I had some bananas that were going bad so I decided to let Andrew help me make a batch of tasty banana-cranberry-bran muffins.

He had a blast, but there is one thing I don’t understand. How can a child love the stand mixer and be afraid of the hand-held potato masher?

He’s a strange duck. That’s all I can say.

(The muffins turned out great!)

I posted notes on ChiRunning, Carrots Love Tomatoes and Queen Isabella up on the Book List. Check them out when you get a chance!

…and then? Pure strawberry bliss!

I seem to have created a monster. That is, I have created a boy who is in love with a little, furry, red monster.

This is Andrew’s new favorite movie.

Apparently I have failed in my keeping of the Five P’s, some Prior Planning, on my part, would have Prevented this Poor Performance.

Ken Griffey Jr came back to Seattle for the first time this weekend.

I have a long history with Griffey. We kind of grew up together, I was 10 years old in 1989 when he came up with the Mariners and I remember all the hype, all the potential. As I got older and developed a better understanding of the game, I realized what a gift we Seattle-ites had in our superstar. The kid can hit! The kid can run! The kid can catch! The kid can save baseball in our lukewarm-baseball town. And he did.

But we asked too much of him. We demanded too much in return for our love. We were hurt when he drew back from the media and became a family man. We wanted him to save us, to provide us enough excitement and hope to get through the rainy winters and the losing summers. And when he withdrew from the public sphere we withdrew our support for him.

In high school, Nichole and I wrote a handbook for baseball in Seattle. We saw Griffey as the truculent, ego-driven, superstar, pinning our hopes on A-Rod and the loveable Seattle stars Joey Cora, Jay Buhner, Edgar Martinez and Dan Wilson. We had no idea where Griffey’s priorities were, had no idea how hard it would be to raise a family in the public eye. We could not get past the fact that the kid had abandoned us - his loyal fans.

In retrospect, we can see that the city of Seattle asked too much of our introverted superstar. It is a common mistake, ascribing super-human qualities to humans that never asked to be a savior and then turning against them when they fail to meet our expectations. We didn’t realize what we had, though, until it was too late. An athlete who puts his family first, a superstar who has only played in two cities, a player who could have named his price choosing to go to a team that was close to home. We in Seattle looked to A-Rod to fill the void that Griffey left, and as he left for greener dollars, we realized how unique Griffey was. But by then, it was too late.

On Friday night, we had baseball friends over for dinner and Cherie and I cried while watching the ceremony honoring Griffey before the game.

Then, on Saturday, Cherie and I had the opportunity to go to Safeco Field and see the game.

I brought my Grandma’s favorite Griffey sign and cheered when Griffey’s name was announced. I realized that even though he still has a maddening habit of swinging at the first pitch (honestly, kid, take a look) I miss him and all that he brought to our region.

There were many great signs from the adoring Seattle fans, but the best one was simple - “Come Back Junior. All Is Forgiven.”

We could use a DH, but The Kid has a family to raise.

I’m taking a poll.

Does anyone actually look at my Book List page?

Does anyone else read and have any book suggestions? (I know some of you read - don’t stifle the nerd.)

Have you read anything lately that you like?

Have you read any of the same books that I read?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, go over to the book page and leave a comment. Suggest a book. Argue with my ratings. Participate!

The emotional roller-coaster. It’s such a cliche, it has almost lost all meaning.

I went over to Jen’s on Tuesday night and she asked me if I was doing as well as I said I was. It’s a fair question. Accurate portrayal is damn-near impossible on a blog. I can focus on the small victories and keep the positive energy level flowing or I can get caught up in the mess of the lows and forget all of the progress that I have made. Or, I could post approximately every half-hour, examining the highs and lows in excruciating detail as they come - and making everyone crazy in the process.

The point that I’m trying to make is that the roller-coaster exists, for me and for everyone else. I am trying to find a way to experience the lows without living in them for days, to see them as events that happen as opposed to events that define. I’m not very good at this yet.

