Category: Uncategorized

I’ve Got Hurt Feelings

Sometimes you just need to cry the tears of a rapper and hash out those hurt feelings. Sometimes nothing soothes the soul like sweet, musical poetry from Bret and Jemaine. That time is now.

 
 I’ve been reflecting on my own hurt feelings this past week. As much as I try to ignore them and rationalize them (and tell myself to just get over it), they keep creeping back into my life. Recent events have reminded me just how powerful words can be.
 
Our entire house has been sick for a month now. My husband and I stumble around like zombies — instead of brains, we’re hunting tissues and trying to soak in a hot tub without rubber duckies and little helpers. (For the record, the rubber ducks are winning.) One day, in a congested stupor, Mark paid me one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He thanked me for staying up with Keane and nursing him all night long in the midst of his bout with RSV. Now that he was experiencing the painful sickness, he could empathize with the pain and suffering our nine-month-old endured for nearly two weeks. He probably didn’t think twice about his passing comment, but I often draw strength from those words when I’m running on little-to-no sleep.
 
The little things have so much power to help or hinder. It was a little thing that caused hurt feelings that linger in the back of my mind. That whisper lies when I am weak. That etch away at my resolve.
 
A couple of weeks ago, we set out on a family fun Friday. Keane had just gotten over his illness, and Asher had yet to catch it. A sweet day of rest and reprieve from breathing treatments and worrying. We made wonderful memories and watched our children laugh. My heart smiles to think on that day.
 
And yet, a little thing popped up in the midst of our day that still eats away at my heart.
 
I received an email in which someone aired their grievances with me. Something I did angered this person, and they took the liberty to put me in my place.
 
My heart went from elation to devastation as I read the message. Embarrassment gave way to anger (because our perfect day was now sullied for me)…and when the emotional dust settled, I was left hurt. What this other person did not know about me is that one of my main love languages is words of affirmation. I’m sure this person felt justified in saying what they did, but their words completely tore me down and left me feeling isolated.
 
A few weeks later, those feelings still linger. I’ve mentioned before how it’s difficult for me to open up to others — especially women — and it takes a great deal of courage for me to put myself out there. To open myself up to others inevitably invites criticism and rejection. I go in waves where I work extra hard to keep my heart open, and then, in a crestfallen state, I retreat into myself. Where it’s seemingly safe.
 
These hurt feelings don’t only apply to me. Undoubtedly, I have hurt other people’s feelings — probably more than I’ll ever know. With every person I encounter, they carry with them a lifetime of experiences, hopes, dreams, and hurts. My words have the power to reinforce or reduce. To edify or destroy.
 
May I keep this experience close to my heart, so that I may remember how quickly I can alter someone’s day. May I speak loving words that infuse hope. May my words be a healing balm instead of bitter poison.
 
Psalm 19:14 — “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing to you…”

There is Always a 41

February 7th has come and gone. For some it slipped away unnoticed — an unremarkable blip on the calendar. For others, it brought burdens and hardships. Perhaps the day was wished away and bathed in tears. For me, February 7th holds both the pain of the past and the promise of the future.

This day marks my grandmother’s passing in 2007, a loss that still stings.
Today marks the day I was to hug Kelly and hear her laughter.
Today brought healing for decades-old wounds.

This afternoon, my moms’ group met for our reveal party. My ears were met with laughter as I walked into the room. My eyes met a table spilling over with gift bags and brightly colored tissue paper. My heart broke as I passed the table empty-handed. I had nothing to offer in Kelly’s absence, yet somewhere on that table was a gift with my name on it.

Over the past several weeks, my gift-giver unwittingly came to my rescue countless times. She offered timely words of encouragement, shared uplifting scripture, blew me away with handmade gifts, left me in tears with her handwritten notes, and brought dinner on our anniversary.

Through her overwhelming generosity, I have become keenly aware of how much I rely on myself. I do not say this boastfully, as it is one of my greatest weaknesses. I do not expect or ask for help from anyone…especially other women. When someone offers help, I don’t know how to accept it without feeling awkward or indebted. Oddly enough, I can trace the root of this issue to about the age of twelve, when my father pastored a small church in a ghost town. When the time came for our family to move on, a handful of once-friendly women seemingly turned on us. As an adult, I can look back and see they were acting out of hurt feelings…but as a child, I only saw bitterness, backstabbing, and betrayal. Women I once admired broke my trust in all women for decades to come. Without realizing it, I learned to hold other women at arm’s-length. To this day, I only have two close female friends who truly know me.

