I Wear Running Shoes to Therapy

I started running last year because I was fat.

And I was fat because...Well, I'm still figuring that one out. But don't worry about me; I'm working through it with the help of therapy.

I see my therapist 3 to 4 times a week. And I always wear my running shoes. A ponytail. And spandex.

My therapist doesn't talk much. She just listens as my brain sifts to the rhythm of my running shoes hitting the pavement. Some days "therapy" is just getting away from the kids, the house, the daily grind. Running mindlessly to loud, pumping music. My mind idling on song lyrics, craft projects, to do lists.

But some days--like today--we have break-throughs.

Today I ran past a wild rose bush. Cheery red and yellow blossoms snagged my peripheral vision. They flagged my memories down and instantly conjured a childhood image.

A daddy daughter date.

A Saturday morning. I don't know how old I was, but lucky me, I was going to go to a church breakfast with my dad. Just him and me.

Dressed up, we stood next to the wild rose bush that grew in our backyard. Near the grey bricks of the garage. The bush was wild and prickly and repulsive most of the year. But every spring, it imparted a peace offering: hundreds of bright, happy red and yellow blossoms.

I could smell the sun baked blossoms as we posed for a quick picture. My mom was there too. I remember her breaking off a few flowers to place jauntily in my dad's pocket. And a few blossoms to tuck behind my ear. Fragile, homemade boutonnieres for our special date.

Like the brilliantly colored petals, everyone was cheerful. The excitement of this petite rite of passage imprinted on my young mind accompanied by the sight and fragrance of floral reds and yellows.

This vivid memory, a memory I haven't reflected on in years, flooded my mind within milliseconds of catching sight of the bush. As I rushed past the blossoms, the warm, musty smell of sun baked wild roses waved me on, patting my back, and sealing in the reminiscence.

As I continued on my running path, savoring this cherished memory, I marveled at how quickly it had risen to my conscience. At how vivid it was. And again at how swiftly my mind and heart synchronized afterwards.

And just like that something gave way within me. Almost physically I felt it.

Forgiveness.

It was an instance where the circumstances of the moment harmonized. The music on my playlist was rather melancholy. I was feeling particularly receptive after being worn down by the effort of the first few miles. This was the one and only wild rose bush seen on my entire four mile journey.

There was a release. Of hurt, of anger, of bitterness. A grudge held against parents who made so many mistakes, left back on the trail, laid down to rest next to the rose bush. It was a sudden and enlightening realization that all parents are guilty of negligence and error as they struggle to find their way through parenthood. That there was no point in making them suffer for it anymore. Whether they realized I was doing it or not. Whether I realized I was doing it or not. And a hope that my own children would be kinder to me than I had been on my own mom and dad as I would inevitably have my own grievous faults in raising children.

All that from running.

I started running because I was fat. I keep running because I am healing my body, mind, and soul.

(And it's a heckuva alot cheaper than seeing a real therapist.)

Happy Smothers' Day!

This morning I was lovingly greeted by an enthusiastic 5 year old daughter.

"Happy Smothers' Day, Mommy!"

She quickly corrected herself, but I kind of liked it better the first way.

We mothers, we like to smother. We will smother and cuddle and hug and kiss and and nag and worry and adore and cheer and support and loveloveLOVE you from the very first moment we hold you in our arms to our very last dying breath. And it's high time we received some appreciation for the smotherers we are.

So to all you smotherers out there...Happy Smothers' Day! May your day be absolutely overflowing with reciprocated smothering!

"Them Riley Women"

My husband and the husbands of my sisters have a little term for the women in my family.

If my mom, two sisters, or I do or say something a tad crazy, maybe a little hardcore, perhaps rather remarkable, they just roll their eyes knowingly at each other, give a little sigh, and mumble something about "them Riley Women".

Our reputation precedes us.

It's my mom's fault. She started it. Her own mother passed away when she was only three years old. She was raised by a gruff dad and four older brothers. Resiliency, hard work, and "hard core" just came with the territory. Self reliance and determination flow through her veins.

Which makes it genetic. Or so I can see in my sisters. They are just like my mom. They work harder and longer than any one else. They create solutions. They generate fresh ideas. They make intricate plans. They build things with their bare hands. They garden and can and sew. They go and do. And do so quietly and without public accolades.

Me?? Umm...I kind of took after my dad. We like to entertain people. We listen to loud music and have fun and work to make people feel welcome and loved. Which are all important qualities too.

There's some of my mom in me. In fact, I have a pretty good balance of the two. I'm very blessed that way. My parents both have great strengths that make them wonderful people and lucky me, I got a genetic dollop from both.

But I dropped out of the Super Woman marathon in my family long ago. The white flag has been thrown. I'm painfully aware that I will never be quite as amazing and ambitious as my mom and sisters are. It really used to bother me--it still does sometimes--but I hope that I've matured enough now that I can sit back and just enjoy what wonderful women they are, as well as embrace the wonderful--and different--woman that I am.

So what was the dividing barrier? The great sifter between the "wonderful women" and the "Super Women"?

Child birth.

They have 'em natural. I don't. I've tried, but between a stubborn body, painfully long inductions, moving schedules, plane schedules, pure ignorance, etc, I've never been able to make it happen.

I greatly admire--with varying shades of jealousy--my sisters each time they emerge from glorious natural birth experiences. They are so strong willed and amazing. Seeing them walk through the valley of the near-death shadow of natural childbirth, unscathed, leaves me feeling rather inferior and just plain "wonderful" instead of "Super".

Whatever. Enough about me. This is no pity party.

This is a birth day party because one of "them Riley Women" just went and did something today that sets the Riley Women bar at a whole new level. She gave birth to her baby in a car in the Hometown, Idaho City Hall parking lot!!!

How do you ever top that?! Unless you have twins on a boat in the middle of a snow storm...you don't. See why I forfeited long ago?