Thursday was a rough day. Actually, Wednesday night was a rough night and it kind of carried over. Here’s what happened on Thursday though, Andrew was having One Of Those Days where life is not good unless he is sitting on my lap in front of the television, juice in one hand and animal crackers in the other. And I get that. I really do. But I needed to go to the store, we had our preschool playdate, home for a nap and then dinner at a friend’s house. So we had to get moving at some point. I won’t go in to the gory details, but, as I was celebrating the small victory of making it out of the store without buying any candy, I forgot to keep my guard up concerning Andrew’s request for “The Quaker Man Granola Bars”. So, when he asked for them I grabbed the chocolate chip instead of the oatmeal raisin ones (Andrew has no preference between the flavors) and we headed gaily off to a disastrous playdate. As I brought my screaming child home and got him settled for a nap, I thought about those granola bars. And then I ate them. All. And then I ate some more stuff. To top it off, instead of gardening during Andrew’s nap, I laid on the couch and watched TV for two hours. And that really sucks, because it’s not even reading.

But here is where I have a choice. I can feel really bad about this (which I do) and I can give hope the finger and spend the next few weeks writing about how sad I am and how much I suck and reliving all the times I have tried and failed to stick to a diet in the past, or I can trust that the downhill motion of my mental train will slow (eventually) and that things will even out and then turn around and head up again.

I choose the latter. The leader of my weight loss group always says, “Do the right thing and the heart will follow.” That works for me.

So right now I feel a little bit glum and my jeans are pinching in that horrible, bloated way.

But that is alright. It has to be. Because when I got up this morning I actually felt like running and so, when my watch beeped after the first 90-second interval, I kept going (for a little while) and it felt good.

Please keep your seatbelt fastened until the ride comes to a complete stop.

My sister-in-law Cari turned me on to this great beginners running program.

I like it because it is slow, slow and slower. I am not a great runner. My form sucks. I can’t breathe. I don’t think I have ever enjoyed a run in my life. But I working on that too. The fact is, I need a better bang-for-your-buck exercise to spend my 40 minutes in the early morning doing.

So I’m giving it a shot.

Plus, I figure the tremendous upside of a pint of Guinness after the St Patty’s Day Dash is motivation enough for me. (I’m so easy.)

I need to finish the ultimate workout mixes soon though, so if you want to enter some songs you have until tomorrow (June 22) to get them in. I have some great entries so far but I still have some room on each cd. So send me your songs, and feel free to specify which cd you think they belong on (angry/hostile/sassy or uplifting/silly/peppy).

These are some of my favorite plants. The flowers smell like fresh honey and it blooms for most of the summer.

Plus, I think the fairies would be very happy in them.

One of the traps that keeps me from feeling motivated in my efforts to lose weight is failing to celebrate the little victories (or celebrating them with Mr. Reeses and his peanut butter).

With that in mind, I stopped for a moment on Monday to give a small cheer. We watch a friend’s daughter on Mondays and she offered to pick something up for us to eat. I immediately agreed and declined having any preference about what she should get. In my twisted mind, it is somehow rude to have an opinion when someone offers something, and although I am trying to change that particular thought pattern it is an easy habit to fall back in to.

About 30 minutes after she left for work, I was looking at my meal plan for the day and realized that everything looked great until I added restaurant food to the mix. So I emailed her, told her the situation, and suggested that I would just make enough of the food I was planning on eating to share with her.

My meal plan for the day worked out fine. I shared a meal with a friend. I told the truth.

Simple? Yes, ridiculously simple. A small victory? Without a doubt.

I went to see my doctor for the first time in 18 months and we talked about my weight loss. She looked back at my records and told me that on the day I found out I was pregnant with Andrew (almost 3 years ago to the day), I weighed 45 lbs more than I do right now. Holy tipping scales batman! And that was before the 25+ pounds that I gained while I was pregnant.

I know I still have a long way to go but I am encouraged to see this progress. I am not good at record keeping and, although I had a rough number of pounds lost in my head, there is something about seeing the two weights next to each other that really brings it home. The other encouraging thing is that I was very hit-and-miss in my efforts at weight loss since Andrew was born. I know you think I am exaggerating, but I really did figure out how much candy I could eat and stay within my Points range on Weight Watchers and then only eat that for the day. And if you want to be completely honest, I did that for a few weeks and then gave that plan the finger and ate the candy plus whatever else I wanted.

