Cleopatra Drinks Tea, I'm a Baby Jogger, and Bangs!

I went for a mile jog on Tuesday.  

  Back when I was a single gal, in my early twenties, I took it upon myself to start running.  I was newly twenty one, weak and 'skinny-fat' and recovering from a few years of what might be defined as 'risky lifestyle.’  I was trying my best to keep myself together, working several jobs and living in a 1930's garage apartment behind a cat lady quilter.

  She made some seriously amazing artful quilts, that lady.  Like a black silhouette of that famous John Travolta 'Saturday Night Fever' arm shooting into the air pose surrounded by brightly colored contrasting fabric prints; or even better- the one she called 'Cleopatra Drinks Tea.’  It was a scene of cats having a tea party, again with contrasting fabrics to create an almost mosaic effect- one of the cats dunning a Cleopatra head piece.  Man, she was weird.  Good weird.  A weird I adore.  The kind of weird that knocks on your door one random afternoon to let you know that due to the way things in the world are going, she'd like to lower your rent by $85.

  I tell myself all the time that I'm going to go knocking on her door with my two kids in tow and I like to think she'll invite me in like she did every time I paid the rent and show us her latest work.  My kids will pull all her conspiracy theory books off the shelves and she'll offer to loan me one of her arduous 600-pagers.  I’ll tell myself that I'll read it and I'll take it and it'll stay in my van til I stealthily return it to her mailbox one afternoon, hoping she doesn't see me and want to have another visit.  Because after all these years of trying, I still have intimacy issues and that's probably why it's been almost seven years since last we spoke.

  She really was gem.  A true unicorn in life, and it was living in the upstairs apartment behind her  house that I was able to find a piece of myself and grow in ways that I didn't even understand were happening at the time.  There were still some wild nights of risk and indulgence and a lot of trial and error in decoding my own beliefs and value systems, and it was scary and hard and so liberating and fun, and I will forever be grateful for that episode of my young adulthood.  Also, wielding around to the trailhead of this tangent path, it was during that time that I started jogging for my sanity.

  While I am naturally somewhat athletic, I am not a great runner by any stretch of the imagination.  I ran cross country my sophomore year of high school, but only because my friend Christine (who is a great runner) convinced me to join the team.  After the first week of conditioning, running in the late august heat on dusty trails around almond orchards, I had shin splints and the romance had worn off.  One Saturday, we woke up extra early and ran several miles on the bike path in Bakersfield, where I grew up.  I'm pretty sure I complained a lot and thought I was going to die and was only really interested in the Bagels & Blenders we planned to eat afterward.  When it came to racing, I was usually in the bottom- never very last to finish but pretty close.  The last race I can recall running was a three mile in Hanford, California.  When we arrived to the race, the coaches informed us that the junior varsity team (that I was on, just barely) would run a three mile race instead of two.  The course was on grass and I remember feeling like my feet were bricks the whole run.  At the last stretch, I kicked into a sprint to pass several girls to not finish so near the bottom.  It was painful and my body was shaking after I crossed the finish line.  As I tried to walk off my racing heart that was pounding in my ears:  I pissed my racing shorts.  I heard tell that the pee pants are like a *thing* that sometimes happens to “athletes" who push themselves beyond their limitations.  Apparently three miles on grass after a lulling bus ride was mine. 

   A near-decade later, back at the Cat Quilter’s garage apartment,  I decided to give jogging another go.  I started slow, only running up and down the street til I worked my way around the block and after a few weeks, found my way all around the south end of town.  Eventually, I worked my way up to trail running some, but mostly stuck to a little course that I created for myself that took me down a cut through road next to a beautiful open field on Morningside Drive, just minutes away from downtown.  Again, I never became an amazing runner:  I have some knee issues and back then I smoked cigarettes and was a moderate boozer, but I did it.  And often, and loved the challenge and building strength and feeling strong and long winded.  Running became a way for me to cope, the ritual help even out the ups and downs of young womanhood in a small town far away from family.  Also, my legs looked hot.

   As my knees began to hate me, the impact becoming too much, I started to bike a little more.  When I became pregnant with Loukas, my running stopped for good.  I had suffered a miscarriage with my first pregnancy and was terrified of experiencing that same loss, and I've just have never gotten back to it.

