Ok, so I’m feeling super cranky today.  I basically just sent the girls upstairs to fend for themselves and told Charlie not to come and get me unless someone is BLEEDING.  Why am I ready to scratch my own eyes out?  Well, it could be that two days ago I embarked on a journey I shall call “Gaga for Grain-Free” – yes, I said it.  For really no other reason but potentially changing the health of my family, Vann and I are going grain-free, primal, Paleo, whatever you would like to call it. And I think I must just really be craving a bagel this morning.  Like in a way that makes me want to hang my kids up by their ankles and leave them there. I’m just kidding.  Sort of.  Let’s start from the beginning: I found out last week that one of my dearest college friends found out she had a gluten intolerance last year and has since lost 45 pounds by following the Paleo diet.  And let me just say, this darling friend was always beautiful – in college she was one of THE prettiest girls I knew – so to see her improve on that – well, she literally looks lit from within.  I thought, “Dude, WHAT is she doing??  Whatever it is, I need it, and fast.” So I guess that planted a seed in me.  And I started doing a little reading, started asking some questions.  I came to find out that two more of my close friends from college (and their spouses) follow this diet or something similar to it.  Huh?  What am I missing here?  As you know I’ve been doing Weight Watchers (mostly successfully) since last summer.  And as much as I have loved WW, I just can’t seem to get past the holiday slump.  I’ve been stuck at the same place since Halloween, give or take a pound or two.  Super frustrating, right? Well, I admit it, I was super intrigued by Paleo.  I am no doctor, obviously, so I wanted to find a pretty simple way of explaining what the diet consists of.  I found this great diagram (in pictures, no less) here.  In my few days of reading up on it, I’ve seen numerous accounts of how going grain-free helps with a HOST of ailments, can cure disease, promote good “gut” health, etc., etc.  I’ve written very openly about my struggles with depression over my adult life – and when I read that it can help with depressive tendencies – well, that about sealed it for me.  I just couldn’t resist the testimonials of my friends who feel better than they EVER have in their LIVES.  And don’t feel deprived, and are able to eat things like avocadoes and olives and steaks and a million other things, and get this – STILL lose weight.  Because, you know, this goes against everything I’ve learned following the Weight Watchers program.  So, yeah, I was a little scared about cooking my eggs (not just the whites) in butter and throwing out all low fat items in my house.  But I had some pretty awesome results to go off of, so: When Vann came home that night I broke the news to him that I had gone through our pantry and purged ALL of the processed foods.  And yes, girl scout cookies and m & m’s were sadly a part of my whirlwind.  I think he was scared initially, but thankfully I am married to a super-supportive spouse – he agreed to do a 30 day grain-free challenge with me, to start.  I mean, really, what do we have to lose??  Yesterday I started the replenishment of my pantry.  In PepsiCo’s benefits program if you fill out a health survey you get a $75 pre-paid shopping card – a perfect contribution to buying all of the staples we need to get our Paleo kitchen going.   Coconut flour, almond meal flour, coconut oil, grass-fed butter, omega-3 eggs, grass-fed beef, free-range chicken…just a small list of the things I am super excited to start using.  As far as our kids eating Paleo, well, that’s a whole ‘nother post.  For now, I’m going to start being super vigilant as to what they put in their mouths, and primarily, what they snack on.  I’m sure there is nowhere to go but up when it comes to Charlie and her “behavior” struggles – I’m anxious to see if cutting out the vast majority of sugar in her diet will help her be more focused and less “all over the place”.  All of this being said, before you knock me off my grain-free pedestal, although I have enjoyed the yummy food we’ve made these past three days, I must be having a carb withdrawal day (which my sweet friend Haley tells me is totally normal and will pass).  I am, well, kind of pissed off today and not afraid to say it. As this is the tale of a carb-a-holic gone grain-free, I will post about this journey probably quite a bit.  If something tastes good, I’ll post recipes and share tips and tricks.  And most importantly, how the diet is impacting mine and my family’s health and well-being.  So my first challenge is going to be finding a great recipe for pancakes.  I love pancakes.  So much.  I know there has to be delicious, grain-free options out there.  Feel free to share if you have any I should try!  Oh, and I forgot to say – yes, you can drink red wine on this diet.  You know that was one of my first questions, after all. To going gaga for grain-free,

