Tag: sharing

hair

Each One, Teach One

Yesterday, I took M and C to the hair salon to get their hair cut. More accurately, they got a trim, but you would have thought the 2 inches that they lost between the two of them was the equivalent of Demi Moore shaving her head in G.I. Jane.  What pleased me most, however, was seeing them realize how much better their hair felt and looked after it had been cut.  Add to that the fact our stylist left their hair in big, giant afros, flying free also added to their good moods.  It’s rare that I let their curls just be out, and as I de-tangled, sectioned and braided well past bedtime last night, I remembered why. I’m thinking it’s time to let my little curly girlies be more proactive in their hair care.  While they often ask for blow-outs and press-outs, I constantly remind them to love the hair that’s growing out of their heads. If they learn to take care of their own hair,  that can only reinforce what I’ve been saying.   A little self-empowerment can lead to a lot more self-love.  So where to start?

It occurred to me this morning, as scooped my own hair into a high puff, I have been wearing my hair naturally for close to 15 years.  15 years! Sure, I’ve had one or two moments of weakness when I returned to the creamy crack, but in each case, those were brief reconciliations, neither one lasting longer than 10 months.

What surprises me most about my natural hair journey is how much has changed in 15 years.  Women have been wearing natural hair for a long time. That’s nothing new.  What has changed is the prevalence with which natural hair is now embraced, celebrated, encouraged, and applauded.  Maybe, 15 years ago, people were just starting to explore and understand natural hair. Maybe 15 years ago, the scope of the movement was greater than where I was living at the time.    All I know is that when I did my Big Chop, the term Big Chop wasn’t part of the lexicon. A few of my college classmates also did a big chop, each of us for our own reasons. We relied on Elasta QP Gel and Infusium 23 Leave In Conditioner to get our curls coiled and defined.  Our wash and go’s were literally wash — and go. I figured I’d be using Sebastien’s Wet Gel on my curls and coils for the forseeable future. Never would I have imagined that there would be multiple product lines, salons, books, websites, and YouTube channels all dedicated to natural hair.

As time has passed, I’ve learned more about my hair and what it requires in order to stay healthy and strong.  The more information that has become available, the better equipped I am to keep my hair looking good. In turn, I’m able to share that with my own curly girlies in the hopes that they will always love their natural hair.  We have enough products — shampoos, conditioners, creams, gels, lotions, puddings, oils, you name it — to open our own pop-up shop.  A lot of trial and error occurs on our Sunday wash days, figuring out which combination is going to work best for our hair different types of hair. Between the 4 of us, we’ve got at least 6 different curl patterns going.

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I look to hair typing simply as a guide to help me better describe and care for the hair I’m working with.  I don’t subscribe to the “this type is more desirable than that type” foolishness.  All hair is good hair. My job is to keep it that way.

I have the honor of being Test Subject A when it comes to trying out new methods and products in our household.  I figure if it works for me, then we can let it trickle on down through the ranks and let M, C, and V benefit from my experiences.  What I’ve been doing is called the L.O.C method.  This method enables curly girlies to have well hydrated and moisturized curls without having to go through the process day after day.

LOC is an abbreviation for Liquid, Oil, and Cream — though I have seen some bloggers and naturalistas substitute Leave-In Conditioner for the L.  The name itself represents the order in which you apply your products and while it may seem as though you are layering a lot of product on your hair, you’re doing so in order to retain the moisture your hair desperately needs.  The liquid, usually water or aloe vera juice, provides the moisture.  The oil and the cream, preferably a butter based cream, act as sealants to trap the moisture in the hair.

After many weeks of using the method, I’m a believer. My hair is hydrated. My curls are defined. My hands are out of my hair which means, my frizz is kept to a minimum.  My products of choice have been Kinky Curly Leave-In Conditioner, Trader Joe’s Coconut Oil, and then Shea Moisture Curl Enhancing Smoothie. Recently, however, I switched up and used Aloe Vera Juice, which helps promote hair growth, as my L.  I use Jojoba Rosemary Mint Oil from Two Curls One Mission as my O, and the Deva Curl Curl Enhancing Cream for my C.  I finished it with a little Deva Curl Light Defining Gel.

So, how does it all go down?  Well, in the shower, I saturate my hair with the water.  I use a spray bottle to soak my hair with the Aloe Vera Juice and I separate my hair into two sections.  What is tricky about this process is that I work from the nape of my neck forward, meaning, I’m bent over at the waist while I work.  Water up the nose? Yup, that happens, but I’ve found that it’s easier for me to detangle and distribute product when I can see the hair in front of me.

I begin to detangle my hair, one section at a time, using only my fingers.  Once my hair is fully detangled, I apply the Jojoba Rosemary Mint oil, paying special attention to my roots and my ends.  This particular oil smells fantastic and the mint is stimulating to my scalp.  Moving on going one section at a time, I coat my hair with the cream making certain to keep the section detangled.  I then combine the two sections and then, using a dollop of gel, I work that through my hair making certain to coat every strand.  If you’re going to have your fingers in your hair, this is the time to do it. I usually end up with a big wad of shed hair for my efforts, too.  I’ve been told by my stylist, as well as by several naturalistas that this is entirely normal.