My group made little charts to put stickers on each time we lost five pounds. It might be juvenile, but I am so motivated by that sort of thing. I have lost 6.3 lbs so far on this program (about 7 weeks in), which is on the low end of my goal. But I’ll take it, nonetheless.

For so long I saw myself as a victim where food was concerned. I said, “look at all these circumstances that are out of my control. I deserve to treat myself. If things were different, I wouldn’t be eating this.” It is this sort of devil-made-me-do-it mentality that perpetuates the cycle of overeating in my life. I am working on changing that perspective and seeing the extra weight that I carry as an unnecessary reminder of things that don’t affect me any more (if that makes sense). For example. some aspects of my paralegal job sucked. I used the stress of that job as an excuse to eat almost constantly when I was working. I estimate that I carry 25-30 lbs from that period in my life. I have been done with that job for 4 years. Why am I still carrying around the weight of it? Even though I am not dealing with the stress of that job anymore, I am still dealing with my response to that stress. If I want to really move on and leave those things behind me, I need to leave that weight behind too. So I am working backwards, getting rid of my response to the things that happened in my life.

I am thinking of modifying my little sticker chart to reflect the weight that I associate with major life events. I think it would feel really good to cross off those pounds and bid farewell to the last remnants of that job, or that relationship, or that period of depression.

I need to flesh this thought out some more, but it seems like the relationship between a period of time and the accompanying weight gain is a pretty big step in moving toward wellness and health in a holistic sense.

I think there is a part of me that really believed that weight loss, exercise and healthy food choices came naturally to some people (namely, all the thin people around me that managed to turn down that second helping). As I open up more about my struggles in this area though, I learn that very few, if any, of the people I know see food as a non-issue. In fact, it is a concern for almost everyone. This realization gets me out of victim mentality and lets me see that, if I choose to make changes for my health, I need to work at those changes.

It is hard work. But it’s good to know I am not alone.

I am always a little embarrassed when Andrew eats around other people. He is so picky, about content and presentation of food, and he has yet to master the art of feeding himself with any sort of utensil. We both realize that it is just easier for me to do it and operate under the unspoken agreement to take the easy way out.

Lately though he has wanted to do things by himself, including eating yogurt and cereal.

It is an arduous process. He carefully dips the spoon in and slowly brings it to his mouth, inevitably spilling along the way. When he notices the spill, he starts flapping his arms (thus spilling more) and yelling, “Shall I clean it up?” That is my cue to come over and wipe him up before the process is repeated in the next bite.

He’s getting it though. He only has one or two spills per yogurt container now and his new favorite meal is cereal and milk.

It doesn’t surprise me that he wants to be clean when he eats (I mean, seriously, consider the source) and it shouldn’t surprise me that he waited to do it himself until he could be sure of reasonable success. He has done that with every milestone, not crawling until he was almost one and skipping the toddling phase entirely. When that kid started walking, he was off to the races.

I need to remember this aspect of his personality when it comes to potty-training. I feel like I need to make a sign to remind myself that when it happens, it will happen quickly and, relatively easily. Until that time, I should just let it go.

Not to give the kid too much credit, but I’m starting to think that he has things under control.

…the life-changing experience that is Stumptown coffee. I drank Starbucks today. Even with the almond syrup in my latte, it was bitter and more than a little bit gross when compared with the smooth richness of a Stumptown Americano.

I think my weekend of good coffee finally released me from the Starbucks prison.

Huzzah! My wallet and my waistline are rejoicing.

I went down to Portland to visit family this weekend and was introduced to The Death Hike.

Apparently, when you go hiking with Heidi, unforeseen adventure may lurk around every bend.

We had planned to do a nice hike on the coast, indulging our need for fresh air and our mutual desire to stop every three feet to take pictures of things. In the weeks leading up to our date, we talked about a hike that was, according to the trail guide, “easy and suitable for the whole family”. Unfortunately, the hike in question opens in mid-July, so we called upon trails.com to find a replacement.

