bump. No sucking in my gut. Butt looks fine. Do I sort of look like I belong in a JC Penny ad? Kind of. But I'd rather my muffin top can hang out behind the zipper instead of over my waistband.

Also, Public Service Announcement: be warned that walking into the women's wear section of Target this fall/winter is like walking back into 1989-1992. I SWEAR I wore some of the exact same bulky/long sweaters in 7th grade.

Exhibit A

Sweater skirt

I also saw sweater pants, but I can't find them on the Target website. Sad.

What NOT to ask a woman: a post about body image

I just returned to the U.S. from my week-long trip to Italy for a professional workshop/conference. In fact, I'm currently sitting at the airport, waiting for the last leg of my trip home. It's been a long 24 hours. When I've recovered from jet lag and uploaded and sifted through my pictures, I'll post some. Italy was a great experience on both personal and professional levels; I was expecting it to go well, but it far exceeded my expectations.

But I wanted to talk about something that happened while I was at the workshop, something that chipped away at what I thought was a solider-than-ever self-image.

The first day, I wore a dress. I've worn this dress various times in various settings, and I was under the impression that I look nice in it. I felt confident in it. But during dinner that evening, someone asked me whether I was pregnant. And then the next day, when I was wearing just my usual jeans and t-shirt combo, someone ELSE asked if I was pregnant! I'm not pregnant. At all. No chance. Awkward. I felt worse for the people who asked (both women, by the way) than for myself because I know how awful it feels to mess up like that. (Although come on. Is it not a well-known universal rule that you NEVER EVER EVER ask someone if she's pregnant?!?)

Now. Granted, I'd been eating a lot of delicious food without trying to limit myself, but a) it wasn't like I was gorging and b) even if I was, can a food baby grow THAT fast? I kept looking in the mirror to see whether I'd somehow expanded significantly within a timespan of 48 hours, but to me, I looked like... the same old me.

I have never had a flat stomach. I didn't have one before I was pregnant, and I don't have one now - especially because growing a human in my uterus resulted in some spectacular stretch marks and skin that will never re-learn how to bounce back. A good diet, lots of exercise - I see the difference when I work out and feed my body well, but I have come to the conclusion that I will never lose my curves or my soft belly. You could make me an island castaway, Tom Hanks style, and even on a diet of raw fish and coconut milk, my belly would still be there. (Maybe I could paint a little smiley face on it and make it my own personal Wilson...)

I don't resent the women who asked me (though I do question their social skills). I get that they weren't trying to insult me. After all, pregnant bodies are gorgeous. I DO resent the self-consciousness that has started to creep back in. Over the past few months I've started to feel really strong. I've started to feel more appreciative of my body, in spite of (and because of) its "flaws." And now I'm being critical of myself again. I also wonder how many other people have wondered whether I'm pregnant, thanks to my somewhat chubby middle. 

I think, too, that the incident recalls some bad memories. Like when I was 16 and a peer told me that I had "great legs and great hair," but that I "just needed to work on my stomach." Or, worse, when my (former) best friend told me that she'd always felt bad for me because I tried so hard to keep myself in shape but I couldn't lose the tummy. Or when my mom asked me, a few weeks (WEEKS) after the birth of my son whether I was pregnant again, whilst patting my middle. 

Oy.

I just have to keep reminding myself that:

-people come in lots of different shapes and sizes, and that diversity is beautiful.

-a strong body doesn't have to be a skinny body.

-a healthy body doesn't have to be a skinny body.

-there are soooooooo many other things to worry about - things that are more important by multiple orders of magnitude.

-sometimes people don't think before they speak, but that doesn't make them bad or rude people. I have a muffin top; they have foot-in-mouth disease.

Anyway, I'll share a couple links to articles along these lines:

"Half," by Julia Kozerski

If Lady Gaga is considered overweight, then our society has truly lost its marbles 

What makes you feel self-conscious about your body? And what do you like/love about it?

How to create a coffee eruption

Step-by-step instructions:

1. Wake up earlier than you'd like to for a run. Make sure you're super groggy and running late.

2. Grind coffee beans. Place in filter. Turn coffee machine on.

3. Wait five minutes.

4. Realize you forgot to add water.

5. Turn coffee pot off, just to be safe.

6. Pour water into coffee maker.

7. Wait as the steam created by the pouring of cold water into hot container somehow wends its way up up through the base of the coffee filter.