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Still bent over, I use one of the Hubs old undershirts over my hair like a turban to absorb the moisture as I finish my showering and dressing routine.

I use the undershirt because that fabric is gentler on my hair. Also, I try not to put a lot of heat on my hair as a general rule.  With the exception of a diffuser on high pressure and low heat, I don’t really use a hair dryer.  For the next six months, I’m participating in a no heat challenge. I’m still eating relatively cleanly, taking some vitamins and drinking lots of water, all of which promise to aid in the hair growth.  I’m excited to see what happens, and if there’s little to no growth at all, well, I know that I’m treating my body very well otherwise.

After the majority of the moisture in my hair has been absorbed by the t-shirt, I unwind it and let my curl fall down.  I put a thin coating of oil on my hand before manipulating a few wayward curls into place in order to minimize frizz.  After that, I may give my head a shake and let things settle a bit more, and then I’m out the door.

Over the course of the day, my hair dries, and shrinkage sets it.  I’m not a fan of shrinkage, but I recently read that if you have a lot of shrinkage, it means your hair is healthy.  After a quick Google search, it turns out shrinkage is a reflection of lack of heat damage and lack of over-moisturized hair.  Good to know!

At night, I pineapple my hair and throw on a satin bonnet.  In the morning, I use a bandana to keep my curls in place while I workout.  When I’m ready to get on with my day, I untie the bandana and let the steam from the shower make my curls fall back into place.

This entire process is way more labor intensive than anything I ever did 15 years ago.  But like I said, a lot has changed in 15 years.  I am fully a part of the natural hair community. I write about it on my blog. I share tips and tricks with friends and family, even complete strangers, who are also looking for the perfect combination to achieve healthy hair. Instead of having my dad touch up my afro with his clippers, I seek out salons that cater to natural hair for quarterly trims. Oh, and I’ve written a book about it, too.  It is more than fitting for the next step in my hair journey would be to help my curly girlies discover and employ the variety of options available to them when it comes to their respective hair journeys.

For right now, I’ll continue to wash their hair myself and gradually build up to letting them take the reins on such a multi-step process.  In the interim, we’ll start with the basics.  First lesson: Mastering the high puff.

 

 

 

 

 

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IN: hair ON: January 14, 2015 TAGS: , , , , BY: Hilary
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Start Fresh Sunday

Okay you guys, I’m pulling back the curtain. I’m almost embarrassed to show you this.  This is my linen closet.

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I think I’m pretty organized person.  I’m someone who has their -ish together, about 85% of the time.  But, when I’m feeling myself and am in need of a reality check, I go pull some towels of the linen closet and let the bedsheets, washcloths, and other household detritus come tumbling down around me.  Rather than just folding things nicely and putting things away — which, I did when we moved in three years ago — I’ve just started shoving stuff onto the shelves in a semi-organized system. Towels on the top, linens in the middle, sewing machine paraphernalia, quilts, old pillows on the bottom shelf, and luggage, a pack-and-play and off-season clothes on the floor.  See? It’s organized in that I know what’s where.  It’s not organized in that it looks like I just tossed stuff in and slammed the door shut.  .  .  .probably because that’s what I did.

This thing has gone completely off the rails.

I love organization. A place for everything thing and every thing in it’s place. I’ve always been that way.  I like knowing what I have, where it is and where it needs to go after I’ve used it.  That’s part of the reason why I’m forever haranguing the girls about putting something away after they’ve used it.  Not just because I don’t want to clean up, but because who doesn’t love neatness and orderliness? Growing up, my desk in school was used as a model to emulate (yes, I was that kid).  My locker was a thing of beauty: books color coded by spine, binders stacked by increasing widths, and even my pictures, comics, and motivational quotes that adorned my locker door where organized in an orchestrated arrangement to appear haphazardly thrown up.

I love baskets and fabric covered bins to store everything form hair supplies to toilet paper rolls to magazines.  I want my stuff corralled and I want it to look good.

I have spent copious amounts of time on Pinterest — quelle suprise— looking a pins on great ways to organize, color coding, labeling.  Ahhh, labeling!

I love folders and labels. Satisfaction is emptying out my hanging files and replacing old folders with new ones affixed with labels hot from the printer.  *squeee* !   In the kitchen, I love nesting bowls and tupperware with interchangeable lids. When I decided to give the linen closet it’s proper make-over,the pantry was roped into the adventure as well.  What started out as just putting some groceries away after a failed trip to Target became a foray into putting a little polish on a closet in the house.

Sadly, I didn’t take a before and after of my hard work, because at the time, I hadn’t planned on even tackling the job.  What started out as making room for some new groceries became a huge undertaking of cleaning shelves, removing bags of cereal from boxes, finding the aforementioned tupperware big enough to hold all the loose snacks, flakes, and crispies floating around.  A normal person would have thought it out, measured shelves, checked what they already had and  you know, had a plan, before doing something like that on the last Sunday night of Christmas break.