We found Saddle Mountain. The trail was short and steep, described on the sign as “a constant climb to the summit”, the wind and rain (or hail depending on elevation) was coming from all directions and the views were, well, let’s call them obscured, due to the thick layer of clouds. The potential for views is enough to bring me back though.

I don’t know why I left my hiking boots, rain jacket and pants at home. But I did. I mean, I brought music and four library books and, dammit, I can pack one hell of a diaper bag, however, I appear to have lost the ability to plan ahead for myself. I think that is proof that I need to get out on my own more often.

Luckily, Sal had a rain jacket that I could borrow and I have a handy layer of natural insulation that kept me from completely freezing to death.

The hike was chaos. Shockingly beautiful, glorious, hilarious chaos. At one point we rounded a corner, got hit with the full force of the oncoming storm and just started laughing, almost to the point of hysteria. Why didn’t we listen to the weather report? More importantly, why didn’t we believe the weather report?

But all’s well and ends well and we ended up with Irish coffee, steamer clams, and dark chocolate torte in Cannon Beach followed by a three hour nap under down comforters, so I will count the day a success.

When the weather gets warmer you can find me back at Saddle Mountain, this time with my hiking boots.

After a few weeks of getting up early to work out, I realize the need for a really good exercise mix. I thought that putting my iPod on random would work for me, but it doesn’t. I need to be intentional in the mood my music creates.

In my quest for the great workout playlist, I alternate between groups of songs that are angry and ones that are uplifting. Oh, who am I kidding, I am a sucker for the angry ones. I actually thought of making a playlist where every song had to drop at least two F-bombs, but it left a few of my favorites out. But I digress, I want to know what your favorite workout songs are.* If I get enough entries I might make two CDs, one with angry music and one with uplifting music.

As always, anyone whose song makes the final cut gets a CD (or two!) so leave your suggestions in the comments and let’s see what we can make.

*I already have Eminem’s Lose Yourself on my list, so tell me your other favorite workout song.

PS - For those of you who are still waiting for a copy of The Hairbrush Tape, I am working on it right now. I’ve worked out the kinks so that the next tape won’t take nearly as long to make.

At the Zug House of BBQ on Sunday night, Leah sees my new sunglasses and says, “It like…the superhero wears Prada”.

Which is exactly the look I was going for!

So I mentioned before that I have taken the next step in my attempts at weight loss and joined a group.

Ummm, yeah, let’s talk about that.

It is hard. Embarrassingly and ridiculously hard. The voices in my head have a field day with this one. Why can’t you just stop eating? You are so weak. No one really understands this. People won’t love you if you tell the truth about this. There is only so much Crazy that people can handle and this crosses way over the line. Your habits are gross. You are gross. Other people don’t struggle the way you do. Why can’t you figure it out? You know the formula, burn more calories than you take in. Oh, but you have tried and failed before. You can never really change. My habits have made my body used to a certain sugar intake, and I don’t care what anyone says, vegetables don’t taste as good as chocolate. So I have a lot of work to do. There is no one else to blame this one on, I need to take control of what goes in to my body so that I can stop worrying about diabetes and high blood pressure before my 30th birthday.

Discipline hurts. How do I fill the void left by food? It is like losing an old friend, like losing a lover. As anyone who has tried to break an addiction knows, it is not as easy as some would have you believe, and this is a pattern that I have followed for well over 10 years.

I actually started attending my recovery group of two years for binge eating. What I found there was that food was merely the symptom of a much bigger problem. I dealt with (read: am dealing with) those bigger issues, but the symptom remains. And, although I do not believe that treating only symptoms always leads to long term health, I know that some symptoms must be stopped. If someone is bleeding to death, you stop the bleeding before you figure out how the injury occurred.

Talking about food stuff here is so difficult. It is such an ugly reality. And there are so many people who read this blog that don’t understand, or that understand all too well but don’t talk about it.

The reasons that I eat too much are numerous. Bad habits, punishment, the need to feel as bad physically as I do mentally, indulgence, entitlement… I could analyze them all day.

Call it addiction, call it idolatry, the fact remains that I use food in ways that have nothing to do with nourishment and wellness.