8. Watch coffee grinds shoot into the air and land all over the counters, floor, and you.

9. Curse a little.

10. Clean up grinds, dust yourself off, and go for a five-mile run.

Parenting FAIL day

My husband is out of town, so it's just me and my son this weekend. So far, not so good.

It started when my son decided he wanted to do a craft project at 6:30 a.m.

Him: You have TWO choices: make glitter butterflies or build a LEGO house.
Me: I need coffee. I can't do anything until I've had breakfast and coffee.
Him: That isn't one of the choices.
Me: I'll help you with a craft after I've had breakfast and coffee.
Him: NOT ONE OF THE CHOICES.

At which point I retreated to the bedroom, put a pillow over my head, and said I was feeling sick. Then I stared at the ceiling and thought about how this "You have X choices" thing his teacher is using to get her students to do stuff is totally backfiring.

Then my friend (a former college golfer) texted me, offering to give my son the golf lessons he's been asking for. Great! I'm pumped, he's pumped, we have a cheap club from Goodwill, we're ready. We meet my friend at the park. My son takes his first aim at the tennis ball she's provided to help him get used to swinging. He misses.

Cue a temper tantrum that could put one of John McEnroe's rants to shame. He threw a golf club, marched around, screamed, said he was DONE. I suppose we should have gone home right then and there, but my friend had driven a ways to meet us, and we'd had to drive a decent distance, too, so we stuck around and I practiced hitting tennis balls while Cranky McGee wandered around muttering angrily to himself.

Later, we went to the bookstore. He asked for a cookie. Conversation:

Him: Mommy, I am really hungry. I need a snack.
Me: I brought grapes and Cheerios.
Him: But I don't want those! Here are your three choices. Points at three different cookies, each the size of his head if not larger.
Me: No cookies today.
Him: YOU AREN'T LISTENING TO THE CHOICES!!!
Me: This is causing too much drama. We're leaving.

At which point he REALLY let it rip, and the entire store and parking lot got an earful until I had him packed up into his carseat.

Five minutes from home, he fell asleep. He's still sleeping.

Maybe he misses my husband. Maybe he's exceptionally tired. I don't know, but he's not usually this volatile. He's a lot like I was when I was little, so I'm trying to be sensitive while still setting boundaries and expectations.

It's just hard sometimes. Parenting is not easy and a lot of times it's not particularly fun. I often feel like I have no idea what I'm doing, and that even though I'm trying my best, it isn't good enough.

Fig cake: Gluten free. Vegan. Delicious. It's possible.

One thing I love about Trader Joe's is its seasonal offerings. While I was there on Friday, I ran across a 1-lb container of black California figs. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with them, but I love their versatility (they're good in sweet as well as savory dishes) and the price was right. I figured The Google could help me decide what to do with them.

I found a recipe for a vegan upside-down fig cake at the Cake Duchess blog and used that as the basis for my own attempt at figgy goodness. I made several modifications: I used gluten-free flour instead of regular flour, downsized the recipe so that the cake could fit in a small, 32-oz square pan suitable for a toaster oven, added some lemon juice to the figs for a little kick of tanginess, and incorporated ground flaxseed into the recipe.

The Cake Duchess divided her recipe into four components, and I followed suit, as shown below. Upper left: ~1/2-lb. figs, quartered + 1 tsp brown sugar + lemon juice (two squeezes of half a lemon). Upper right: 1/2 cup almond milk + 1/2 tsp vinegar. Lower left: 2/3 cup gluten free flour (I used Bob's Red Mill) + 1/4 tsp baking soda + 1/4 tsp baking powder + 1 tbsp ground flaxseed + pinch of salt. Lower right: ~1/4 cup brown sugar + 1/2 tsp vanilla + ~1/6 cup vegetable oil (about 2.75 tbsp).

I melted 1 tbsp Earth Balance spread in a saucepan, dumped in the fig mixture, and let it stew on medium heat for about 5 minutes:

Note: You can leave the skin on the figs (shown above) or peel it off. The first time I tried it, I left the peels on. I love the color it imparts to the cake. However, the peeled figs were less chunky.