My mom and sisters are incredible! I admire them all for their strength, courage, and pure unadulterated ambition and I'm grateful to be their sister and daughter. I mean, really, these are the kind of people you want to surround yourself with in a crisis or the end of the world. I'm set for life. ;)

Congratulations to both of my little sisters for bringing into the world a whole new generation of "them Riley Women"!

Welcome to the world little Evalett (April 24, 2012) daughter of Erin and Kip...

And little Oakley (May 8, 2012) daughter of Camille and Tyler!

P.S. Here's a little fun "Them Riley Women" fact... There are three girls in my family (and two boys, but they don't count right now). All three of us girls each had a firstborn son and then a second born daughter. Each of those second born daughters was born 4 days from each of their respective fathers' birthdays. Pretty sweet, huh?

P.P.S. And, suuuure, maybe both my sisters can give birth naturally, but I still win the prize for biggest babies! Take that, sissies! :P

Monday Melancholy

*grumblegroanwhinemoangrouchgrumble*

Ohhhh, it's been a frustrating day.

And I'm not exactly sure why. It's only Monday and I got all the laundry washed, folded, and put away. I did the dishes. Twice. I vacuumed. Three times. I kept the house tidy and neat all day long. We got homework done. I paid bills. I answered phone calls. I organized paper work. I said my prayers. I read scriptures.

I even squeezed in my P90X workout, which I didn't think was going to happen with all the housework and laundry.

A killer day for a mom of four, right?

But for some reason there was very little joy in all of it. Accomplished though it was, I still felt like I was scraping by all day long, just trying to complete something. Anything.

I'm burnt out on P90X and eating healthy.
I'm wondering if there's anything to my life beyond vacuuming floors.
I'm pessimistic about the clean laundry staying in the drawers.
I'm tired of meat and potatoes and veggies, meat and potatoes and veggies, repeat, rinse and repeat, for dinner.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

Oh me and my monotonous wonderful little life. What a pity I'm so blessed with so many amazing things, eh?

Good thing I saw this today...



If this guy can do it, with a smile on his face, I can do it without grumbling and complaining.

Happy Monday! Here's to a more joyful Tuesday!

Your Daily Dose of Vitamin Cee

I know she's mine and that makes me rather partial, but seriously...Isn't she adorable?!

This really has to be the golden age of parenting. Or at least one of countless golden ages of parenting.

Ahhh.

This is the Man I Married

Joe recently received an end of the year bonus. Woohoo! Extra money?! WOOHOO!!

But what does this man that I married, this father of my children do with that extra money???

Does he buy a new tool?

What about a new recliner?

Does he go blow it on a weekend out with the boys?

How about a new gun?

Maybe a down payment on a motorcycle?

He should spend it on some new clothes for himself.

Or maybe even a night out with his gorgeous wife (hee hee!).

Does he do any of that???

Nope. No. Nada. Not even close. No way.

This is what he does.

He spends three hours shopping around town for a swing set for his children only to bring home the next best thing...

A trampoline!

Then he spends his entire Saturday, his one and only true day off, to set the thing up.

And he even lets the kids help.

And we all know how truly "helpful" a 7, 5, and 3 year old can be.

What a guy! What a dad! We sure love you, Daddy Joe, for being the selfless, committed, loving, giving man you are. (Even if you always pull goofy faces when I take pictures.)

Mental Picture or Just Mental?

There's a little restaurant chain that began in St. George, Utah back in 1997 called Cafe Rio. Maybe you've heard of it. It was new to me until I moved to the Salt Lake City valley in January of 2011. A few weeks after our move I was asked to join a planning committee for a church dinner. "Cafe Rio salads" were one of the options discussed for the menu and desiring to fulfill my duty to this committee, I took it upon myself to do a little field research. The next day I made my way to Cafe Rio, purchased a shredded chicken salad, and...sealed my fate. I've been hooked ever since. (I swear they must slip cocaine into that house dressing.)

Over the years we have moved around a lot. Sometimes it's difficult to feel like a place is "home". So with the intention of making Utah my "home sweet home" I feel it is my civic duty to do as the Romans do, or in this case, do as the Utahans do. I have a moral obligation to make a weekly lunch trip to Cafe Rio. All in the name of being a good neighbor and citizen, mind you. Over the past year and a half I've tried several delicious items on the menu, but I'm always drawn back to the shredded chicken salad. Since I've been on my weight loss journey it's the smaller shredded chicken tostada that satisfies my Cafe Rio craving ("Hold the tortilla, cheese, tortilla strips, and sour cream, please").

But I digress...Confessing my Cafe Rio addiction is not why I came here today. But it was while I was in Cafe Rio, savoring my weekly chicken tostada that I saw something that made an impression on something within me. And here is my clumsy attempt at taking a mental picture of it.

The lunch hour brings people from all walks of life into Cafe Rio, including dozens of police officers. My daughters and I love watching these law enforcers taking a break from their long workday to enjoy a meal. They are relaxed and engaged in casual conversation with people around them. It's pleasant for my children and myself to see these civil servants that we respect in these unfettered circumstances.

As we ate I watched one officer in particular. Something about his arm had piqued my interest. His entire left arm, from shoulder to the wrist, was covered in tattoos. This, I would assume, is a rather unusual signature among law enforcement individuals, especially law enforcement individuals in Mormon Central, Utah. But it wasn't just the permanent sleeve of tattoos. It was the wedding band that gleamed from his ring finger just below the tattoos. And it was the police patch sewn on to the left sleeve of his uniform that hovered above. The wedding ring and civil servant patch sat on either end of the tattoo like bookends.

This arm told a story.

What the story was about, I'm not sure. I don't "speak" tattoo. But I gathered enough from the cover to perceive the poignancy of the tale. I wanted to know more. I couldn't keep my eyes away from him, or more directly, his arm.

An urge came over me. I at least wanted the abridged version of the story. I wanted a picture.

But all I had was my lousy cell phone. I wrestled back and forth in my head whether I impose on this unsuspecting fellow who is trying to eat his lunch and ask for a picture. I began to shake as I worked up the nerve to ask him. How ridiculous. Some silly mom with three noisy little girls asking for a picture of his arm.