Suffice it to say, the kitchen was already in disarray between the grocery bags, my multi-tasking making dinner and the next day’s lunches.  Why not add another log on that fire? My tupperware collection is extensive because my mother-in-law likes to bring food with her when she visits.  Some things get frozen, some things get eaten right way, but regardless, the tupperware never makes it back home with her.  I’ve tried to send it back with no luck.  The stuff kept multiplying.  My cabinet became full of more tupperware than I could possibly use. Until, I decided to clean up the pantry.

What is crucial to understand in this story is that this all happened on Sunday, like I said.  Sundays are the days when we really dig in and  get ready for the coming week.  What should be pretty mundane tasks that take little to no time, ends up becoming this bizarre quest for me to suddenly organize everything. Every Sunday without fail, at some point in the day, I start organizing stuff.  It’s like I’m doing a tabla rasa on the past week.  If I can get myself and my stuff and my people organized going into the week, then we’re primed to kick butt all week long!  And every Sunday I find something to organize — the toy box, the playroom, my sock drawer —  but the linen closet is never on that list.

So, the last Sunday of the holiday break. There were football games on, Christmas paraphernalia to be stored, hair to be done, clothes to be lain out, SO many things to be done. I threw open the doors to the linen closet for fresh towels, had a brain cramp and decided that the closet needed to be organized.  I got out my tape measure and measured the height, the width, and the depth of the shelves.  I measured for all the compartments that I thought I was going to need. I got out my clipboard and set out to make a list of the type and size of bins and baskets that I thought it would take to get some order and clarity into the linen closet and some satisfaction into my system.

In my head, I had this vision, partially aided by the flier that came in the mail from Target, imploring me to come and shop their New Year Sale. I mean, how timely right? It’s the new year and people have resolved to get their -ish together — literally and figuratively.  The image that they chose for the flier was a beautifully organized linen closet.  Bins, baskets, rolled towels, labels all facing the same way with the contents of each container artfully written in scripted font.  I took a look at that and thought, “Oh yes, it will be mine!” New year, new me, new linen closet. So, on with the measuring, list making and the trip to Target where I took hold of a red cart, piloted to the Home section and. . .

was completely overwhelmed because I really had no idea what it is that I want.  Do I want the towels for our bathroom to be rolled? Should the kid’s towels be rolled? If so, how many baskets do I get? Do I get bins instead? What about wired containers versus the sea grass ones? If I go with fabric lined, which fabric do I choose? Do I even have a color palette here or are we going for a minimalist look and go clear or opaque? Does clear or opaque even count as a slot on the color wheel? What about the toiletries and cleaning products? I don’t really keep our products in the linen closet, I keep them in the bathroom under the sink in their own little bin. So does that mean I replace the existing bin or try to match it to new bins? Does that mean I have to switch? Does that mean I have to move the bin from under the sink to the linen closet in order to make it work? What if I get some baskets, but then you can’t see them because the ironing board is hung on the shelf rather than on the door? Does that mean I should get towel racks to install on the inside of the linen closet? How did I end up in Health and Beauty and why is there a Chestnut Praline Latte in my hand?

And then pffft! My head exploded.

When I came home, I was in a funk and disappointed at my lack of progress.  I started to put away some of the grocery items and opened the pantry. I looked inside, it was ugh and no better off than the linen closet, which brings us to how the pantry got a mini make-over before the linen closet.  Granted, it doesn’t quite look like this:

but, I made enough of a difference that when M opened the door looking for dessert, she said, “Whoa, the pantry is like really clean now. It looks awesome!”

I didn’t really think anyone would notice, but apparently my hard work showed.  An organized pantry and high praise from my daughter? Double win.

Start Fresh Sunday — yet another challenge of my own creation.  Seriously, though, if I can just get the slate clean on Sunday, we can go into feeling full charged.

I just need to get organized.

Better organized.

More organized?

I don’t know.

I want to take all my organizational pins and make it happen in real life. You know, if you like a pin or re-pin something, it should just appear in your closet, your fridge, or whatever.  Why haven’t we developed this technology?!

The linen closet, that prickly beast that I’m trying to get my arms around hasn’t bested me forever.  I will create a closet that is both aesthetically appealing and functional, like the myriad of pins I keep clicking on and drooling over.  Maybe I can get it together by Sunday.

 

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IN: ON: January 7, 2015 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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A December to Remember

 

 

The first of December.  Another month of experiences behind us and another month of possibilities laid out before us. I can’t help but marvel at how we got here.  I mean, I know how we got here.  The sun rises, the sun sets, the world turns and the days pass.  This year, however, has moved rapidly, hurriedly, late for an unknown cosmic appointment.

Usually, when back to school starts, the calendar ramps up with activities.  This was true for me again this year.  What was different this year, though, was the urgency that settled over everything as we moved from September and into October.  Maybe I should point a finger at the retailers who began bringing out sleigh bells and jingle bells in advance of Halloween.  Seeing red and green trimmings already available for purchase when it was still October was off-putting.  It set off an internal metronome that tick-tocked in the background as the days grew shorter and the months drew to a close. I have been feeling like I’ve gotta get stuff done! I gotta take care of this! Countdown clocks abound and I don’t even remember signing up to participate.