I’m not married to the idea of one program for weight loss, but I am going to start talking about the one I am using. I am convinced that learning to feed yourself - as Anne Lamott puts it - needs to be done with balance and moderation. Any program that forbids certain foods or food groups is setting you up for failure. We always want what we can’t have. The program I am doing is based on the ADA nutrition recommendations and its focus is on developing a sustainable method of eating.

Sometimes the idea of sustainable eating seems like a joke. I have been on the diet roller-coaster for so long, figuring out how to scam the Weight Watchers online server, vowing to eat more of certain things, cutting out simple carbs or going vegetarian. I don’t need another program; I need a changing of my mind, and more importantly of my heart. I need to see food for what it is, a tool to fuel my body, and not what it isn’t, a friend, a drug, a reward.

The incentive isn’t only found in numbers on a scale (although that helps, a lot). It is found in my needing less sleep, feeling pretty, having energy to play hard with Andrew, and getting rid of clothes that are too big. This is a big thing in my life. And if the best way to keep a commitment is to tell people about it, then that is what I will do.

My cousin talks here about throwing down a gauntlet and I love that imagery. Any lifestyle change requires a battle and the fight is going to be long and hard. If we think that we can make these changes half-heartedly or without planning, we lie to ourselves and set ourselves up for failure. The stakes are too high to fail at this.

My long term goals:

I want to break the habit of binging by understanding my triggers and working to find healthy ways to deal with the circumstances that would otherwise lead me to food.

I want to attain, and sustain, and healthy body weight of 165-175 by working to lose 1-2lbs per week, taking 30-45 weeks to reach my goal.*

*If I get pregnant again, I want to keep my weight gain between 20-25lbs for the pregnancy. I gained that much with Andrew and had no problem losing it afterwards. (Settle down. I said if.)

My short term goals:

I want to get up at least three mornings a week and workout before Andrew wakes up.

I want to stay active throughout the day by working around the house or playing with Andrew.

I want to eat at least two servings of fruits AND vegetables every day.

I want to write down everything that goes in to my mouth.

Consider the gauntlet thrown.

I told you we weren’t completely done with The Crazy.

I am consistently dismayed to find that the things I complain about in other people are, too often, the things about myself that I most wish to hide.

I signed Andrew up for a co-op preschool next year - and was transported to the world of The Waiting List. Immediately I start in on myself. If you were on top of things, he wouldn’t be on the waiting list. You have been talking about this for months, why didn’t you call sooner? You could have to wait until August for the final class roster. What if he doesn’t get in? He’ll never learn the social skills he needs to be successful. You are failing. You are not good enough.

This is exactly the sort of mental bullshit I was planning on avoiding for the next three years (and the rest of my life). Do I think Andrew would benefit from a preschool experience next year? Yes. He has a lot of energy and the socialization would be great for him. Are our lives going to be ruined if he doesn’t start preschool until he’s three, or four, or if he skips preschool all together and jumps straight in to kindergarten? No. And if they are, then there is something desperately wrong with our lives.

The preschool that I signed him up for has weekly summer playdates at local parks. I went to the first one last week and was confronted with every preschool-mommy stereotype you can imagine. There was the mom who laughed as her child threw wood chips at other children and ran off with their toys, the mom who hovered and policed all the children to ensure that her child was always protected, the mom who polled everyone she met on whether or not they knew what place they held on The Waiting List, and, of course, the mom who stood to the side critiquing all the other parenting techniques while secretly congratulating herself on how well she was doing. (Yes, that was me.)

What is it with us? Why all the competition? My friend Alecia talked about it with great eloquence in a liturgy piece she did at church a few years ago:

Mother’s Day Observation 2005

I’m Alecia Kleiner. Deviating from our typical liturgy this week, I’m not bringing a poem, or lovely piece of Motherly prose–but rather an observation.

Being a mother is terrifying.
Writing about being a mother is terrifying.
Standing here sharing what I’ve written about being a mother is so terrifying I may die and miss Brunch.

There are many misty eyes stories of my journey to motherhood. But if I cry today, it’s over for me. I’ll be banned from speaking at church–a big Scarlett Letter P for Pentecostal on my chest.

So I’m not even going down that road today.