But I had to have one.

I worked up the nerve a dozen times. I wimped out eleven and a half times. When he started to get up to go I knew my chance was walking away with him. I seized the moment. I jumped up and asked him if I could take a picture of his arm. What a weirdo. I asked a police office for a picture of his arm.

But what a nice guy, he accommodated. I imagine when he joined the police force he pictured serving his community by catching criminals and rescuing victims. Not posing (with his hand on his heart no less--HIS natural placement, NOT my request) for the Mamarazzi in Cafe Rio.

I hastily snapped the picture and stumbled away. I couldn't stop jittering for the next half hour. I was so anxious I'm not even sure I thanked him for submitting to my awkward appeal. I waited until I had all of my children safely back in the car before I indulged a peek at my picture.

But...no picture. Stupid phone.

I would try to draw his arm for you, but my artistic skills lean towards the cartoonish. A cartoon just wouldn't do this justice. And I am more painfully aware than you that I am floundering as I attempt to take a mental picture here. My vocabulary and thesaurus are failing me today. Overall, I am frustrated by my lack of artistic talent or tools to illustrate to you just why some random police officer's arm made such an impression on my soul today.

And now I've wasted two hours, muddling it all up, trying to explain something that would have taken a moment to photograph and slap on a "Thought this was cool today!" caption. With time and smearing of words, I'm beginning to wonder just why a massive tattoo bordered by symbols of devotion to family and country cast such intense imagery for me today. It's not like I'm some kind of tattoo enthusiast or married to a police office or in the jewelry business.

*Sigh*

I'm just a mom who really likes her Cafe Rio tostadas, who likes to people watch, who wishes she sometimes wore a professional grade camera around her neck instead of a diaper bag, and who appreciates those people who put their lives on the line to serve our community.

(I should really consider renaming this blog "To Make a Short Story, Long...".)

Our Celiac Disease Story {Part 2}: Happy to Be Gluten Free!

I feel like I'm getting rather obnoxious with all my posts about Celiac and food allergies. This blog is not necessarily a "food blog" nor an "allergy blog". It's just a slice of our life. And since Celiac and food allergies tend to be part of life...it's gonna be on the blog.

I promise to get back to topics other than food and blood tests and diarrhea and such, but indulge me as I write one more post.

Yesterday I wrote about how we discovered that Elle had Celiac Disease. But that's only half of the story. I wanted to share how things have been altered since we have made the necessary life changes in keeping her tummy and body safe and well fed.

I am not what any one would call an "observant mom". It takes me a long time to SEE things in my children and for my brain to make the connections. They say that hindsight is 20/20. It's odd how many things have come into focus since we received Elle's diagnosis of CD and made the move to a gluten free diet.

Elle did not have the typical signs and symptoms of CD. Many kids that are diagnosed are labeled as "failure to thrive" and sickly looking. My kiddo was born weighing 9.6 pounds and she never really slowed down. She's always been at the top of the growth charts. She's a tall kid. She's a pretty healthy looking kid. She didn't complain about stomach aches. She had a lot of energy.

She did have other red flags that I couldn't exactly identify then, but know now that they were screaming at me that something was wrong with my daughter.

For Elle's third birthday I threw her a rock-themed birthday party. As in rocks you pick up off the ground. Not rock and roll. Why would I do such a strange thing? Because I perceived that my little daughter had this thing for rocks. This weird, unexplainable attraction to rocks. She would pick up pebbles from the ground every single time we went outside to play or get in the car and immediately pop them in her mouth. Then she would suck on the rock and roll it around in her mouth. She did this so often that when we would clean out our van we would find dozens and dozens of small stones in her car seat and rolling around on the floor.

At first I figured it was just a toddler thing; little kids like to put things in their mouth. Then I figured she inherited Mommy's love of rocks; I still have my rock collection from when I was a kid. Then I began to worry. In addition to the choking hazard, it just seemed strange. Especially when I would watch her pick up a rock, lick it, dip it in the dirt, and then lick the dirt off the rock. Repeatedly. Strange. I would also catch her trying to lick metal and cement. Really strange.

I mentioned her idiosyncrasies to our pediatrician who tested for an iron deficiency. The tests came back normal. Both the doctor and I figured Elle just had an affinity for rocks. So I embraced her love of rocks, put her down in the will for my rock collection, and put together a rock themed 3rd birthday party.

Since Elle has begun a gluten free diet, I have not seen her eating rocks or licking anything other than the occasional popsicle or sucker. Her little body was trying to tell her and me something and we just weren't picking up on the clues. Now her body is able to absorb the nutrients it needs and it doesn't "ask" her to go eat rocks or dirt anymore. So now what am I supposed to do with this bucket of rocks?

There were other clues. Her hair was stringy and would fall out in bunches every time I brushed her hair. I was almost afraid to brush her hair because I didn't want her to be bald. Her nails grew oddly and very slowly.

Since going gluten free, her hair and nails are much improved.

The biggest symptom that Elle had of Celiac Disease was the "brain fog". My little third-time-is-the-charm baby was the quietest out of all of my children. She hardly ever cried from Day One. She was so sweet and passive and easily satisfied that she became the little wheel that got lost in the crowd where there were much louder and squeakier wheels hogging all the oil.

When she turned 18 months her behavior took a turn for the worst. She was into everything, just like any kid, by 100 times worse. I would cry to my mom and sister, "I don't remember any of the other kids doing this!". She could get into trouble quicker than any toddler I've ever seen. And so quietly too. I didn't even know she was dumping out soap bottles or climbing book shelves or sitting in the toilet until it was too late.

As the months went by, people began to comment about how quiet she was. We just figured she was the "shy one" in our little herd. Maybe she just couldn't get a word in edgewise with her two older, chattier siblings. But with time, her vocabulary and behavior were not improving. She had a hard time computing that there were rules to be followed. Time outs were useless. Spanking was even more futile. I was so frustrated with this little silent child of mine.