Have you ever had a moment in your life where you hit a fork in the road?  One of those moments that involved two paths (or more) and you had to choose one?  Or maybe one was chosen for you?  I have.  When you are a senior in an acting program at a college like Baylor, and you want to go out into the professional acting world, you fly to different cities with your friends and audition.  For every school, Master of Fine Arts program, summer stock company, and Shakespeare festival you can think of.  Cattle-calls.  That’s what they’re called.  You basically have 90 seconds to go out in front of a panel of faculty/directors/etc. and show them what you can do.  90 seconds to put all that good training to use and lay it all on the line. I went to a lot of these – but the biggest was probably in February of 2000, four months before graduation.  I traveled to Chicago (these auditions typically take place in major cities) because my dear friend Courtney lived there and we planned on turning my audition trip into a mini vacay.  I had my stack of monologues and my Esprit suit and my black, practical pumps and I’m sure a lot of nerve.  I got to my time slots early, sat in the hallways and waited, stomach churning, life unfolding.  I auditioned for Yale.  NYU.  Name it, I did it.  The most enticing to me though, was a program in Denver called the National Theatre Conservatory, or NTC.  At the time they only accepted 3 women.  You were part of an ensemble of 8 students and would perform with the Denver Center of Performing Arts and spend three glorious years perfecting your craft and taking classes from the best of the best.  And when you graduated, you were considered a pro.  NTC was a free ride.  They hand-picked you and paid for everything.  I will never forget walking into that room and from the instant I met the recruiter, I knew he thought I was special.  And, as it turned out, he did.   They called me back.  I can’t remember how many of us were flown to Denver that March but it couldn’t have been more than 12 women vying for those 3 precious spots.  I don’t know why in my heart of hearts I knew it would happened – call it a moment of clarity.  The callback weekend was intense.  You are a big fish in a smallish pond and then you go out into the world – and let me tell you – life has a way of knocking you off your pedestal.  I was by far the youngest girl there.  We saw shows, attended a cocktail reception in our honor, met the current student body, took stage combat classes, and then not only had to audition in front of the entire faculty and dean but your competition as well.  All of this is fresh on my mind because Vann and I were watching “American Idol” last night – which we love – and it’s “Hollywood Week”.  If you know the show, you know that kids are passing out left and right, throwing up, you name it – the pressure is ENORMOUS and some just can’t handle it.  It called the memories of that weekend (almost 12 years ago) to the forefront of my mind. How I was able to stand there in front of all of those people and not melt into a puddle is still a mystery to me.  Oh, and I wanted it.  So badly.  It had become everything to me.  I left the weekend with some new friends and a lot of shaking of hands and hugs and “we’ll be in touch” and “you’ll hear from us soon”.  But what they don’t tell you when you’re in college is that you only hear from them when it’s good news.  And the waiting just about kills you.  I will never forget taking a taxi back to the Denver airport and wandering around waiting for my flight.  That’s when the doubt started to creep in: “Did I do absolutely everything I could have done?  Should I have done such-and-such monologue instead?” “Did so-and-so really like me?” “Was that girl trying to psych me out by asking me what I’d done besides just college productions?” “Is that ingénue-type girl prettier than me?”  Professors at Baylor used to tell us that we were allowed 10 minutes after an audition to re-run it through our minds and then we had to let it go.  Otherwise you would drive yourself crazy. And with every passing moment, I knew.  I knew that 3 (or 4, as it ended up being that year) other girls were getting the call that I so desperately wanted.  And that pedestal, that the recruiter had helped build, came crashing down when I got off the plane in Dallas and there was no message left from NTC.  That following week, after a bit of digging, I found out who had received those calls.    And of course, the final word on it was devastating to me.  I remember crying… For days. I. was. heartbroken. And, as it turns out, that was the moment. Little old me, standing in the Denver airport, clutching my one carry-on and cell, willing the phone to ring, dying for an answer to that all-important question: “What in the hell am I going to do with my life?” And in the end, I decided, on a whim, that I was going to move to Chicago.  I told my parents, and that was that.  And as Vann and I were watching Idol last night, I thought about that moment.  Where my life could have taken a completely different direction than it did. I’m sure my true purpose is still a work in progress.  I may not know till the end of my life what “that” is.  And I wonder, if given the chance, what I would say to 22 year old me.  Would I tell myself that I married the best guy ever for me?  That even in the times when life is a struggle I will always have someone in my life who wishes the very best for me, champions all I do and never lets me forget how special I am? Would I tell myself that I gave birth to two crazy, strong-willed, beautiful little girls?  That being a mom is really hard and I get knocked off my pedestal on a daily basis (so get used to it)? Would I tell myself that my body image will always be a struggle and thank the Lord for scary pants and husbands who love you, flaws and all? Would I tell myself that my self-worth isn’t hinged on 90 seconds of monologue?  That maybe, instead of reciting other people’s words I might one day write my own? Would I tell myself, above all, that I will be ok?  That life takes you on many twists and turns and each one is as valuable as the next?  I doubt 22 year old me would listen.  But 33 year old me does.  Or tries to.  And often fails, but wants so badly to find the peace that lies in true acceptance. 