My observation is that the business of motherhood is NOISY.

The physical auditory assault is real. Ask anyone who’s ever ridden in my van. It’s part hip-hop, part beauty, part conflict, part laughter, part infantile assertion–pure madness. But more than the physical NOISE, it’s the cultural, spiritual and personal noise that threatens my sanity daily. Sometimes I feel like a borderline schizophrenic. Voices and images flooding my mind. The beautiful, primal act of mothering is often reduced to this in my head…( imagine loud, distorted, guitar ramblings with me yelling over the top…)

AM I ENOUGH? WILL I LOVE THEM ENOUGH? WILL THEY LOVE ME BACK? CAN I FORGIVE MY OWN MOTHER? WILL VACCINES KILL THEM? IS PUBLIC SCHOOL GOING TO RUIN THEM? THEY’LL BE LIFELONG UNDERACHIEVERS. DID I HOLD HER TOO MUCH? NOT ENOUGH? WILL SHE ATTACH? WILL SHE KNOW HOW MUCH I WANTED HER? FAMILY BED, BABY BED, WRONG PRESCHOOL, WRONG COLLEGE. WE ARE ALL GOING TO NEED VERY EXPENSIVE, INVASIVE THERAPY.

Am I alone? This mothering business bring out the kooks and their opinions. Everyone has a theory and a 5 step plan to parenting bliss. Amazon had over 65,000 hits for parenting–over 17, 000 for mothering alone. Some of my favorite titles are:

-Perfect Madness: Motherhood in th Age of Anxiety
-The Mommy Myth: The idealization of motherhood and how it undermines women
-Buddha Mom
-Confessions of a Slacker Mom
-Mothering by Heart
-Mothering against all odds
-Natural Mothering
-Mothering Ourselves
-Good Enough Mother?
-The Impossibility of Motherhood
-Primal Mothering in a Modern World
and my personal favorite:
-Medieval Mothering

Even if you don’t read, you can NOT escape the voices…your mom, your grandma, your husband, the news, Oprah, magazines, Nancy Wilson (of Idaho, not Heart) your college professors, each other. As women, and moms, we are some of the loudest and strongest influences on each other. And the things we choose to say to and about each other are terrible.

We have the teaching part down:
“When mine was little, I helped him sleep by…”
“My vast research shows that vaccines are of the devil…”
“Here’s my detailed spreadsheet of my grocery store and each items cost…”

We have the rebuke part down:
“I’d never let my child drink…”
“Your child cries every week in the nursery, is something wrong?”
“You let your child drink THAT?”

It’s the ENCOURAGEMENT part that we suck at. Loving each other enough to be quiet. To allow the other person to just BE. Without judgment and superiority. I’m firmly convinced that as mom’s we secretly like it when another mom is losing her grip. It makes us feel better about ourselves. Sick but true. I may be about to lose my mind, but at least I only have five piles of laundry and I know where all MY kids are.

So today, in honor of Mother’s Day–we will repent. How’s that for warm & fuzzy? Please pray with me:

Lord God, We have sinned against You and each other. Some of us do not value the role of mother enough and WE REPENT. Some of us value the role too highly and WE REPENT. WE REPENT of the ways we speak for YOU–making methods out of your righteous principles. WE REPENT for not loving each other. WE REPENT for not trusting YOU fully and for not being quiet and still so we can hear YOUR voice. Thank you Lord for your forgiveness that floods us today. Thank you for your gracious redemption. Amen

I hate the part of me that sees the worst in an innocuous preschool playdate. The part that compares herself to other mothers and comes up lacking. The part that compares her child to other children and finds fault. The part that sits back in self-righteous hypocrisy and thinks, “Well, at least I don’t do ______.” I hate the part of me that assigns so much importance to things that just don’t matter.

It’s no wonder that, for the most part, mothers find themselves mentally unwell. We construct a system to give ourselves and our occupation value and worth, but, when all is said and done, all we want is to know that we are doing a better job than someone else. It is sick and regardless of our religious tradition, we need to apologize and change.

I think preschool may be more of an education for me than it is for Andrew.

*C’mon - someone else listened to MXPX in the ’90s.