I mixed together the milk, sugar, and flour components to make the cake batter. If it looks runny, good - it's supposed to:

Wow. Look at that. With my iPhone camera prowess, I should really be a food photographer.

I greased the glass container with a little Earth Balance and covered the bottom with the stewed figs. Then I poured the batter over them:

Then I put the cake into the toaster oven and baked it at 325 degrees F for ~25 minutes, until golden brown (our toaster oven is a convection oven, but in a non-convection oven, I'd set the temp to 350 degrees).

Since it's an upside-down cake, in theory I guess you could run a knife along the edges, set a plate on top of the glass container, and quickly turn it over. But that sort of maneuver seems like a very bad idea for me, personally (I'm bound to end up with a totally broken cake or - more likely - a floor covered in broken glass and sugary goop), so I just scooped it out, dumped it onto a plate, and was pleasantly surprised when the figs ended up on top.

It's moist and nutty, perfect with a hot cup of coffee.

It's true.

Summer is really over.

I know because my son has started school.

I know because traffic jams are now the rule rather than the exception.

I know because I am tired all. the. time, regardless of how much sleep I get.

My fall schedule isn't *that* different from my summer schedule. I'm not taking any classes, and I do have leeway in terms of when I arrive at and leave work. But it's just not the same. Traffic has picked up, my commute has slowed, I have teaching and grading to do (which is fine; I enjoy working with my students, but it adds another element of responsibility/obligation), and campus is buzzing with people, noise, energy. Mentally, I feel more... closed in. Not as free. And I'm exhausted.

I want my lazy, carefree summer back. It was too short. Way, way too short. That whole thing about time going faster as you get older? It's totally true, and it totally freaks me out.

*  *  *

Tomorrow, workout double-header: Run early in the morning with my running group, and then Xtend Barre in the evening after school. Whew.

Personal history of depression

These are thoughts after having read Going Public with Depression. It's a worthwhile article, as are the readings listed at the end of it.

"It is that absence of being able to envisage that you will ever be cheerful again. The absence of hope. That very deadened feeling, which is so very different from feeling sad. Sad hurts but it's a healthy feeling. It is a necessary thing to feel. Depression is very different.” - J.K. Rowling

The first time I experienced full-blown depression, I was 12 years old. I didn't know it was depression; I thought every preteen who'd just moved to a different state and started at a new school must feel that empty and catatonic. I figured it was part of the territory.

Problem was, it didn't go away. The events of my 6th through 8th grade years range from being nonexistent to fuzzy in my memory, but I can still remember the relentless hopelessness. Even now, I prefer to cast that feeling a peripheral glance; looking at it straight on is still like accidentally stepping into an open manhole.

I slept a lot after school, and when I wasn't sleeping, I was still exhausted. I cried, not that it did much in the way of dissipating my despair. I walked in the rain without an umbrella and didn't care about my wet clothes. I mesmerized and numbed myself by staring at chipped paint in the wall, knots in the wood of my closet door, and patterns in the linoleum of my bedroom floor. I ate and ate and gained weight. I threw things: Books. Clothes. Glass bowls. Whatever was handy. Using stress and work as welcome distractions, I focused on homework, youth group, art, and orchestra practice.  I threatened to kill myself, multiple times, though I couldn't figure out a foolproof way to do it. And I wrote. I saved all of those journals. They're now in a box in the upstairs closet. Sometimes I think about looking at them but, again, it's simply too difficult.

I hated the feeling, and I hated myself for not being able to get rid of it. I hated that no-one was helping me and that I didn't know how to ask for help. I hated myself for not being able to deal with it on my own, which I thought was the only way. I thought it was my problem, my responsibility, alone.

I grew up. I met my husband. We got married. We moved, and moved, and moved again. My life felt okay as long as we kept forging on. I was irritable a lot.  When things got bad, I'd comfort myself by selecting songs to play at my funeral. It always made me feel better somehow, and then life would swing upwards again.

Fast forward to pregnancy. I cried every day, usually in the afternoon. Every morning I'd wake up, hopeful that today will be different, and by 2 p.m. I was curled up on the bed. Sobbing. Hopeless. Losing myself. Not knowing why I was so sad.