Oh, how I wish I had realized what kind of an intimate connection there is between food and brain and body, especially for children.

Even after we received the CD diagnosis I didn't realize that her behavior and lack of verbal development were being impacted by her intolerance to wheat. It wasn't until family and friends started commenting how much Elle was suddenly talking that I clued in. But indeed, shortly after we started the gluten free diet, her vocabulary EXPLODED. It could be coincidental, but I'm inclined to believe that she had been freed from a wheat induced, brain fog prison. Her body and brain were now receiving the nutrition they needed to function and process the world around her.

My husband, bless his heart, is not quite the believer I am. He is suspicious of doctors and feels they like to make up illnesses and problems just to keep the money rolling in. Me? I'm a collapsed-on-the-floor, crying-the-ugly-cry, praising-Jesus believer.

Discovering that Elle has CD may have been one of the more devastating events in our life, but on the other hand it has been one of the more liberating events too. I now understand why my child was doing and not doing certain things. I have the tools to help her on her path of development, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. I can be a better mom for my daughter.

And while she is only three and doesn't have much to say on the subject, Elle seems to be happier. She is more social and more capable. She is interacting with the world instead of floating through it, destroying everything in her path.

I'm grateful that she was diagnosed at so young an age. She is very open to dietary changes and new foods right now. She (hopefully) won't remember how amazing a big fat cookie or homemade cinnamon roll tastes when made with "regular" flour. By the time she is dating and going out with friends, it won't be a big deal that she has to be vigilant about what she orders from a menu or eats at a party. Hopefully she won't feel too different about having CD. She'll be able to live an active life free of stomach aches, intestinal issues, infertility, osteoporosis, cancer, diabetes, or many of the other complications that can come with undiagnosed and untreated CD.

To make a very long story, very short: We are HAPPY to be GLUTEN FREE!

Our Celiac Disease Story {Part 1}: Those Silly Yaks!

Honestly, I can't remember if I have shared our Celiac Disease story on the blog. It's quite possible I did. I have people asking me all the time how I figured out that my 3 year old daughter has Celiac. So I can't remember if I have typed this out in an email, a Facebook bar, a blog post, or just talked to some random stranger in the grocery store. If it was here, forgive me for being redundant.

If it wasn't here...well, it's high time I got this written down, eh? (That and stop talking to strangers in the grocery store.)

The story really begins with my oldest child, Dee. He has had a severe milk allergy, as well as other allergies (shell fish, fish, seasonal, animals) and asthma since he was a brand new baby. We discovered his allergy quite by accident when he was only a few months old. A pediatric allergy specialist and all his high-finagled testing confirmed our suspicions when he was 6 months old. But that's another story for another day.

After parenting this first-born, allergy-ridden kid, I was aware of some of the signs and symptoms of food allergies in children. And I saw some of these signs and symptoms in my third child, Elle.

Early 2011, we had moved to another state and I needed to make contact with a new allergist in the area for Dee. While Elle didn't seem anywhere near as "allergic" as Dee (he has anaphylactic reactions where he swells up and has a hard time breathing when exposed to milk among other things), there were enough signs and symptoms of a food allergy that I wanted to have her tested (dark circles under the eyes, watery eyes, diarrhea, often mucousy diarrhea, dry skin). If for nothing else, it would give me peace of mind. I made her an appointment at the same time I made one for Dee.

The allergist is a busy lady so it wasn't until early Fall of 2011 that we finally found ourselves sitting in an exam room. Both children were tested via skin testing for food allergies. Dee was retested to see if he had outgrown any of his, which he had! (Add fish and shellfish back on to our meal plans! Yes!) Yet, he still tested highly sensitive to milk. Bummer.

When Elle's skin testing came back negative for all the major food allergies (including wheat by the way) I was surprised. I just felt that something was amiss with my little 3 year old. Call it a hunch. Call it Mother's Intuition. Call it Hypochondria.

The doctor suggested we draw blood and do more sensitive testing. Then she asked about Celiac Disease.

Huh???

Was there any family history of Celiac Disease.

Yes. My uncle and his daughter and her daughter.

Well, let's throw that test on there too since we're drawing blood anyway. Can't hurt to just check.

We had Elle's blood drawn and I admit, I walked out of the office wiping the whole incident from my mind. I figured I was just being a hypochondriac mother. There's nothing wrong with my kiddo. Moving on...

A couple of weeks later, it was a Tuesday night. 9 pm. My cell phone rang and I didn't recognize the number. Who would call this late at night?

"Hello, is this Elle's mother? This is Dr. B. I wanted to talk to you about Elle's recent blood tests."

I was caught off guard. Honestly I had hardly remembered she had even had blood drawn.

Then the doctor's voice took on the tone of an adult on a Charlie Brown show.

"Waa waa wah waaaa Waaa waaa. Wa waaaaah Waaaa Wah. Waaah wah waaaah."

Hardly a thing she said registered in my head. Mud. Clear as. Still I found myself nodding and saying the words "Yes, I understand" and "Okay" when a voice inside of me was saying, "Hold up! We DON'T understand! And this is NOT okay!"

She then asked if I had any questions to which I calmly said, "Nope. Thank you." and promptly hung up.

Then the dam broke and the flood rushed forth.

My daughter has tested positive for Celiac. And not only tested positive, but has soaring high numbers. My daughter has Celiac.

Huh???

Several hours of googling, a few flabbergasted Facebook status updates, two teary phone calls, a multitude of prayers, and some grieving for lost life expectations later...

I was ready to begin facing this monstrous thing called "Celiac Disease". Or at least what felt monstrous at the time.

There are mountainous learning curves to climb when adjusting to a gluten free life, but we come from hearty stock. Mountain climbers we shall be. Perhaps whiny, dawdling, stumbling mountain climbers. Yet, still, moving in an upwards and onwards direction.

Several months later we are still learning, but we are finding our groove with wonderful help from our GI doctor, a dietitian, friends and family who struggle with CD as well, and a wealth of information available at our fingertips online.