When it was time for Lauren, my secret gift-giver, to reveal herself, I became overwhelmed with gratitude. I was humbled that she took so much time and effort to reach out to me. Her acts of love broke through my defenses. With each word of encouragement, I let down my guard a little more. One particular note will stay with me forever. In part, it reads…

There is always a 41. Throughout the Bible, 40 is usually the number used for a trying time, a dark time. The rain fell for 40 days and nights. Forty years of wandering. Jesus fasted for 40 days. For every 40, the 41 was a literal bright sky, a promise, and food. There’s always a 41. There’s always a reward or brighter day at the end of a troubling time. When you’re feeling defeated, remember that your 41 is coming soon!

God used Lauren as a literal laurel branch of hope in my life…a messenger of peace and victory…which is exactly what her name means. I see no coincidence in that.

I choked back tears when it was time to reveal myself to Kelly. I watched happy embraces, surprised faces, and listened to squeals of delight. I thought of her children. I thought of her unfinished business here on this earth. Then I looked across a little sea of caring, compassionate women. I looked at Lauren’s gift to me. While sadness remains, I cling to a hope that is bigger than myself. I lean my head against Abba’s chest, listen to his heartbeat, and thank him for the gift of renewed trust.

A grief so raw I can taste it…



I type with shaky fingers and a mascara-stained face. My stomach in nauseous knots. I woke to devastating news that the world lost another mother. Two beautiful boys lost their loving mother. A strong woman who had carved out a new destiny for her family. A fierce woman who worked hard to bring new life and new hope to her family. A determined woman who chose to stand strong and persevere in the face of struggle. She was beautiful. She was gracious. She was my friend.

Was.

Such a horrible word.

Kelly was hand-picked for me to love on, and these past few weeks I worked hard to spoil her through a series of anonymous gifts, cards, and encouraging text messages. I’ve been part of DFW Crunchy Moms, an online moms’ group, since Asher was three months old. A few times a year, we have a round of Secret Crunchies, a secret Santa of sorts where we’re paired up with a fellow mama to love on. We sneak around, leaving gifts on one another’s door steps, sending anonymous notes in the mail, texting from fake phone numbers, and using other friends to make deliveries. It’s beautiful to see a community of women go to extremes in the name of love.

My grief is raw. My heart is broken. I have a shelf full of gifts that were to be delivered to Kelly today. They are much more than material items. They represent dreams. Hopes. Laughter. Smiles that will never again grace the earth.

While it’s easy to focus on the pain of promises yet to be realized, my heart finds comfort in the last gesture of love I was able to give her. She deserved to be spoiled, and my goal was to ensure that she knew she was special.

I chose a gift that I knew would wow her, make her feel loved, and let her know that she was worthy of being spoiled. I drove around for a week with that gift in my car, trying to decide the right time to sneak up her apartment staircase, quietly deposit the package, softly knock on her door, and fly down the stairs at break-neck speed to avoid detection. The rational side of me said such a gift should be given at the end, a reveal gift. As fate would have it, it was my last gift to her, although that wasn’t my intent.

As I drove around town trying to decide when to deliver the gift, a still, quiet voice within my heart clearly said, “Don’t wait. Give it now. She needs it now.” So I listened. I drove to her house right then. Accompanying the gift was a handwritten note with words carefully chosen to encourage her soul. To let her know she was doing a great job. To write on her heart that her boys were blessed by her every action and decision as a mother.

You see, I knew Kelly, but Kelly did not know me. We communicated anonymously — my goal from the very beginning was to channel God’s love to her. I came to know her likes, dislikes, and what made her smile…but we never shared a cup of tea or gave one another a hug. I was so looking forward to hugging her neck and telling her so many things in early February. Things that will now go unsaid. Gifts that will not be given. Laughter that will not be shared.