Sometimes I have days where I can’t contain the thoughts in my head.  Like today.  Today I envy my friends with school age kids.  I have been so blessed by all kinds of mom friends – those who choose to have kids close together, those that choose to have them far apart.  Those that want one.  Those that want four.  Those that co-sleep.  Those that consider their beds to be off-limits.  Those that made their own baby food.  Those that wouldn’t puree veggies if you gave them a million dollars.  Those that spank.  Those that don’t.  Those that breast-fed.  Those that bottle-fed.  You get the picture. I love my girls.  But I love myself too.  And I need my time.  And when I think about my friends with kids in “big” school (as we call it in my house) – well, let’s just say there are days that I.just.cannot.wait.  One reason is that I think Charlie gets bored at home.  She’s done better since her run-in with the law (read: assistant director of her preschool) but as always with her, it’s one step forward, two steps back.  This is often the case with smart kids I’m told.  Because she is you know.  Too smart for her own good. And it’s not because we don’t have a busy calendar – quite the opposite – what with school, MOPS, playdates, soccer, church – some days I don’t think it’s possible to fit one more thing in.  But I sort of reject the idea that you can’t just have lazy days at home.  If we’ve had a crazy week, we’ll stay home and hibernate, just because.  And why not?  We finally have a spacious home and I love spending time in it.  But in this stage of life, I find that time at home is also sort of asking for it.  You know what I mean if you have two that are two years apart or less – it can be a royal beating.  Here’s what a typical “at home” morning is in our house: 6 am: Charlie sleepily wakes Vann up, usually announcing she either a. has to go potty, b. wants him to turn on a movie for her, or c. requests hot dogs and macanroni (yes, I spelled that correctly) for breaksast. 7:30 am: Vann rouses comatose me, kisses me goodbye, and gets the hell out of dodge.  “Don’t leave me”, I say, as I grab my iPhone and start pinning stuff. 8:00 am: Get Ella up.  Make coffee.  Give up Matt Lauer for Little Einsteins, thinking, “I’ll catch you later, Matt.” 9:00 am: Settle in with my re-heated coffee and Matt while the girls actually play well together. 9:01 am – 11:45 am: Play referee, raise my voice, give time-out’s, try to keep Ella out of my panty drawer, catch Ella with her nose in my new Stila makeup palette, re-heat my coffee, raise my voice again and threaten to throw away all the toys in the house, send Charlie to her room, chase Ella down the hallway so I can change that nasty 2 year old poopy diaper, re-heat my coffee, shove a handful of pretzel M & M’s down my throat, stop someone from bonking someone else on the head with a teapot, confiscate Mickey Mouse, Rudolph, and Lightning McQueen, and of course, never finish the “Today” show or my coffee. 11:45 am – 12:30 pm: Attempt lunch – sometimes aborting due to 2 year old food fight.  12:30 pm: Naptime for Ella, recently added “Room Time” for Charlie, and hopefully some one-on-one time with my DVR.  Dude.  I am freakin’ pooped.  It’s a wonder that everything coming out of my mouth isn’t complete gibberish.  I think it’s time to get back to the gym and end my self-imposed hiatus.  Not for activity points or weight loss – but good old fashioned stress relief.  I’m getting jittery just thinking about that trip to Target I have to take this afternoon.  Because you know, I don’t do it with both of them unless I am under GREAT duress.  I mean, someone has to be holding a gun to my head.  Or I’ve run out of creamer for my coffee. Which is just so much worse.