So while life is a little more complicated these days, it is still very, very good! (And delicious!)

Happy Celiac Awareness Month!

It's May 1st! You know what that means!

That's right! It's the first day of Celiac Awareness Month!! Woohoo!!

Okay, okay. So I admit I didn't know that either until I saw something on Facebook this morning. But as a mother of a child with Celiac Disease I'm all for jumping on board with an awareness effort. "Celiac Disease" was just something my uncle and his daughter and her daughter had. It was their problem. Too bad if they can't eat what the rest of us are pigging out on at the family reunion. It doesn't affect me.

But in the fall of last year, it became my problem too when my little 3 year old Elle was diagnosed. It's genetic, ya' know? There is suspicion that my grandmother, who died very young, may have had it as well.

Celiac Disease rocked my world. And it wasn't even me that had been diagnosed (although I and all my other children of age have been tested). Over the past several months I have had to embrace all new ways of approaching food. We have had to replace many ingredients in our pantry and diet. I'm learning new ways to plan and prepare meals. I am vigilantly trying to prevent cross-contamination. I am trying new products and foods.

This life style isn't easy. It isn't cheap. But it is doable. Whatever I can do to keep my little one safe, happy, healthy, and well-fed...I will do it.

Now, as for the rest of you...

Not to be a dooms day sayer but with increasing Celiac awareness there is also increasing diagnosis. This is no longer such an uncommon disease. If you or your loved ones have been experiencing any of the symptoms of Celiac Disease, you might want to get tested. A simple screening blood test can be performed in your doctor's office. Of course the hope is that the tests come back negative, but if they don't...there is a wonderful community of helpful people out there in the world, ready to help you along on this life-changing journey. (Thank goodness for Google!)

During the month of May, try a new gluten-free food. Get tested for CD if you are concerned at all. Learn a few things about the disease. Hug someone who has Celiac. Be understanding when a parent of a child with Celiac or any kind of food issue needs to vent a bit about how rough it is. Go gluten free for a week. Or a day. It's all in the name of awareness, my friends!

Again, Happy Celiac Awareness Month from a mom who is learning to be happy about going gluten free!

And check back later (tomorrow maybe?) if you want to hear more about our Celiac Disease story.

Hunter. Gatherer. What's for Dinner???

I don't know if it is true, but I feel like I have spent the majority of my Monday with food. Thinking about food. Planning about food. Searching food out. In my house and then again in the store--Make that storeS. Pulling junk food out of my begging children's hands. Loading food into my cart. Unloading food on to the conveyor belt. Loading food again into my cart. Only to unload in my car. Reload. Unload. Dating food (as in writing the date on the package of food and not engaging romantically with my groceries. Although...I nearly fell head over heels for a carton of ice cream back in the freezer section). Storing food. Cramming food into the deep dark recesses of my freezer, fridge, and storage room. Handing food to starving kids. Cramming food into my own mouth...

Two weeks of meal planning, four different grocery stores, and $200 later...

...I was ready to pay a restaraunt to make dinner tonight. Which I did. Shame, shame.

Alright, alright. One last hurrah before two weeks of cooking all that food I so diligently secured in my home.

I am hunter-gatherer. Hear me roar.

This meal planning business burns time like politicans burn money. But man oh man, do preparation and planning ever preserve me from nightly pain. In feeding a child who is allergic to milk and another child with Celiac Disease, weekly meal planning is vital. I have found, through a great deal of trial and an even larger amount of error, that if I am prepared, I shall not fear when dinner time rolls around every night.

Anyone need some ideas? I'm sharing my two-week meal plan and linking up to the wonderful websites that give me new and spectacular ideas when it comes to feeding my family gluten and dairy free. My current favorites are Cooking Gluten (& Dairy Free) and EZ Gluten Free. There are even a few of my own recipes (adapations made where needed to keep my little family safe).

Monday (30): Gluten/Dairy Free Beef Stroganoff Eat Out as a Family Night
Tuesday (1): Gluten/Dairy Free Beef Stroganoff
Wednesday (2): Chicken Noodle Soup (I just use my own homemade recipe. When it comes to the point of adding the frozen egg noodles, I ladle some out into a separate pot and add gluten free noodles for Elle. The rest of us get to slurp down those delicious darn-near-as-good-as-homemade noodles.)
Thursday (3): Chicken Ranch Tacos (Dairy/Gluten Free)
Friday (4): Steak, baked potatoes, roasted asparagus
Saturday (5): Date Night <---A girl can dream...Nachos (Feliz Cinco Day Mayo!)
Sunday (6): Pulled Pork BBQ Sandwiches, homemade potato salad, watermelon

Monday (7): Chicken Chimichangas
Tuesday (8): BLTs, fresh fruits and veggies
Wednesday (9): Oven Baked Chicken Parmesan, green salad
Thursday (10): Beef Stew, homemade cheddar biscuits
Friday (11): BBQ Chicken Pizza
Saturday: Wild Card (leftovers or popcorn)
Sunday: Impossible Mini Bacon Cheeseburger Pies (Dairy/Gluten Free), oven fries, veggies

To all you moms/hunter-gatherers out there...Good luck and may the fork be with you!

Three for Thursday: Birthday Edition

Three things I need to let off some steam about:
1. I'M SO TIRED OF CLEANING UP BODILY FLUID MESSES THAT AREN'T MINE!
2. THE WORST PART ABOUT A KNOW-IT-ALL IS THAT THEY DON'T KNOW IT ALL! OBVIOUSLY THEY DON'T KNOW HOW TRULY OBNOXIOUS THEY ARE TO THEIR FELLOW EARTHLY INHABITANTS!
3. I'M ALL FOR BREASTFEEDING, AND DOING SO IN PUBLIC, BUT--FOR THE LOVE!-- DO WE NEED TO BE SO WEIRD ABOUT IT?! BOOBIE HATS? NURSE-INS? I THINK IT'S ALL RATHER RIDICULOUS.