I urge all who read these words: Don’t wait. Do it now. Give love. Be the encouraging word. Give the warm hug. Be Christ to all you encounter. Love deeply and extravagantly. You never know who is desperate for an encouraging word, to feel noticed, to be remembered. We are not promised tomorrow…this world is not our home.

Treading Water

My current stage of Motherhood manifests as an endless parade of adorably uncooperative circus monkeys. I’m bombarded with endless demands, monster trucks, diapers, feeding, cleaning, toddler wrestling, and hostage negotiations.

Toys are underfoot, on the kitchen counter, in my lap, and on the beds. Laundry is in the floor, on the kitchen table, and hiding in various other places I have yet to discover. The baby sign language DVD is on its second go-around this morning, and Asher is requesting butter for breakfast. Keane’s diaper explosion earned him some one-on-one time with the kitchen sprayer. Is it nap time yet?

This stage of life often plays out like a G-rated Groundhog Day, except my hair never looks as good as Andie MacDowell’s. And I’m covered in more drool.

The only thing I consistently accomplish is loving my boys and keeping them fed. For now, that’s going to have to be enough…because it’s all I can manage. Some days are better than others…some days feel like glaring failures. This phase won’t last forever; I’ll do my best to savor every moment and not wish the time away.

One day, I will miss it. In the not-so-far-off future, I’ll have time to bake, blog, and create. I’ll have time to work out consistently, shower more than twice a week, and little mouths won’t hurt from little teeth. A few years from now, the nursing bras will be packed away (burned, more likely), my lap will feel empty, and my arms will ache to hold my children.

Paleo Pasta Casserole

 
After this morning’s failed attempts (yes, plural) at egg-free paleo pancakes, I needed a win in the kitchen. I got one! For the past week, I’ve been ignoring the eggplant and spaghetti squash in the pantry, hoping they’d just jump in the oven and prepare themselves. While this dinner didn’t Mary-Poppins itself into existence, it is definitely something worth doing again. This particular recipe is meatless, but that can easily be changed. Grassfed ground beef would make this perfectly paleo, but as it stands, this recipe is technically vegan. If you are neither paleo nor vegan, grab some mozzarella and go crazy! 
 
Ingredients:
1 medium/large eggplant
1 medium/large spaghetti squash
3 cups of raw spinach (more or less, depending on your taste, I used more)
1 jar of your favorite marinara sauce (or make your own)
1/4 cup (approx.) olive oil (divided between squash & eggplant)
2 tbsps. sea salt (more or less, depending on your taste)
 
Pots & Pans & Such:
1 cake pan
1 cookie sheet
1 casserole dish
1 murder knife (for the thick-skinned spaghetti squash)
1 kinder, gentler knife (for the soft-skinned eggplant)
cutting board, fork, and spoon
 
Instructions:
Heat oven to 350 degrees.
 
Use part of the olive oil to grease a cake pan AND a cookie sheet (or something with sides to contain the oil). Sprinkle sea salt in the bottom of both pans. The cake pan will roast the spaghetti squash, and the cookie sheet will roast the eggplant. 
 
Grab your ginormous knife and hack into that spaghetti squash; cut it in half lengthwise. Place spaghetti squash halves face-down into the oiled (and salted) cake pan. Bake for 35 minutes.
 
Once the spaghetti squash is in the oven, rinse eggplant and cut into 3/4″ slices. Line the oiled (and salted) cookie sheet with your slices, then drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with sea salt…unless you’ve had enough sea salt. I really like Celtic sea salt. A lot. Place the cookie sheet in the oven, along with the spaghetti squash, and roast for 20(ish) minutes.
 
While the squash and eggplant are in the oven, chop up your spinach (save time and effort by skipping this step). Using a spoon, spread marinara sauce in the bottom of the casserole dish. If you’re feeling carnivorous, this would be the time to toss the ground beef in a skillet.
 
Once the timer goes off, remove the veggies from the oven. Use a spoon to remove the seeds from the spaghetti squash, then use a fork to pull apart the “meat” of the squash. Shred it up to look like noodles.
 
Put the roasted eggplant pieces on top of the marinara sauce, then sprinkle with spinach. Layer with spaghetti squash, marinara, and spinach (maybe meat and/or cheese if you’re a rebel) until everything is in the casserole dish. Place the full casserole dish in the oven for 10 minutes to warm the spinach.
 