  On Monday night, I took a drive out to the late mail collection post just south of town to send out some items I sold online and found myself cutting through that old stomping ground, Morningside Drive.  The field that it runs along remains undeveloped.  The evening sky boasted a beautiful cloud plume beyond a stretch of green pasture which when met with the rolling hills on the horizon, felt rural.  I've been finding myself taking the long way when I drive lately, taking in the views of this area that I once used to regularly appreciate on foot or on bike or from the driver’s seat of my old school Mercedes Benz that I traded for a minivan after my first Son was born.  It seems in these past four years since becoming a mother, I've found myself in a bit of a bubble.  Avoiding the scenic route for a more direct path, but in retracing some of these roads of past, I'm connecting with a Me of before- one that loves to take the long way.  And in viewing some of these parts of town- some that have changed, some that remain the same- I'm recognizing changes that have occurred within myself.  I'm happy to take the time to wander and reflect on how recent four years ago feels and how different I feel I've become, but at the same time wanting to celebrate the ways in which I am the same Me that I was before becoming a Mom.

  The fast pace of two kids under 4, one of them constantly teething and breast feeding, the other constantly wanting me to watch his every little move makes my head spin a little.  There is so much information out there, so many philosophies about how to parent.  At any given moment, it seems like making decisions about how to field another 'wook at me' 'wook at me' moment or demand for another sweet treat or coping with your baby not sleeping without your nipple in his mouth turns into this reel that plays in my head.  Trying to assimilate all the information and sentiments that my hard drive has stored, not wanting to squash their little spirits and wanting to do right by all the Mothers in the world who have lost a child or all the women out there who are desperately wanting to experience what it is like to be so viscerally annoyed by every peep your child makes, mixed with the guilt of feeling like just being a Mom at home all day everyday is not enough, can make a girl's brain and spirit feel at odds.   Motherhood is an unparalleled gift, and is so unique for each of us, to allow ourselves to be guided by fear of making the wrong move or by what we may regret if things turn to heartbreak, is a disservice to our innate ability to know what is right- in other words, don't fight your feelings.

  Anxiety and depression have been creeping up on me, my mind is overloaded and overwhelmed a lot of the time, I am finding household chores to be mundane and am mentally and physically exhausted a lot of the time.  I know that these cycles in our lives happen from time to time.  I don't expect that I should be bursting with Joy every single second of my life, and don't get me wrong- we have some pretty darn joyful moments around here.   But, after a few weeks of finding myself under a cloud of edginess and fatigue, ups and downs, finding myself already "over" the day at 9AM Tuesday morning, not wanting to deal with another long hot day of kids whining and not listening and not eating after rapid fire demands for food (several times a day) I made a dash for what are the only shoes in my closet that even come close to a running shoe- a pair of Merrell solo hikers- and took to the streets.

  Overall, I'd say that I am not concerned with providing my children a utopic rearing, they are not here to be my projects and they are not going to be my greatest accomplishments because they are people, this I am beginning to identify.  And it is quite a relief, actually, to realize that I am not the center of their universe and they don't have to be mine.  They have saved my life in so many ways and I am grateful to be their mother and of course I think they are wonderful miraculous people, but they are not my projects- that would be too much pressure on them.  I can't have them feel that my happiness is dependent upon them or my role as their Mom.  I am committed to following my instincts and not surrendering my values, but at the same time I find myself in a transitional phase as my roots as a mother are growing deeper where I am finding that sometimes, I need to strap on whatever might pass as suitable footwear and run, as fast as I can, in the other direction.  Literally. 

My jog on Tuesday was awesome.  Okay, the awesomeness came in waves- there were some 'this sucks' parts for sure, but overall I truly enjoyed myself.  The July sun beating down on my body, the sky a clear, royal blue above- I felt so strong and empowered in my stride that instead of turning North to head home as I freely legged it toward a steep hill, I kept going- one foot in front of the other- and as I ascended, I picked up my pace- one foot in front of the other- thinking that this body of mine is powerful, and pushed myself to pump it hard up the hill.  At the top, things felt less awesome as my breath and heart raced to keep up with the work my body had just done.  My ears pounded and I kept calm as I worked to catch my breath, slowing down to recover- thankfully, not pissing my running shorts.

I may eventually even work my way up to jogging on over to the Cat Quilter’s place, and get a glimpse at Cleopatra Drinking her Tea.

***

Be Good to yourselves, friends.  And thanks for visiting today.

   

xo

InstaSHOP

I whipped up a logo last night before sending my first two invoices using the Beautiful Mess App! 

I've started an Instagram shop!  Something tells me the ease of posting items for sale and creating invoices via PayPal, avoiding seller fees is too good to be true.  So, I'll be gettin' whilst the gettin' is good.  My shop name is @ozarkmamadeershop.  Most of the items will be gently used children's clothing, vintage and boutique.  But, I may throw in some lady items as well as home goods.  Check me out!

xo

N 

On Food, Family & DIY Raw Almond Yogurt

Greetings Blogland.  