Ahhh...Now that I feel a tad better...

Three things I did instead of the Yoga workout I was supposed to do today:
1. Took my girls, along with two other little Kindergarten friends, to the park for Happy Meals and play time.
2. Read Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
3. Ran on the treadmill. Believe it or not, that actually seemed more appealing than 90 minutes of contorting my body in erratic ways.

Three favorite birthday happenings:
1. Feeling all the Facebook love.
2. Having my sister show up to decorate my house, feed my kids, do my dishes, bring me cheesecake, give me the coolest plate I was eyeing in an antiques place weeks ago, and generally just keep me company on my special day when my husband was out of town. Sisters are the best!
3. Attending a temple session.

Three things I accomplished in my 30th year:
1. Overcame my fear of cooking raw shrimp.
2. Lost 80 pounds.
3. Single-parented four children for long amounts of time without flushing any of them down the toilet.

Three things I plan to do in my 31st year:
1. Complete a half marathon.
2. Become debt-free.
3. Travel somewhere I've never been. Where? I don't know yet.

Three pictures:

Homework is so hard! I need a break.



What is it with boys and shaving their heads?! It's not my favorite look for my guys, but it sure makes them happy.



Everyone's got one of these shots in their baby book, right?



How to Preserve Leftover Easter Candy and Other Goodies

Last week I shared the success I had with preserving our leftover Easter candy. A few people asked me how I did it and, lucky you, I'm more than happy to share!

First, a disclaimer...I have no idea if this is the "right" way. There are actually several methods out there to dry packing and preserving food. This is just the way my sister and mom showed me how. They are pretty darn smart and resourceful women. I think we are in good hands.

You are going to need a few supplies to do this:

Leftover Easter candy (or Halloween or Christmas or chocolate chips or pretzels or cookies or whatever! Sky's the limit! Just nothing powdery; It gets sucked up in the tubing and out the lid and prevents sealing.)
Canning jars (Kerr, Ball, Mason are the best. I stock up on these at 50 cents/bottle every time I go to my local thrift store.)
Canning lids (You can find these at Walmart, other grocery stores, online, etc.)
Canning rings (They often come with the jars, but if they aren't look at Walmart and other stores. These aren't absolutely necessary, but they satisfy my obsessive compulsiveness, they double protect the sealing, and they just look nicer.)
A hair dryer (You can find this is in your local bathroom.)
A Food Saver/Ziploc Vacuum Pump gadget (I will explain how to rig this together.)
Tubing*** (Look at your local medical supply store or pharmacy.)

The Food Saver contraption (white lid looking thing) is actually an attachment for a bigger, more expensive machine. It would be awesome to have that machine, but my budget doesn't exactly allow for that right now. Fortunately, you can use a Ziploc Vacuum pump along with the Food Saver attachment to dry pack canning jars. Really!

My Food Saver attachment was a gift from a wise mom. Word on the street is that the Food Saver attachment is available at Walmart. I looked for it the other day and only saw the big machines. You can find the attachments for sale online, try the Food Saver website or Amazon.com. They come in wide mouth and regular mouth size.

You can find a Ziploc Vacuum Starter Kit at your local Walmart or grocery store.

To rig up your custom Food Saver/Ziploc Pump you need to take off the bottom rubber piece from the Ziploc pump that is used to vacuum out bags. Grab a milk jug lid off of an empty gallon milk jug and poke a small hole in the top, just big enough for the Food Saver tubing to fit snugly inside. The milk cap will fit perfectly over the end of the Ziploc pump.

Now use medical tape or duct tape or whatever you have to secure the milk cap on to the pump. Be certain that no air can leak from the hole in the lid or the edges of the lid or pump.

Stick the free end of the tubing*** into the Food Saver attachment and it's ready to use.

Clear as mud? If you have any questions just ask and I'll see what I can do to help!

Now, you need to prep your canning jars.

They need to be CLEAN and DRY. I wash mine with a bottle scrubber and a sink full of hot soapy water. A good rinse and a towel dry later, I use my blow dryer to make absolutely certain they are dry. Water could cause food contamination problems, so remember: A dry jar is a happy jar! Even if your husband laughs at you for blow drying jars in the kitchen...

After letting your jars cool completely (think melted chocolate if you don't), you can dump in whatever candy or goodies you have, leaving an inch of space from the top. Make sure to tap and twist your jar a few times to let the contents settle.

I had some really great coupons for these M&M candies that I wanted to use before they expired. But I had a ton of Easter candy that I just preserved. Normally I would have passed up the good deal on the M&Ms since I already had a bunch of candy sitting around, but by preserving them, I don't have to worry about them getting stale in the cupboard. (But between you and me, really...When have M&Ms ever been in the cupboard long enough to become "stale"? I know, I know. I'm laughing too.)

That's the beauty of this whole preservation thing! You can buy the holiday candy after the holiday, catching all the good deals, dry pack them at home and use them next year. They won't taste old and you will have saved money. Awesome, right?

Carefully place the canning lids on the jars.

Push the Food Saver contraption over the top of the jar with the lid on.

Turn once to secure on tightly. Pump a few times. If you hear a clicking noise and see the Food Saver moving up and down, you are doing it right. This is the sound of the lid sealing on to the jar. If you don't hear that noise, readjust the lid and Food Saver until you do. Make sure your jar top doesn't have any nicks or cracks or try a different lid if it still won't seal.

Pump 15 to 20 times total to make sure the lid is sealed. Remove the Food Saver and gently pull on it with your hands to double check.

Screw on canning ring. Write the date on the top.

Stare admiringly at your freshly "canned" goodies...

...And sleep well knowing you saved another bag of holiday candy from being mindlessly wasted. Be secure in the fact that while the rest of the world is looting grocery stores after the economy collapses, your family will be dining on the freshest 5 year old gummy worms you ever tasted. ;)

Post Post: I forgot to tell you...You can unseal and reseal your jars over and over again! Pretty cool, eh?