Dig in and ENJOY!

Learning to Live with Food Allergies

This past month has been a discombobulated whirlwind in which life as I knew it is no more. Even as I type, my mind is adrift in foggy waters brought on by my latest allergic reaction to foods that I enjoyed the majority of my life.

Recent bouts of unexplained illness and gastrointestinal mayhem led me to request food allergy testing from my medical doctor. The results were positive for eggs and peanuts — foods which have always been part of my diet. I began the necessary steps to rethink, retrain, and relearn my methods of eating and cooking. My assumption was that my five-month-old’s eczema would clear up once my body recovered from those foods. It did not.

He’s too adorable to suffer from my food issues!

Continued illness in myself and eczema in my sweet son left me confused and upset. How could someone who is so careful and intentional with a healthy diet continue to suffer? Why was my adorable, innocent baby plagued by scaly skin and rashes? When I vented my frustration and despair to my trusted mommy tribe, a beautiful friend suggested muscle testing, and gave me the name of a holistic doctor she herself had used. I was in his office the next morning at 8:00am with both of my minions.

Through the use of Nutritional Response Testing, he quickly identified that my body negatively reacted to ALL grains (not just gluten) and whey. He then tested Keane to figure out if there was anything else in my diet contributing to his eczema…there was. Soy.

Let’s recap that growing list of food allergies: eggs, peanuts, wheat, gluten, rye, barley, spelt, corn, rice, oatmeal, dairy, and soy. I haven’t yet mentioned the host of other foods that cause stomach aches and exacerbate eczema (but aren’t diagnosed allergies): avocado, banana, strawberries, blueberries, mango, passion fruit, kiwi, watermelon, most raw veggies, tomatoes, and the handful of others that I can’t quite remember until I accidentally eat them.

Cute, right? The eggs in this paleo recipe made me sick for two days.

Initially, I felt excited that I could “fix” everything. I smiled at the thought of no more debilitating stomach aches; no more red, rashy cheeks and scaly skin for my baby; and no more guessing about what might cause my body to betray me. I had answers. The next step was to implement changes. Lots of changes.

I became proactive. I bought paleo cook books; I cleaned out my pantry; I bought new allergen-free ingredients to fill the voids in my pantry. I began the new journey with fervor…but after a week I was exhausted of reading labels and cooking every meal from scratch. I found quick fixes in drinking bone broth or eating apples for breakfast, tuna for lunch, and throwing soup in the crockpot for dinner.

Diced apples, cinnamon, honey, and almonds for breakfast

Alternatively, fear crept into the back of my mind. While I looked calm on the outside, I started avoiding mealtime out of fear of accidentally ingesting something that would make me ill. The hours grew longer between breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Water and homemade lemonade filled my stomach instead of necessary nutrients.

Tuna, spinach, sauerkraut, dill relish, pine nuts, & sunflower seeds for lunch

The fear was (and is) based in reality. Allergic reactions leave me feeling sick, exhausted, and mentally fatigued for days. It’s difficult to will myself out of bed for early morning workouts after lying awake in fetal position half the night. I went from missing one workout to one week of workouts…then two, now three. My mind and my body suffer. I err on the side of caution far more than usual, and it gets easier to make excuses to skip more workouts. That reasoning spills over into every aspect of my life, and I hate it.

Baby steps are key to my success. Doubling dinner recipes and freezing meals will be my new modus operandi. Simple, easy-prep, no-cook foods will become commonplace for breakfast and lunch. I literally cannot leave the house without packing my own food — that misstep leads to guaranteed failure. As daunting and overwhelming as it may be, it’s imperative that I keep a positive attitude and remain proactive in the kitchen. The alternative is to hide under the covers and atrophy into a shadow of myself. That is simply unacceptable.

Recover. Survive. Thrive.

DIY: Homemade Cough Syrup

Texas has finally decided that summer is over…it only took until November. We were in shorts and t-shirts until Halloween! Now that we’re threatened with “cold” weather, the sniffles and those pesky night coughs tend to come-a-callin’. Be ready to combat sleepless nights with this quick and easy homemade cough syrup.