 So I made some yogurt.  And it was really good.  The notion came after reading this blog post by one of my favorite blogger idols, followed by our local food co-operative losing their supply of the almond milk yogurt that my Loukas loves.  A 'how to make raw almond yogurt' Google search, and a quick watch of this pretty entertaining video later and I was on my yogurt making way: (1) amazed at the simplicity of it all and (2) of course, a little weary I'd kill my whole family with my hippy concoction.

Good news:  it was easy and no one succumbed to bacterial pathogens.

Without further ado, my journey to creamy probiotic goodness::

Ingredients:
•  1 cup raw almonds (soaked over night, then strained and skinned)
•  pure water
•  2 probiotic capsules of your choice

First, soak your almonds. ("benefits include increased enzyme activity, greater absorption of the food's nutrients by the body and increased digestibility. When soaked, nuts and seeds will begin the sprouting process which bumps up their nutrient profile considerably." source:  about.com )

Place almonds in a bowl, cover with water and leave overnight.  Easy.

Soaked Almonds:

See their Plump goodness?

This little skinning trick was a new soaked almond venture for me.  I've been making our family's raw almond milk for the past year or so and use a nut-milk bag to strain the pulp and skins from the milk, but in this process, the pulp adds a nice body to the yogurt.  This skin popping bit is a Fun and easy.  Okay, I'm using the word Fun quite loosely there but I like to keep things exciting.

Pinch

Roll. 

 Careful!  These guys are slippery!!  I sent quite a few of them flying, collected them from the floor, rinsed their little valuable soaked selves off, and added 'em back to the lot.

These pretty almond casings ended up in our compost.

Bowl-o-blanched almonds::

So, after skinning, I placed the almonds in my blender.  I use a vitamix, but for this job, any blender will do.  The first time I made this yogurt, I used less water and while it was good, I wanted to stretch it a bit further and I wanted it to be less pasty so instead of just adding enough water to cover the almonds  like that adorable pony-tailed man from the You Tube video had suggested, I took the water up about a quarter cup.  And I think the next time, I'll add even more water.  That's another thing I appreciate about this whole yogurt making venture:  you can play around with the ratios and customize your yogurt's body.  Fancy, I know.

After you've photographed your water and almonds to your hearts content, annoying your family, taking up most of the space in the kitchen before breakfast has even been served forcing them out into the yard until you have completed your mediocre captures, blend.  Blend your almonds and water til smooth.

Really, the trickiest part of this whole process is getting ALL of the blended almonds out of your blender.  If you are a like me, you value your pricey whole foods ingredients and want to salvage every last drop.  It just dawned on me as I am typing this that you could- by way of adding water to rinse your blender clean- play with your yogurt's consistency at this point!  Eureka!

Next:  add some probiotics.  I use these capsules, as recommended by our family Naturopath.  They are 'tried and true,' shelf stable, and don't cost a million dollars.  You can even find this same brand at Target, but they don't offer the gluten free/ diary free variety which contains inulin, a pre-bitoic, in the form of chicory root extract that stimulates the growth of good bacteria.  I digress.  Open your probiotic capsules, dump them into your almost-yogurt and stir.

Cover your bowl with a pretty cloth and set on a shelf, or in a cabinet, or on your counter.  It will take longer for your probiotics to proliferate in a cooler environment.  My kitchen stays pretty warm and after leaving this batch of yogurt out from breakfast til bedtime, it was ready.  You can tell when the process is complete by giving it a quick whiff.  It will smell like... well, yogurt!  Place it in your fridge, chill, and Enjoy!

Viola!  Raw Almond Yogurt!

Drizzled in honey from friends across town who are raising city bees, which has a distinct grassy flavor.  Really quite lovely with local blueberries.  

This batch yielded about two cups, and it didn't last long.  I'll definitely be doubling the recipe next time because the kids ate it up- after, of course, I tried some and waited to see that I did not perish.  I'm an adventurous eater, but my husband will attest to that while I'll eat most anything and enjoy it, my instincts are quite cautious.