***Post Post Post: I ordered another food saver lid for myself after writing this post and there was NO plastic tubing in the box! I had assumed it came with the contraption. When I questioned my mom about this, she told me she had actually purchased the tubing from a medical supply store and that it does NOT come with the food saver lid. I'm sorry to complicate things, but add one more step: Go to your local medical supply store and purchase a short length of medical tubing (Ex: nasal cannula, oxygen tubing, IV tubing, etc.)

Post Post Post POST: Here's a vlog Jeigh and I made to show you how to drypack!

A Meal in the Life of a Food Allergy Mom

Saturday was a busy day of  lawn work, paying bills, paper work, traveling to watch my younger brother compete in a college track event, laundry, and a dozen other odds and ends. Before I knew it 7 pm was breathing down my neck, along with a herd of ravenous children wondering if Mom was ever going to feed them.

Dinner???
Oh, right. I'm usually in charge of that.
Umm...Dinner.
Let's see...

As I've whined related before, whipping up dinner at my house isn't the easiest task. With one son allergic to milk in any form and a daughter with Celiac Disease, coming up with a dinner for everyone is...complicated.

Saturday, after a few moments of panicked brainstorming, I alighted upon a dinner solution: The good ol' classic, Mac n' Cheese!

Easy.
Quick.
Crowd pleasing.

Right???


Putting all four burners to work: 1- Gluten-free mac n' cheese, 2- plain elbow noodles, 3- regular Kraft mac n' cheese, and 4- steamed broccoli. Four separate spoons to avoid cross contamination. Two timers and one clock to time each one out. Two parents working together to make sure nothing gets burned or spills over.

Say "CHEESE! and macaroni!"

Well, at least we got "crowd-pleasing" down.

I'm not whining again. I promise. We're getting our system down as we make everyday adjustments to keep everyone safe, healthy, happy, and well-fed.

I just have to laugh and record these moments. Moments where an "easy" dinner like mac n' cheese turns into a carefully choreographed dance around a busy, hot stove and a mountain of dirty dishes afterwards.

All in the life of a food allergy mom. 

Happy "Will You Marry Me?" Day!

Nine years ago today...

...he showed up on my doorstep wearing his Sunday best. It was almost nine o'clock. I had on my baggy, blue and white striped pajama bottoms and my favorite green sweatshirt. He asked if we could go for a walk. I looked into his eyes and I just knew.

I begged for a moment to dash upstairs and change. There was no way on this green earth that I was going to be asked the biggest question of my life while wearing gnarly pajama pants. This occasion at least called for a pair of jeans.

Jeans on, we walked out of the house I shared with four other girls to "our" bridge. The one where we had walked many times before sharing memories from our childhoods, complaining about unjust college professors, discussing what we would change about our future lives, laughing at stupid jokes, planning the size of our families. ("Fifteen children", he had said. I just laughed and fell even more in love with him, hoping I could be the one to "help" with those fifteen children.)

That night we stood close together on the bridge. Three and a half months earlier we had stood a little farther apart, sharing our first dance on New Year's Eve, just as the countdown to midnight had begun. During that timorous dance, he trembled so badly that I couldn't help wondering if he was going to fall over in a dead faint right there on the dance floor. Now, he was steady and I was the one shaking.

Maybe it was the blowing wind...Maybe it was the jitters... Maybe I couldn't hear him over the sound of my teeth chattering (that was definitely one detail I had never included every time I had fantasized about this moment) but none of his words really registered in my head. I only remember him pulling out the ring box and looking at me, expecting a reply.

Ever true to my awkward and floundering nature, I made some goofy comment about, "Shouldn't you be on your knee or something?" 

On his knee he went, more words, and after another impetuous hint from me that he should slip the ring on my finger it was official. We were engaged.

(Never mind that my mom had already called the temple to tentatively reserve a wedding date.)

April 15th.

While the rest of the world dreads "Tax Day", I affectionately remember the day my husband asked me to be his wife.

I love you, Joe! Happy "Will You Marry Me?" Day!

Dirty Magazines

My dirty magazine came in the mail today.

I'm going to go stuff it under my mattress so I can drool over it in peace later tonight.

Vlog, She Spoke: How to Make a Picture Frame Wall

Here's the link for my picture frame intervention.

And here's the link for the vlog from a year ago.

And one more link for my favorite vinyl dealer in case you're looking for someone.

Have a great Friday ya'll!

Three for Thursday

Three things I think people don't understand about me:
1. I'm not a drama queen. I'm just a little sensitive.
2. I really REALLY REALLY hate talking on the phone. For reals.
3. I like being alone sometimes.

Three things I did yesterday:
1. Bought my first pair of real running shoes!
2. A really good pirate impression.
3. Cleaned my local thrift store out of pint canning jars.

Three things I (not so) secretly enjoy:
1. Drinking diet soda every now and then.
2. Wearing spandex.
3. Playing Lego Harry Potter on the Wii. By myself.

Three things I plan to conquer eventually: 
1. My food addiction.
2. Debt.
3. My fear of food storage and emergency preparedness.

Three songs I'm lovin' lately:
1. "Tonight" by FUN
2. "Somebody That I Used to Know" by Gotye
3. "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift and The Civil Wars

Three pictures:

This poor girl inherited her mom's sense of balance. She was jumping from cement park bench to cement park bench and missed. At least with her feet. This is Day 3.

Isn't she a beaut?! And I don't have small hands!

Trouble. She can find it. And very quickly.

What do you do with all that leftover Easter CANdy?

I know the Easter Bunny's name.

It's Melanie.

More specifically my husband's Aunt Melanie. Every year she hosts the most spectacular Easter Egg Hunt I have ever seen. The kids (almost) get tired of picking up the hundreds of eggs she lovingly stuffs with candy and money each year. Her annual labor of love is amazing! Every year we head home with bags and bags of candy in tow.

And man, do I love candy!

Too much.