I clearly remember the beginning of November. I kind of remember the middle. I definitely remember the last five days; Thanksgiving and the associated family fun days that lasted well into the final throes of the 30th, bringing us to today.  The last five days felt like we were trying wring out every last bit of fall, every last bit of November, and at the same time, bring in December, Christmas and the holiday season while we were of a mind and inclination to do so.

Thanksgiving was quiet. Just us and my in-laws with more food that anyone knew what to do with. My contribution this year was pie.

Gingery Apple Walnut Crumb Pie

Pie was what I wanted to eat, so pie is what I made.  After dinner that included steaks, crab legs, a ham, collard greens, salad and rice and peas, I had just enough room for a slice of each of the pies I made.

And some ice cream.

And a little bit of wine.

And a little bit more ice cream.

I even went so far as to freeze the remaining halves of the pies so I wouldn’t be tempted to pick a little, pick a little, pick a little over the course of the week-end.  Of course, I spent the rest of the week-end thinking about it, thinking about it, thinking about it.

In those in between times, the Hubs I played board games with the girls — Beat the Parents, Life –, watched football, read books, and lounged around.  Once the girls were down for the night, but before we lost ourselves in our iPads, we played a Phase 10 and talked copious amounts of trash in the process.  Okay, I talked copious amounts of trash, but it had to be done seeing as I was beaten handily every time we sat down to play.  Those other minutes and hours? I lost many of them to “The Walking Dead” on Netflix.  I can’t even begin to tell you how much I’ve been shook and hooked at the same time. There was serious watching going on because I’m about 4 episodes shy of being all caught up on the seasons.  Yeah, it’s bad. . . but it’s so good. And I can admit it, Rick & Co. are the main reason I sleep with one eye open  (’cause you know. . .zombies).

Sunday afternoons, especially in the fall,  make me a little sad melancholy. Maybe it’s season affective disorder, maybe it’s daylight savings. Maybe it’s knowing it’ll be a full five days before the week-end and all of it’s busyness comes around again. Knowing that the week-end moments of not being beholden to the routine are coming to an end, even for just a few days, make me a little sad.  And I can admit that I already start missing the Hubs before he’s even left for the week .  That plays a part in it a bit, too.

Yesterday afternoon at about 4pm, the sun was slipping across the sky into the west, the game was on the TV.  Our Christmas tree was up, lighted and partially decorated.  The wreath had been hung and the candles were in the windows.  I watched the girls chase each other around the living room while the Hubs queued up some Bing Crosby on Pandora as he set to unwrapping ornaments.  I was struck by the simplicity, by the wholesomeness of the whole moment and by the fact that it felt like the calm before the storm.

In addition to the general feelings of “bleh” and “meh”, this past Sunday had a finality about it that I couldn’t put my finger on.  I’m not anticipating any great life changing events  – no marriages, deaths, moves, births or anything — in the next 31 days. It’s just that on the last Sunday of the month of November,  it felt like a the last good breath we were going to take before sprinting through the holiday season. I wouldn’t call it the push to the finish line for 2014. I’ve been moving at a good clip all year. I haven’t hit the wall, but I’ve got this anticipation going into the final stretch that has me wanting to put my head down and dig it out to the end.

That’s not a good way to go into the holiday season. I want to enjoy the holidays, enjoy my family and friends, look forward to what the new year has in store.  I don’t know if I’m alone in this feeling, but I do know that I have a choice whether or not to let it color my experiences.  I’m hoping to color them in reds and greens, silvers and golds and maybe a little Tiffany blue and white come the 25th.

I think of that commercial imploring us all to “Make it a December to Remember” and I plan to, for all the right reasons.  I’m hoping to take the girls on a light tour. We’re going to see Santa this week-end.  Our tree is up and the stockings are hung with their lists stuffed inside. I’m toying with the idea of baking Christmas cookies provided I can unclench my teeth/hands/butt long enough to give up control of the cleanliness of my kitchen for a little while.   I’ve already decided we’re having Chinese food for Christmas dinner. I’ve got a new nephew to shop for this holiday.  I also know that if I don’t do any of these things, that’s okay, too.  Like many others, I post pictures of our goings-on onto Instagram and Facebook. It’s easy to get caught up in sharing that you lose out on the actual doing.  There are times when I’ve been so busy deciding between Hudson and Valencia, I didn’t really get to enjoy myself.  I’m all for capturing moments for posterity, but at what cost? I’m already feeling like I can’t catch my breath.

Whatever I do (or not do) this year is alright.  I’m going to move through this month at my own pace, wrapped in good intentions, breathing evenly and calmly, enjoying each breath as it comes so when it comes time to say goodbye to December, I can do so without wondering where did it all go.

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IN: ON: December 1, 2014 TAGS: , , , , BY: Hilary
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recipes

Recipe Friday: Clean Eating & CrockPot Steel Cut Oatmeal

After 400 days. . . .yes, FOUR HUNDRED . . .using the My Fitness Pal app, I cracked.  I’d had enough tracking. I’d had enough of eating the same meals or variations of the same meals day after day after day.  I went rogue.

It was a glorious three of weeks of just eating with reckless abandon.  No counting portion sizes. No counting calories. No counting my water intake. I ate when I was hungry. I drank what I wanted, when I wanted to.  Sure I ate my same ol’ boring breakfasts and lunches, but if I wanted a cupcake, I ate it! Another glass of wine? Why not?  Should we get some fries at lunch? Bring ’em on.