Pressure.  Familiar with it?  I am.  I put it on myself all.the.time.  For the last, oh, year, I’ve been in this “do we/don’t we” place about a 3rd baby.  In the deepest parts of my heart I do want a baby…yes, of course I want a baby.  I want to meet that 5th member of our family.  Some days I ache for that sweet baby smell.  More often though, I am treading water.  The ocean of motherhood threatens to swallow me up – and I wonder how in the world I can parent another child when I feel as though I’m failing with the two that I already have. Today, I was thinking.  Putzing around my house after drop-off – no agenda, just me.  And the cat.  And an empty, quiet house.    I realized I was going over a pro/con list in my head.  And it went something like this: Squishy new baby skin.  Pro. Lack of sleep.  For like, a long time.  Con. The excitement of a new beginning – a life.  An addition to our family.  Pro. Having more independence in our grasp.  Ella potty-training sometime this year (hopefully), both girls learning how to dress themselves, fix their own dinners, do their taxes.  Pro?  For waiting, yes. 9 months wine-free.  Definitely Con. A 2 year old just starting to figure out her place in the family – and then having to adjust to this teeny being that’s come to take her place as the “baby” (been here, done this, not sure I recommend – 2 years apart can be ROUGH)…Con. And as I’m thinking and weighing and thinking some more – I remembered what I said to Vann a week ago, “I’m so sick of talking about this.  If we’re going to do it, let’s just pull the trigger already!!” Huh. Does THAT sound like a good reason to have a baby?? No, no it doesn’t. Here’s the deal – I’ve been coming up with all kinds of excuses: “Well, we really don’t want to have another car payment this year.” “I definitely don’t want to be sick on my birthday.” “Maybe we should take that trip to Canada.” “Yeah, I’m just not at my goal weight yet.” “I’m turning 34 in March.” “I really want things to stabilize around here.” Etc… Etc… As my mind is churning I get in the car and head up to school to pick up the girls.  I call Vann.  A: “I know we keep going back and forth but I really think that XYZ yada yada yada…” V: Pause.  “What I’m hearing, is that maybe you’re just not ready.” A: Pause. V: “Am I wrong?” A: Pause.  “No.”   And it’s like the light bulb in my brain went CLICK.  Because I’ve been masking my true feelings with all of these excuses – and whether they’re valid or not – I really need to call it what it is and say it…out loud… I’M NOT READY.  Age be damned.  In my mind I’ve had this “end-point” to pregnancies – 35.  The “scary” number.  Don’t tell me you haven’t thought it too (and you know I mean no disrespect to my friends who have had sweet, precious babies after 35) but 35 is the “scary” number.  “Advanced Maternal Age.”  Isn’t that what they call it?? I’ve been putting all kinds of pressure on myself to figure out this baby thing before I hit my scary number.  My personal scary number.  It doesn’t have to be YOURS.  But it is MINE.  And here’s what – in all this worry and fretting over my scary number – I’m forgetting the JOY that’s involved in wanting to have a baby in the first place. The bottom line is that we should have a 3rd baby when we are so excited we just can’t wait any longer.  When we know that the time is right.  Because truly, it is all ordained by God anyway, isn’t it?  I mean, isn’t it really just about giving it to Him and waiting on His timing??  After Vann and I talked I realized something else…when we ultimately decided to table this discussion – really, table it fully – for 6 months, well, I felt… Relieved.  Yep.  I said it. I breathed a big sigh of relief.  Oh, Good Lord, THANK YOU. Because I’m not ready.  Bottom line.  If I weren’t so worried about my scary number I would say we’re waiting a year and leave it at that.  Well…who’s to say that still can’t be true?  I still feel like our family isn’t complete.  But I’m over trying to make it all happen in MY timing. Stick it, scary number.  I’m over you and all of your stupid pressure.  Move along.  Nothing to see here.