Fast forward to two days after my son was born. I should have asked for help. I didn't. The midwife asked me how I was doing, emotionally. My son's pediatrician asked me how I was doing, emotionally. They told me about postpartum depression, how common it is, how treatable. But in my head I was thinking, "If I tell them the truth, they'll take my baby away. They'll see what I already know: I was not meant to be a mother." I was convinced of this. So I lied and said I was fine.

My son was small at birth to begin with, but because we couldn't get the breastfeeding thing down, he lost more than a full pound in his first week. We had to put him in preemie clothes. I still can't look at photos from that time: he was practically emaciated. The doctor told me I needed to supplement with formula. We did, and he gained a pound in two days. I felt like a failure anyway. I thought about leaving. My husband did a lot of the parenting those first two years. I did what I could, but mainly I concentrated on not drowning.

Then my son turned two, and started to talk and walk and display his personality, and things got better. I forced myself to control my emotions in front of him. But I was still angry a lot, and I swung wildly from sad to mad to happy to peaceful on a daily basis. So I found a therapist in an online directory and emailed him. I still vividly remember the reply in his voicemail message: "It sounds like you're stuck. I think I can help."

Fast forward to several months after I started graduate school. I loved school. I loved what I was doing. My son was healthy. Through therapy, I was developing an understanding of myself and coping skills. Yet I found myself self-harming. Killing myself was on my mind a lot. I didn't understand how I could look so normal, successful, and composed to everyone around me, and even to parts of myself, and yet have these horrible thoughts.

Finally, I started seeing a psychiatrist and taking anti-depressant medication. I was skeptical. I was terrified that nothing would work. But miraculously, within a few weeks, it did work. My life opened up. Nothing was different, and yet everything was different, and I knew that I couldn't have gotten to that point on my own.

If I had to place a bet, I'd bet a lot of money that I've not heard the last of Depression. I know from experience that even with the strong mental defenses I've built through a combination of exercise, therapy, meds, a great family, kind friends, and rewarding work, I am not immune. And yes, that scares me.

What I do know now is that I have support, and an action plan. I can tell my husband how I feel, and he will give me space or comfort, whatever I need. I can tell my psychiatrist, and she will tell me what my medical options are. I can tell my therapist, and he will see me - even at the last minute - and listen in the kind, nonjudgmental way that he does. He will remind me that the feeling won't last forever.

If all that fails, if I am still not safe, I know these people will do for me what I might not be able to do for myself and get me to a place where I can focus 100 percent on recuperating. It's not something I want to do, ever, but I've learned that there's no shame in being hospitalized for depression any more than there's shame for being hospitalized for a heart attack.

I don't focus on being "cured." I focus on managing these experiences, and preparing myself for when those experiences are particularly overwhelming. I am trying to let go on the good days and just bask in them.

One thing my therapist keeps reminding me of is that I am not alone. Other people experience this. A lot of other people. "But we don't talk about it. People hide it. No-one knows," I reply. "That's true," he'll say.

Why don't we talk about it? Is it because of the stigma attached? Maybe, though I truly think that's changing. Is it because other people might use that knowledge as a weapon? Perhaps. For me, though, I don't talk about it because I don't really have the words to explain what it's like. Depression is a lot like love in that words fail to describe its depth and nuances. It's as if we need something more than words to convey the experience. We use words to build bridges to one another. And because words fail me when I am depressed, I feel alone.

Looking back at 12-year-old me, I don't know how I survived that depression. I really don't. No episode since then has been as bad, maybe because that was the first time and I wasn't used to it, maybe because at no other time have I had so little support. I might feel like I don't have support, but in reality I do, and so long as the rational part of my brain can speak up long enough to shout "HELP," I know I have a way forward.

A new era for our little family

My little boy starts Kindergarten tomorrow. I know he's ready. I'm pretty sure we're ready, too. But there's definitely a weight to this occasion. He'll need to exercise more independence. He'll have to make more decisions on his own. He'll have to follow other adults' directions/rules, some of which his laid back parents think are kind of silly (not that we'd admit that to him).

It's all good. I don't own my child. I'm responsible for his well being, and I'd do anything for him to keep him safe and secure, but he has a right to his own experiences.

It's not that I'm particularly sad, though there is a sense of, "Wow. I thought we'd never get here, and yet here we are." It's just that I recognize we're turning a page. We're making a transition, and life will change, evolve, if only in subtle ways.