After a while, though, I realized that I wasn’t feeling that great.  I was tired. My pants were a little snug, despite my daily check-ins at the gym.  I wasn’t sleeping well at all.  I decided to get back on track with My Fitness Pal.  Re-entry was a little tough, but three days make a habit, and soon I was back in the fold of recording my meals.  A few days later, a girlfriend of mine said that she was going to do a 7 Day Clean Eating Challenge to get herself back on track.  She thought I might be interested in joining her.  I saw the words “clean eating” and thought, nope. No. And again . . .nope.

I’d like to think that while I’m not bellying up to the trough on a regular basis (with the exception of those 3 weeks of course), I eat pretty well.  I know it’s not “clean” — I fry stuff. I use white foods.  I use regular salt and sugar.  Still, I didn’t really want to peel away anything else from what I was already doing.  Nor did I want to add any more fruits and veggies.  I’m a picky eater; I like what I like and that’s about it.  To try to incoroporate more clean foods — or any clean foods — was going to take some doing.  I couldn’t even think about getting Snap, Crackle and Pop on board with it.  Still, I was intrigued by it.

So, on Sunday, I had my “last meal”, and woke up on Monday ready to get down to business.  Thankfully, the challenge was moderated by someone who has subscribed to the clean eating lifestyle for a while.  This woman really knows her stuff.  In additon to daily motivational check-ins, she provided exercises, nutritional information videos, meal planning ideas, and encouraged the participants to keep a dialogue going of how they progressed over the week.

I used one of her meal planning guides to help me through the ensuing seven days.  I needed something definitive so that there would be no question of what to do when and no opportunity to go off the rails.  This clean eating plan had me eating meals at 7, 12, and 5 with snacks at 10, 3, and 8.  I adjusted my personal timetable accordingly and got down to it.  Monday morning, I selected several options from the breakfast choices, bypassed by morning cup of joe in favor of some water and kept it moving.  I had a good start to the day, but I was starting to get some hunger pangs way before my designated snack time. I filled up on water.  Lunch time came around and I made some minor modifications to what I had been regularly eating.  I was feeling pretty good about how things were going.  Dinner was the same thing.  The first day was in the books and I was strutting around, having knocked it out of the park.

Then Tuesday came.

I woke up ravenous.  I’m surprised I didn’t mistake my pillow for a marshmallow during the night.  Breakfast felt like an appetizer and my mid-morning snack became my personal white whale.  I filled up on water and practically sweated it all out at the gym.  My work-out had been great, but my stomach was protesting.  I felt a serious cranky coming on and attributed it to low blood sugar.  Thankfully, snack time rolled around — what am I? A pre-schooler?) and I was able to make it through to the end of the day.

Wednesday was better. I had found my stride and drew upon my Type A personality to help me prep and plan meals and snacks.  My purse had little baggies of almonds and hard boiled eggs.  The fridge had pre-portioned servings of fruit and vegetables.  I even made tuna fish using avocado instead of mayonaise.  I was really doing it!

Thursday, I was to meet a friend for lunch at a local restaurant and almost cancelled.  I didn’t think I’d be able to keep this good thing going in the face of a menu that had items like “Fried Green Tomato BLT” and “Southern Short Rib Pie”.  I grabbed my big girl panties off the shelf and dealt with it.  Mixed fields greens with grilled chicken, dressing on the side, no croutons.  I felt like Sally Albright, but no matter.  I navigated a meal out and stuck to the plan relatively well.

By Friday, some of the new changes had become habits and I was looking forward to having certain things that I would not have imagined the week prior.  Sure, there were a few fails — quinoa is forever banned from my kitchen — but there were lots of wins, like chicken salad made with avocado, Greek yogurt, lime juice and cilantro.  I almost broke my arm patting myself on the back at my success thus far.  I wanted to celebrate! So I did.

with a steak.

and fries.

and wine.

Imagine that you’re a child whose drawn on the walls. Your parent spends an inordinate amount of time scrubbing those walls in order to restore them to their unmarred condition.  You, you cheeky little monkey, celebrate your parents’ hard work by drawing a celebratory pastiche on the aforementioned walls.  Describe for me how your parent might react.

Basically, when you have cleaned something and then you gunk it back up, there are going to be repercussions. In my case, there were digestive repercussions, along about 3 o’clock in the morning.  I was crawling to the bathroom, vowing to eat clean for the rest of my life if the cramping in my stomach would just stop.  I made it through the tummy troubles and got back on the wagon the next day.  I finished the challenge strong, losing a few pounds, a few inches, and gaining a little definition around my middle.  It’s been about a week since I finished the challenge, but I’d say I’m eating about 75% of my meals like I’m still on it.

I had snap peas and baby carrots for a mid morning snack today! And they were good!

The best meals I had were breakfast, actually.  I think I’m late to the steel cut oatmeal party, but better late than never.   The recipe below is not a “clean eating” version — for that you’d have to omit the sugar and butter.  I’ve had both, the one below and the clean version with a touch of honey and they’re both delicious.