 Growing up eating pasteurized, processed, packaged, pre-washed, frozen, canned, store bought foods- not having much in the way of garden to table experiences as a child- eating foods that don't have a label that are not cooked or washed for that matter, has not come without a little twinge of fear from within.  It's very silly, I know.  Jerrmy has many a time plucked a berry or flower from a random tree and offered over as a little nibble and I'll partake but not without reassurance, eating things in 'the wild' is not my thing, exactly- but I always try. Oh, and when my savvy husband started fermenting foods in our kitchen last year, I was a little weary at first- he was our tester.  It's as if I somehow think if I don't buy something from the store it's probably going to make us all sick.  As if that little label and packaging and the mysticism of its creation makes it all the safer.  Why would I feel more comfortable about my food being created in an industrial kitchen, or in a factory(?!) prepared by strangers?  Fruits and vegetables with a little sticker giving me a green light?  It's all psychological :).  And really just a nuance of my foodie experience, probably something only my husband really knows about me.  And I'd venture to say that I am not alone in this mini-phobia.    

A few things have changed my life in regard to my food consumptions: first was my time as a fine dining waitress at chef owned restaurants.  Seeing the farmers call on the chefs, seeing farm to table in action, and becoming a complete lover of food and its preparations planted the first seeds of change. Then, just as my waitressing days were coming to a close, at my last stop on a decade long restaurant tour of duty, I fell in love with a food activist chef whilst working at his little conscious cuisine restaurant and married him.  Since then, I've been along for the ride, reaching new heights of commitment to nutrition as we've made a home together and have created two Sons- both of whom are quite effected by eczema.  

The eczema journey is a never ending conundrum, an actually quite painful and still very much on going journey that started when, at 4 months old, my first born child, Loukas, was covered from head to toe in inflamed skin.  I nearly had a nervous breakdown.  I was a new mom and exhausted and trying to figure out breastfeeding and my baby was inflamed from head to toe, oozing and bleeding and it appeared my milk was causing the very unsightly affliction.  We saw a pediatrician who prescribed steroid cream and were astounded how quickly the rash resolved, only to flare back twice as strong.  We were referred to a Naturopathic Doctor and I found myself on a pretty intense elimination diet for months.  Many of my peers and acquaintances and well-meaning friends commented on my weight-loss from the elimination diet, often times people made suggestions of what else I could be doing.  I became lost in trying to explain our approach, one that we were taking based on evidence, based on science that our caregiver assured us was the best approach- that in the end, avoiding steroid treatments for our child's sensitivities would in the long run ensure the best possible outcome for him overall.  And that involved healing ourselves with how we ate, and it worked.  Loukas' skin cleared, and stayed clear for a long time while we kept our diet free of the things we found triggered flare ups.  We regularly avoid wheat, gluten, diary, soy, and eggs and have recently even taken a break from peanuts.  We avoid processed, sugary foods- even the gluten free/ diary free/naturally sweetened organic varieties because they, too, do not help and we are super serious about our fish oil and probiotics, homeopathy and dietary supplements.  Still, we have flare ups.  

When Jasper came along we hoped that he would not be effected in the same way as Loukas, alas he also has eczema.  Currently we are on high flare alert; both kids are covered in itchy inflamed skin and even though it seems like it'd keep getting easier to deal, that the dietary limitations would find a way of working themselves out, that we'd find a flow and a sense of ease in this way of eating, but honestly, it hasn't.  It's pretty inconvenient.  It's exhausting and it's sad and I'm probably just saying that now because we are in the throws of a bad summer flare, but that's the truth.

Loukas is becoming more aware of his eczema and discusses it with complete strangers.  We can't go swimming because of the increased risk of infection.  Both kids wake frequently in the night, scratching.  And I'm concerned that everyone around me thinks I'm a monster for not putting steroids on my kids.  And I'm not even sure I should share this little bit of our lives, leaving myself open to criticisms of that regard, but it is our story, and it is our choice and we talk about it a lot.  We are doing what we think is best based on the information that we have. It is requiring some sacrifice but it seems in this journey of parenting, nothing is ever so very easy and the choices we make are heavy sometimes and we make them and carry on, and we make mistakes and we get tired and frustrated and we learn to let go and seek the next laugh, the next sweet moment, the next sunrise and sunset. And we grow victory gardens that our kids live to wake and water::

     

They'll both have the Gawthrop Green thumb, I just know it.  Jerrmy is a lover of plants.  I think that seeing the way he cared for his beloved green friends when we were in the early years of our love, was proof of what a great care giver he'd be.

hello, ladybug.

june's super moon

And here, I'll leave you.   Happy yogurt making and Happy July.  If you try the yogurt and like it, let me know!

We are experiencing some unusually pleasant cool summer weather here in Northwest Arkansas.  Hope the magically breezy Love makes it your way.

Much Love

N