Common courtesy, or lack thereof

An open letter to companies and institutions who solicit applications (for employment, fellowships, scholarships, etc.) yet never bother to respond to them:

To whom it may concern:

I noticed that you failed to offer any sort of response to the application that I submitted two months ago, though when I contacted you, you curtly assured me you'd received it. I would like to point out the following:

• Responding to email is actually not that hard. You click "reply" and type a few words. Might I suggest: "Thank you for your interest in this scholarship/job/unpaid-internship-slash-free-labor. We have decided to go in a different direction, but we appreciate the time you put into your application. We wish you all the best."

• Do you know how long it just took me to type those three sentences? Forty-seven seconds.

• I understand that you likely received numerous applications. There are several high-tech ways to approach this challenge. One is to learn a function widely known as "copy and paste." This function allows you to place the same sentence (see above) into multiple emails without having to type it again and again. Now all you have to do is modify the "Dear So-and-So" and the email address, and voila! 

• Perhaps that sounds too hard, or maybe you are too important to send individual replies to each application. No matter. There's a solution for that, too. Simply place the email addresses of all recipients in the little box labeled "bcc" (if you don't know what that means, try the Google). Avoid personal greetings altogether. Go for the blatantly canned rejection. Then type your response (see suggestion above) and press the little button that says "send." At this point, everyone who was included in the reply will receive the message, but they won't see the names of anyone else who received it. I know, it's like magic! It WILL take three minutes of your precious time, though. If that's too much for you, try...

• ...having your administrative assistant do the dirty work for you. If you are really that important, so important that you can't be bothered to contact your applicants, you will work with someone who actually knows what he/she is doing.

• If you're responsible for deciding who gets the scholarship/job/internship and you aren't aware of the techniques described in the previous three bullet points, then might I suggest you pass on your job to someone with some life skills.

• Keep in mind that people put a lot of time into their applications, especially now when the chances of actually getting the carrot are so slim. That's time these people could be spending with their families, with their children, researching other opportunities, etc. These individuals will understand that they might not receive an offer. Nevertheless, they do deserve some sort of response. You know... because they're human. They deserve respect, too.

• Karma's a bitch. Just FYI.

Best,

Stationary Runner

The first day

Today was my son's first day of Kindergarten - well, half-day orientation, but close enough. It was the first time he met other children in his class and spent appreciable time with his teachers.

The whole operation went as smoothly as it possibly could have. Dropped him off; no tears (he seemed a little anxious until the tall, pretty blonde teacher asked him about his Transformers backpack... She won him over in seconds.) Picked him up; all smiles. Unprompted, he even told me about part of his day: he colored in an apple picture and cut it out, and he ate lunch in the cafeteria. Given that he's always been reluctant to tell us about activities at his preschool, I took this as a sign that he's excited about his new experience.

A few months ago I worried about him going to Kindergarten: he's so shy sometimes... Would he be okay? Would he be able to stand up for himself if someone picked on him? Would his learning be totally test-oriented? Would the kids get enough science, art, and playtime? Would someone hurt him, and if someone DID hurt him, would he tell me? I really worked myself into quite a frenzy and was well on my way to becoming the poster mother for Helicopter Parenting.

In late April all of those concerns veritably disappeared when we went to the school to pre-register him. He fell in love immediately: with the library stocked with computers, books, and comfy seats; with the music room filled with drums, xylophones, guitars, and other instruments; with the bright, colorful Kindergarten classrooms; with the computer lab.

I fell in love with the school, too, mainly because it reminded me so much of my own public elementary school: not at all fancy, very diverse in terms of student population, down to earth, warm. If I have one academic-related wish for my son right now, it's that he enjoys this part of his educational journey as much as I did. For me, school was a source of comfort and consistency, a place where I couldn't wait to be every day because I knew I'd be doing and learning new things. Every morning was like Christmas. My teachers played a critical, vital part in shaping not only my knowledge base, but my sense of self-worth and self-confidence. Even now, I can still remember the names of each one of my K-6 teachers, and I think of all of them fondly because they were so kind to me. They made me feel like I could do anything.