Eating clean is not as difficult as I thought. There were some points during the challenge where I would have preferred to eat something else, but I actually started to look forward to my breakfast and snacks. While I don’t know if I’m ready to go all in with clean eating 100%, I think I can keep some of these good habits in play for the long term.  I’m going to have to figure out a way to work some lean beef into the equation without wreaking havoc on my stomach. 

Happy Friday, y’all!

 

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Crockpot Steel Cut Oatmeal

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Ingredients

  • 1 cup Steel Cut Oats (Not Regular Rolled Oats)
  • 4 cups Water
  • ½ cups Milk
  • ¼ cups Brown Sugar
  • 1 Tablespoon Butter
  • ½ teaspoons Vanilla
  • ½ teaspoons Cinnamon

Preparation

1. Combine ingredients in a crock pot.

2. Plug crock pot in.

3. Cook on low for 8 hours!

Your house smells so delicious in the morning, and you get to sleep in an extra five minutes, because your breakfast is READY!

Many add-ins are possible: chocolate chips, flaxseed, honey, nutmeg, grated apple, cherries, peanut butter, cranberries. Let me know what your favorite add-in is!

 

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IN: recipes ON: November 14, 2014 TAGS: , , , , , , , BY: Hilary
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Luxury or Blessing?

*disclaimer*  I really struggled with writing this post.  I read a very thought provoking article and accompanying comments, which could fill a book or two.   I was inspired to write my own thoughts about what I read.   When I played the voice memo I had used to capture my talking points, I realized that I was simultaneously supporting and contradicting the author.  I agreed in some areas and disagreed in others.  I couldn’t find the balance of what I wanted to say. I almost wrote, “Hey here’s an article that I think you all should read!” and just posted that. . .which in hindsight may not have been such a bad idea.

“Being a Stay-At-Home-Parent Is a A Luxury to Your Spouse.”

Normally, a loaded headline like that and I’m clicking onto the next article.  This particular day, however, I was deep into my feelings of angst and all but stood up in my chair, like a guest on Jerry Springer, “Yeah, that’s right! That’s right!” jabbing my index finger in the air to some unseen perpetrator of injustice.

Let me back up.

Like many married people with children, my husband and I have fallen into certain roles in our homes.  He is the primary financial provider. I am the primary domestic provider.  We didn’t sit down and assign tasks to one another; we slipped into these roles as we grew in our marriage and into parenthood.

The aforementioned article begans by the author, Chaunie Brusie, commenting on an article that she read discussing the trouble stay-at-home parents have when asked “What do you do all day?”  This questions raises hackles for a number of stay-at-home moms (myself included) — and before I go any further, I know that that are stay-at-home dads as well.  For the sake of this post, I’m using SAHM for brevity, but it does includes SAHDs.  In any event, Brusie read on through the article, sifting through comments until she found one that read:

“I work full time, and my husband is a stay at home dad. We have two kids in school full day (8 to 3). Don’t you realize how much easier it is to hold a full time job when you have someone home with the kids? I can work late and travel when I need to and not worry about the kids. Our weekends are spent relaxing, instead of racing around to get errands and chores done. I can go back to work on Mondays having actually recharged over the weekend. It feels like such a luxury to ME to have a stay at home spouse.” (Brusie’s emphasis).

Brusie says was “flabbergasted” that anyone would think that.  For a split second, so was I.  Why would anyone consider having a stay at home spouse a luxury? Despite it being well into the 2000s, there is still an undercurrent of disdain for moms who work in the home.  I know that I’m not alone in this feeling; I’ve talked with countless women who have turned themselves inside out in order to merit not having a 9 to 5.  Just last week, a friend from the gym was saying that she was girding herself against the inveitable lack of interest she was sure to experience when she went to a function for her husband’s job.  She, too, has been party to the  deflation of conversation that occurs when she remarks about how she’s a SAHM.  Never mind the fact that she did work in the past, works part time now, and is an all around amazing individual.

I’ve been a stay-at-home mom for almost a decade and let me tell you, there is only a small part of that that involves “staying home” — that’s another topic for another day, though.  Like several of my friends, I have tried to justify my existence as such by taking on Herculean tasks inside and outside of the home just so when asked, “What do you do all day?”, I could rattle off any number of things:

I made gluten-free, peanut-free, dairy-free cupcakes for the student bake sale!

I hand addressed 150 envelopes for the PTA fundraiser!

I read the entire collection of Shel Silverstein Poems to the first grade and then taught them how to write sestinas!

I stitched Girls Scout badges onto sashes for the entire troop so that they’re ready in time for to deliver cookies that I ordered, sorted alphabetically by type and bagged up in hand crocheted delivery bags!

It was vital to me that other people knew I wasn’t lounging around, catching up on the early 2000 equivalent of #TGIT and eating Chex Mix.  Again, I was worshiping at the Idol of Busyness because I had something to prove. I had to have an answer when met with a question that is inherently designed to create tension. I nkow that “What do you do all day?” is a pretty beningn question, but raise your hand if you read “What do you do all day?” in your regular voice? Raise your hand if you read “What do you do all day?” in a more judgmental tone.  Right.