If you have a stocked liquor cabinet, this just got easier. If you’re like me, this recipe will require a trip to the local liquor store. Hopefully you won’t have to drag a five-month-old and two-and-a-half-year-old with you. If you do take a toddler along, mentally prepare yourself for him to announce,  “Mommy needs her medicine!” as you roll through the aisles. Let’s just say I wasn’t mentally prepared for that experience.

There are endless recipes for homemade cough syrups on the internet; I went through a handful, picking and choosing, until I compiled this simple recipe. Granted, I could have driven less than half a mile to one of the two pharmacies near my neighborhood, but my goal is to stay away from the unnecessary ingredients, preservatives, and dyes that are inherent with commercial cough syrups.

No heating, no steeping, no cooking required. Just mix the ingredients together and store in a mason jar. Since the alcohol acts as a preservative, you can leave it in the pantry — possibly up to a year. From what I’ve read, storing it in the refrigerator buys you an extra six months of shelf-life.

Dosage: One tablespoon for adults. Whether or not you choose to give this to your older children is up to you. If you do, stick to one-fourth of a teaspoon. Yes, there is alcohol in this cough syrup…just like there is alcohol in commercial cough syrup. You wouldn’t take shots of Robitussin, so don’t take shots of this one.

DIY: Fermented Cod Liver Oil Gummies

 
 
Fermented cold liver oil is a traditional super food with far-reaching health benefits. Making friendly little gummies is one way to get the good stuff into your kids’ bellies! Assuming you aren’t taking care of a three month old and a two year old, you can whip these up in about thirty minutes.
 
Here’s what you need…
 
6 tablespoons of gelatin
6 tablespoons of honey
6 tablespoons of fermented cod liver oil
2 scoops of Amazing Grass Kidz Superfood (totally optional, but it adds vitamins)
1 cup of juice (I prefer organic grape juice, but you can use your favorite.)
 
Spray the mold of your choice with coconut oil (or whatever cooking spray you have on hand). This helps you get the gummies out without tearing them apart. You can use ice cube trays or candy molds. (I use a gingerbread man mold.)
 
Add ingredients to a saucepan, and whisk together on low heat. I add the juice first and the gelatin last, that way everything gets mixed together before adding the gelatin. This step only takes a few minutes.
 
Pour into molds, then place them in the fridge for 15-20 minutes. If your molds are deep, then it may take a little longer. Store them in the fridge after popping them out of the molds. Assuming your gummies are approximately the size of an ice cube, each gummy is two servings. Sadly, I chop the gingerbread gummy guy in half to achieve my son’s daily FCLO ration. RIP, you healthy little gummy guys!
 
 
 
 

Reclaim Your Postpartum Body!

The ability to create, grow, and birth a baby is one of life’s most spectacular blessings. The journey to motherhood changes your heart, soul, mind, and — of course — your body. The above photographs document my second pregnancy and fourth trimester. That special three-month-period in which your new baby learns how to transition from life in the womb to life on land, and when your body begins the transition back to some semblance of normalcy. The “after” photos were taken at six, nine, twelve, and fifteen weeks postpartum.

I gained fifty pounds with my first pregnancy; four months of bed rest were not kind to my mind or body. The first time around, I gave myself much grace and figured my body would get back to it’s old self whenever it was ready. In the meantime, I ate whatever I wanted, did minimal exercise, and focused on taking care of my sweet son. It took me fourteen months to fit back into my pre-pregnancy clothes. Looking back, I now realize that I gave myself a bit too much grace in that endeavor!

This time around, things were different. I had an extremely healthy pregnancy, gained only thirty-five pounds, and breastfeeding was off to a fabulous start — the complete opposite experience of my first pregnancy. I credit clean eating and exercise to getting me this far this early. At this point, I’m not quite back into my pre-pregnancy clothes, but I am strong and healthy.

Here are the two-ish steps I followed to better health…

1. Eat Clean.
When my first son was a year old, I gave up gluten. It took me about three months to fully wean myself to a 100% gluten-free diet. The health benefits were immediate, and I lost about ten pounds in a one-month period. Along with the gluten transition, I began eating whole foods. Grass-fed beef, hormone-free chicken, and organic vegetables became part of my family’s everyday diet. We all experienced better health. Once I got pregnant with my second baby, I didn’t need to completely overhaul my diet…I just needed to set boundaries with ice cream and chocolate. (Easier said than done.) Going gluten-free isn’t essential for everyone, but it was for me.