With my son starting grade school, I am reminded that it is perfectly okay for a village - not just the parents - to help raise a child. In my own life, I don't know where I would be now without that village. My son's childhood is different than mine, but nevertheless, I want him to develop bonds with people - adults and kids - other than us. No one person can be everything for someone else, not even a parent for her child.

ETA: 3-mile run followed immediately by 1-hour "ballet class" = I can't bend my arms. Or legs.

Chickpea patties with roasted veggies

Five years ago, I cooked fairly often but didn't necessarily relish it. Trying to time each component of the meal, limit the amount of mess I made, wash the dishes as I went along (something my husband strongly believes in, probably because it means he doesn't have to spend as much time at the sink after dinner), make adjustments based on the availability of ingredients (or lack thereof)... It was kind of stressful. Also, I was perfectionistic. Every meal had to be a masterpiece. I'm no Julia Child, and with my attitude, I was doomed to culinary misery.

Going gluten free forced me to cook on a much more regular basis. I couldn't go out to eat nearly as often as I had in my pre-GF days; when I did, the food was usually disappointing. So cooking at home was almost always cheaper and sometimes more tasty. :-) At first I relied heavily on recipes, but then I realized that when you use fresh ingredients, you don't need to do a whole lot to food to make it taste good. And because I started to see food as fuel, I didn't get as upset if it didn't turn out as I'd hoped. It was still nutritious. Once I took some of the pressure off myself and reduced the complexity of my cooking efforts, the whole act of preparing a meal became a lot more relaxing and enjoyable. And as with most things, practice makes easier (not perfect - perfect is not a goal [or so I lecture myself on a regular basis]).

Tonight I made fried chickpea patties. The recipe is taken from Oh She Glows. I changed two things: I used GF flour instead of regular flour, and I fried the patties instead of baking them. We don't fry very often, and until recently it actually kind of scared me. But fried food... tastes good. And it cooks quickly. So I've gotten a little more comfortable with it.

Per the recipe, I combined red onion, garlic, cumin, coriander, and some salt and pepper (I kind of eyeballed the measurements). In a separate bowl, I mashed up two cans of chickpeas with my hands (not the cans, just the chickpeas... har har) and added the GF flour. My son mixed it all together.

Chickpeas and flour in wooden bowl; onions, garlic, and spices in blue bowl

I divided the mixture into 10 pieces and patted them into little disks:

Then I covered the bottom of a saute pan with canola oil, let it warm up on medium-high heat, and added the patties once the oil was very hot (I deemed it "very hot" when I dropped in a chickpea and saw it sizzle):

Not a pretty picture. Oh well. Does frying ever look pretty?

I fried the patties for ~4 minutes on one side and ~3 minutes on the other. Then I placed them on towels to soak up some of the excess oil.

I served them with roasted brussels sprouts and grape tomatoes (mix sprouts and tomatoes with a generous swizzle of olive oil, add salt and pepper, bake for 30 minutes at ~400 degrees). 

I was really pleased with the flavor and texture combinations: sweet tomatoes, slightly salty Brussels sprouts, patties that were light and crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Perfect. Total comfort food. And easy to make.

Mini-Vacation (Days 3 and 4): Feeling Off

My emotions are so roller coaster-like, even now that I am on an antidepressant and my moods don't fluctuate as wildly as they used to.

Yesterday and today, I struggled. I felt (feel) irritable, distant, spacey, annoyed at silly things, frustrated, unable to snap out of it... I want to be able to enjoy this getaway, but it's hard to do that when I'm overwhelmed.

I'm pretty sure that what has triggered these feelings is the book I've been reading. I thought maybe it could just be a fun, silly, frivolous, tantalizing thing to read. I should know better. Those topics and the explicit nature in which they are described are too close to home. Way too close. I knew I should put it down and walk away, and I didn't.

It's a lot like the times when I have self-harmed (something that's a bit hard to admit, and something I am working to avoid, but there it is). When I do it, it seems necessary. I think about it compulsively until I do it, and at that point it either feels good or I'm so blank that I feel nothing. At first it doesn't seem like a big deal. It's later - usually days later - that I start feeling like crap. At that point it's like a suffocating weight settles over my mind, and I have to ride it out until one day I wake up and it's no longer there.

So anyway. Reading this book was not a good idea. I'm trying to distract myself, and I'm hoping this panicked, strangling sensation will dissipate soon.