The Brusie article acknowledged that being at home was a luxury for her.  After some consideration, she  realized that being at home was a luxury for her husband.

When I’m in the weeds of daily life, wishing I had a clone, what I really want are words of affirmation — it’s one of my love languages (so is receiving gifts, are we surprised?).  I do my best to remind the Hubs that I’m thankful for him and this life we have created together.  I know that he does the same for me. Recognition that we are in this together, we’re both doing the best that we can and there’s no one else we’d rather be doing it with — that’s what I’m looking for.  It’s the acknowledgement that who I am to him and to our family is paramount.

I’m having a hard time with the word luxury. I hear that word and think crushed velvet, mink coats, high count thread sheets, and flossing my teeth with freshwater pearls.  It’s a state of extravagance.  Having a second home is a luxury.  Having a cleaning lady is a luxury.  Having a spouse who is an exceptional partner and parent  who can  remove the worry, provide security in knowing that your children are well taken care of , and provide peace of mind in knowing that if there is an unexpected earache, forgotten bake sale items, and overdue library books, all of those knotted snafus will be untangled and laid straight — that’s not an extravagance, that’s blessing.

 

 

 

 

 

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IN: ON: October 16, 2014 TAGS: , , , , , , BY: Hilary
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Spinning Plates

Time is flying by and I don’t really think I’m having a whole lot of fun.

Truthfully, I’ve been running, running, running ever since we came back from vacation.  In August.  I can clearly recall when the calendar flipped to the last day of school for the 2013-2014 school year. The entire summer stretched out before us, peppered with camps, play-dates, day trips and vacation the golden ring to reach for that would wrap it all up.

Once we crossed the threshold from driving straight from Martha’s Vineyard to Virginia, the pace didn’t slow down an iota.  It maintained and gradually picked up speed as we skipped from M’s birthday celebration to 4th grade orienation, followed by 1st grade orientation followed by pre-school orientation.  Then it was the first day of school.  Next was class picture day and back to school night and calendar meetings!  My planner was bursting with reminder notices and in an attempt to sync my iCal with my iPhone and my iPad, I got iMessage from Siri saying “I quit”. Even with three calendars a slew of reminders and post-its dotting my door frames, I constantly feel like I’m a pace behind.  I’m trying to work in the in between times of school, activities, and my responsibilities to others. I’m looking forward down time with the kids, but I also have to get groceries, wash hair (times 3), mail out copies of “Maggie Sinclair”, and attend to the multiple pieces of minutiae that life has liberally sprinkled over me.

Don’t get me wrong. This is not a pity party nor a raging rant.  I know I am not the first, nor the last, nor the only person to have responsibilities or wear a variety of hats.  I haven’t, as the father of a high school friend used to say, “forgotten to count”.  I’ve got so many blessings and good things going in my life, when I stop to think about it, I’m embarrassed for feeling overwhelmed by a situation of my own creation.

Many years ago, I attended a church service as a guest of woman I had met through a Kindermusik class.  I grew up Episcopalian. I went to a Catholic high school. I had a period where I wasn’t sure I wanted to participate in church because I felt like a hypocrite for reciting words that didn’t hold meaning for me. I wanted to understand what I was saying and why, not just reading from the BCP because it said to in my leaflet.   This was a journey that I had been on for a while, getting to this place where I am comfortable with church and my beliefs.  While I was going through it, though, I found myself being invited to church by a variety of different people. At the time, I viewed my beliefs as very private, especially since I was still working them out for myself.  When the latest invitation was issued, I felt God was practically knocking me on the head like, “Hey, I’m just going to keep inviting you until you accept!” —  so I went.  It was a Presbyterian church, a first for me, and more casual than the traditional high holy services I’d grown up with.  What I remember most about that service was section of the sermon given by the pastor, imploring us not to worship at the altar of the Idol of Busyness.  He went on to discuss how we measure our value or our success by how busy we are.  We take pleasure in not being able to participate in certain things because Look at all of these other things that I’ve committed to do already! I’m so busy!

Close to 10 years later, I still think of this message when I find myself at that altar of busyness.  When I’m whirling like a dervish over everything that needs to get done, everything I want to do and everything that I have to do, I need to step back.  To all outside appearances, I’ve got all the plates in the air, spinning in sync, and I’m reaching for some chainsaws to toss in the mix.

via

In truth, I want to yell “Don’t look at the lady behind the curtain!” That’s where the real me is, pulling levers, flipping switches and wiping sweat from my brow.  There are days when I feel like I’ve done nothing productive, nothing worthwhile, nothing that shows exactly how I’ve spent my day. Case in point, V has started preschool two days a week.  I had a list straining with the weight of things I was going to do with those precious hours.  Then I cracked my tooth.  Then the dentist decided I need to have a re-treatment on a root canal.  And that took multiple appointments and so much Novocain that my blinking is on a three second delay. So, I have spent virtually every available Tuesday or Thursday that she has been in preschool in the dentist chair, lamenting that I haven’t done anything and feeling like I’ve failed.  But failed who? Failed at what?  Who is setting up this unreachable bar of expectations?

Me.

So, I’m working on changing my thinking.  When I begin to feel like I’m so busy, that parenting and adulthood have turned me into a 2014 version of Sisyphus, I take a step back and start ticking off the ways in which I was winning at my life:

I’m alive.