So, if you’re looking to get pregnant, change your diet now. Get rid of processed foods; don’t buy them anymore. Shop the perimeter of your grocery store and check out farmers’ markets. Bananas are cheaper than Blue Bell, so I couldn’t use money as an excuse. Any vegetable (organic or not) is better than a box of cereal. If you already are pregnant, change your diet now. Every extra pound you gain due to poor nutrition makes it harder for your body to recover…and unhealthy food choices do affect your baby, no matter what your OBGYN says. Trust me.

After having my second baby, I followed the advice of Kris Moulton, owner of Moulton Kettlebell. I took his thirty day challenge, The Forge, in order to jump-start my journey. His beautiful wife had a baby the same month I did, so he’s very familiar with postpartum challenges. Through daily nutritional logs (kept via My Fitness Pal), he helped me course-correct my diet. I was averaging eighty grams of sugar a day, and he helped me reign it in to approximately thirty grams. Chocolate covered almonds were (and are) my Kryptonite. My protein intake was much too low, so he stayed on me to increase my protein. Chasing after a two year old and taking care of a newborn kept me busy…so I didn’t always eat enough calories. On the days I didn’t eat enough calories (or too much sugar, or not enough protein), you better believe Kris called me out on it. I needed his constant encouragement because I was too exhausted from ’round-the-clock-nursing and keeping up with a toddler to police my own diet. I lost four pounds the first week of The Forge program, and I never once had to leave my house.

2. Move Your Body.
At five weeks postpartum I joined Camp Gladiator, a boot-camp style group workout that meets at 5:15am a few miles from my house. I loved it. I’ve always responded to group workouts with an encouraging trainer much better than wandering around the gym solo. I’m a military girl, after all. These workouts are designed to allow everyone at all fitness levels to succeed. The trainers encourage everyone to take the workouts at their own pace, and are quick to offer success options (modifications) to meet each individual need. However, five weeks postpartum was a bit too early for my body to engage in such high-impact exercise. I injured my knees two weeks into the program, and it took me about six weeks to recover.

Remember: Your body is full of the relaxin hormone, which allowed your body to stretch and accommodate your growing baby. That hormone hangs around in your body for many months after birth. I ignored that important fact, and hyperextended my knees with a relatively simple exercise. My body just wasn’t ready for that type of workout. (Yet!)

During my recovery phase, I woke up before my toddler and new baby to do at-home workouts. Winsor Pilates 20 Minute Workout was perfect for my early postpartum days — I could lay on the ground with my eyes closed to perform the workout, which was exactly what I needed after all-night nurse-a-thons!
 
Once my knees were back to normal, I knew it was time to step it up. I transitioned from Pilates every day to kettlebell workouts two or three days a week, with Pilates on alternating days. Kris Moulton hooked me up with personalized kettlebell workouts through The Forge program, and they greatly increased my strength. Lifting heavy things is essential to weight loss, health, and fitness. Jillian Michaels has a good kettlebell workout, and if you’re an Amazon Prime customer, you have access to it for free!

When the baby was three months old, my body was strong enough to handle Camp Gladiator. I learned my lesson and eased back into the program. Two days a week the first couple of weeks, then up to three days. My eventual goal is five days a week, but I will allow myself much grace in reaching that goal. I’m not quite there yet!

Postpartum Progress:
Next week, my son will be four months old, and I’m so proud of the progress I’ve made! It took me over a year to get this far with my first son. This time around, I knew my weaknesses, identified my obstacles, and made daily decisions to overcome them. My body will never look like it did when I was twenty-two, and I’m perfectly fine with that. My thirty-one year old body has birthed two beautiful babies (without any pain meds, I might add), nursed the first one for almost two years, and will nurse the second one for about the same length of time. I still don’t fit in my pre-baby clothes, and I probably won’t until the baby weans (many, many months from now). As far as I’m concerned, healthy is the new skinny. I will continue to focus on clean eating and moving my body. Small, smart choices over time add up to BIG results!