So when I have bags and bags of it sitting in my house I'm more inclined to "love" it than is healthy. My kids love it too. Like most kids (and adults) they don't know when to say "enough" until they have tummy aches and other *ahem* issues. I finally wised up this year and figured out what to do with all that leftover Easter candy.

It's kind of silly how proud I am of these jars full of goodies. You'd think I planted those gummy bear seeds myself.

Seeing those freshly sealed jars makes me giddy for several reasons. Nothing was wasted. No one feels obligated to eat all the candy all at once. And some night in July we can pop open a jar of jelly beans (Vintage April 2012) wafting in the heady scents of Easter, savoring each soft, sugary bite, while reliving the good old days of Spring.

I had so much fun packing the Easter candy that I began looking for more things to preserve. I had a bunch of gourmet candy canes leftover from Christmas. I crushed them up with the intention of adding them to hot chocolate next winter. Brilliant, no?

And now I just might be getting carried away...

Chocolate chips, Oreos, more leftover Christmas candy, gluten-free noodles, gluten-free cookies, and gluten-free pretzels. All sealed and saved for another day. Nothing wasted. Nothing wanted.

HAPPY Easter indeed!

HERE is a blog post on how to dry pack.

And HERE is a vlog on dry packing.

Of Separation Anxiety

We just finished up a very lovely Spring Break week. I pulled out all my best "fun mommy" tricks. We went to the park, to the zoo, to the grandparents, to the kids' favorite restaurant. We watched movies and ate bowls of popcorn. We played and read books and stayed up late and slept in and traveled and ate junk food and played some more. It was a glorious week, but it had to end sometime.

I was dreading Monday with its return to schedule and school more than my kids were.

Well, maybe not more than the kids.

Monday morning, as I pulled up in front of the school to drop Dee and Jeigh off, it was revealed to me just how much my son wasn't ready for the new week to start. Both the kids had complained of phantom stomach aches during the morning's preparation hoping to delay the end of Spring Break just a little longer, but Jeigh spotted her friends near the school and happily hopped out of the van to greet them along with the new week.

In contrast, Dee shriveled even farther into the back of the van. He whined, "I don't wanna go, Mama. I don't wanna!"

And then he began to cry.

He sobbed as he told me he didn't have any friends. That he was scared. That kids teased him.

His tears thickened as he begged to go back home.

It was terrible. What was I to do? I remember grade school. Kids do tease. It is scary. There were times I felt like I didn't have a friend in the entire place.

I wanted to shut the van door and glide off into the sunset, sheltering him from the big bad school and world. It was what I wanted to do, but that didn't seem right. If I let him go home today what was going to happen tomorrow? And the day after that??

I knew this was something my little son had to do. But try telling him that.

As I did try his crying only increased. He refused to get out of the van. I got out and walked around, afraid that I would have to physically remove him from the vehicle. Afraid of being manhandled he jumped out himself, but then stood on the sidewalk with huge, slushy, wet tears rolling off his red cheeks.

This was tragic. There couldn't be anything harder to parenting than this, could there?

I tried to lovingly talk to him and convince him that he needed to be in school, that it was the law, that it would be okay, that he could call me if it wasn't. But love and logic and talk were not cutting it.

Eventually I had to get tough. Woodenly, I pried his clinging arms off of my legs, firmly told him to go to his class, and walked away. He cried out after me but I kept walking. I got in the van and drove out of the school parking lot. As I watched him from my rear view mirror, standing there, falling apart on the public school sidewalk, I felt my heart shattering.

Did I just do the right thing? This can't be right. If it was "right", would it hurt this much?

I had abandoned my little son to the world and to himself. I am his Mommy. I am his protector. His big person. His guardian. And I just left him.

What have I done?

I circled around and parked in front of the school where he couldn't see me, but I could watch him. He stood by his line, but hiding behind a tree around the corner from his classroom door. He was still crying, intermittently peeking to see what his class line was doing. I imagined him pondering what to do, whether to obey his mom and follow his peers to class, or to make a break for it.

I admit, I sat in the van, watching him, pondering myself. Do I let him be a big boy and learn a life lesson or do I sweep in and rescue him?

He made the decision for both of us as he followed his class into the building, but I drove away reeling from the entire plight.

Nothing felt "right".

The entire morning I fretted about him. Was he crying in class? Were the kids really being mean to him? Was my happy little son as friendless as he claimed to be? Or was this just a case of too much fun during Spring Break and the difficulty of his dad leaving town again?

It was so difficult to know. And I thought labor and delivery was the hard part of parenting. Nobody warned me about how insanely grievous it would be to drive away from your distraught first grader.

In an effort to make his day a little brighter and more positive, as well as to allay my own worries by seeing how he was faring, I picked up some McDonald's Happy Meals (one of his favorite treats) and surprised him at lunch time. He ran to me with a huge smile and an even bigger hug.

For all his tears, for all my heart break...he was perfectly fine.

He was so fine that he could hardly acknowledge my presence in the lunchroom as he happily chatted with his buddies (no friends, huh?). After about 5 or 10 minutes he asked if he could go to recess, leaving behind half of a Happy Meal and a mother who was wondering if she had wasted the energy, money, and gray hair on him.

But then I saw a grandmother who had the same idea I had. She munched quietly on her McDonald's while her granddaughter jabbered at her friends.

Oh. So my son is normal then? Oh good.

One day I want to speak with him about this day. I want him to understand how traumatic it was to see my little son so sick with worry and fear. How agonizing it was to do something so opposite and repulsive to my motherhood as physically pry his arms off of me. How it took all my might not to cry my own tears as I denied my own desires and abandoned him there.

I want to ask his forgiveness for walking away in his apparent moment of need, but I also want him to know that I did it hoping to make him a stronger man. I can only imagine that this experience is a small stepping stone to other moments that will be like it. Maybe even more grievous and grey than this "trivial" one. In hindsight it is rather trivial, even though it felt so monstrous yesterday morning. But as I replay the image of my small son standing on the sidewalk all alone in my rear view mirror, I can't imagine anything being as difficult in this life as being a parent.