I’m healthy.

So are my husband, my kids, my parents, my family and friends.

I’m working on projects that are exciting and I get to things that I enjoy.

I’m in an enviable position that I need to celebrate instead of wasting time worrying about achieving some arbitrary notion of productivity of my own ridiculous construct.  I’m giving myself permission to let the plates spin a little more slowly or maybe even take a few plates down.

Which of your spinning plates would you like to take down, if only for a little while?

 

 

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IN: hair ON: October 1, 2014 TAGS: , , , , BY: Hilary
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#makingfriendswithmaggie

Several weeks ago, I read a post on Facebook that came from a natural hair board to which I belong.  The author of the post was asking other group participants to leave some kind words for a young curly cutie who had been subjected to some hurtful comments from other school kids because she had been wearing her naturally beautiful ‘fro.

From the message board:
“My little sweetheart, Boom (the pretty girl in the pic) has been rocking her natural beautiful ‘fro to the first grade and of course, kids will be kids and some have said some unkind things about her glorious crown. Her mom is working hard everyday to remind her how wonderful she looks but will you please leave a comment to encourage her to rock her beautiful mane?! Her mom will read each one to her tonight before bed. Thank you!!”

photo courtesy of C.J. Davis

I had an extremely strong reaction to this post. I ached for what that little curly cutie must have been feeling. Despite being a grown woman, I can recall quite easily what it was like to be the recipient of questions and unwanted attention because was my hair was different from my classmates.  Keep in mind, this was a time before being natural was as prevalent as it is now.  The comments and questions directed at me sprouted up whenever I changed my hairstyle (Braids one day! Ponytails the next! How does she do it?!) or when the humidity in the air snapped my ponytails into huge poofs (What happened to your hair?! and Your hair looks like a cotton ball!).  My mother would tell me things like, “People are afraid of what they don’t understand,” and “They say hurtful things because they are jealous. They are envious of what you have.”  At the time, it was little consolation, but now, I can appreciate how my mother did the best she could to assuage my feelings.

Now that I’m a mother, I think about how I would react if one of my girls were experiencing a similar situation. Believe me, the immediate response involved making sure elbows found soft spots on a big mouth’s body.  No, not really. . .but I did get very Mama Bear for a split second before coming up with possible strategies that my girls could employ if they did come home with tales of “So-and-so said such-and-such about my hair!”  The Hubs and I spend lots of time, consciously and unconsciously, building up our girls in all areas so that they never doubt how wonderful they are.  I irritates me to no end how despite our love and messages of positivity, one wayward comment from a passing acquaintance can unravel the threads of our work.  I’d like to believe that with every kind word we provide our children, we inoculate them just a bit more against low self-esteem so that eventually, any unpleasant comments bounce right off, never finding purchase.

I don’t know Boom’s mother, but I’m sure she cycled through various emotions of outrage and indignation before settling on ways to help her daughter.    I was encouraged by how thoughtfully her mother worked to ensure that Boom knew that she was beautiful. Taking to social media to enlist the help of other naturalistas was a great idea.    I was filled with hope as I read comment after comment lifting up this little girl.  The last time I checked, there were over 162 likes and over 125 comments, and they keep coming.

After I had read through the comments, it occurred to me that this is not the first time that I have heard of a little girl being teased, ridiculed, shamed, or even suspended from school over her hair. After seeing C wearing her Bantu Knots one day, a friend of mine replicated the style for her daughter.  The daughter, a middle-schooler, came home after wearing her knots, saying she was was going to take her hair down because the kids at school had said her hair looked like . . .well, I’m not even going to give power what was said.  Suffice it to say, it was enough to have her want to change her hairstyle immediately.  When I talked to my friend about it, we both said how by unraveling the knots, she was giving power to her tormentor.  Of course, being at the precarious middle school age, nothing a parent or a well meaning adult is going to hold sway over the system that is tween-dom.  So, she took her hair down.

There were at least two other news articles in the recent months where young curly cuties were asked to 1) change their hairstyles or 2) suspended from school for not conforming to school dress codes for having “unkempt hair” (i.e. naturals).  Both of those instances are discussions for other posts, I’m sure.  I bring it up to say, though, situations like those mentioned above, situations like Boom’s, situations that I’m sure my own children will face at some point in their lives — this is why I wrote “Maggie Sinclair”.  It’s more than just a picture book. It’s more than just a story about a girl and her grandmother. It’s a lesson in positivity so that children of color can have good examples relating to their hair, bodies, and abilities. It is crucial that they are taught to love themselves and the hair that grows out of their head.  In so doing, they can learn to love and celebrate their uniqueness and the uniqueness of others.

I asked to be put in touch with Boom so that I could send her a copy of  “Maggie Sinclair, Will You Please Fix Your Hair?” as a gift.  I wanted Boom to  have a touchstone that will remind her to continue to love, love, love herself and that gorgeous curly crown.  Judging by this photo, I think she’s most certainly will.

boom

photo courtesy of C.J. Davis

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IN: hair ON: September 10, 2014 TAGS: , , , BY: Hilary
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