The most unlikely of all posts on this blog...

How was your Saturday morning?

Mine?  Oh, I got to eat "pancakes" made with pumpkin puree, almond meal and coconut flour.  How do you think it was?

It was what it was.

I have had a very different last few weeks.  If I said it was difficult, I'd have to slap myself, because I am quite positive there are much more difficult things out there.  If I said it was just fine, my pants would spontaneously combust into flames.  And I'm not a good liar liar anyway.

I don't know exactly what, out of the last almost twenty years of dealing with this strange pain, made me say enough is enough, but almost three weeks ago I said enough.

I am now on a super restricted diet to eliminate inflammation in my body.  I cannot eat any dairy, gluten, sugar, nightshades (potatoes, tomatoes, peppers), corn, soy, or processed food of any kind.

If you know me in the slightest bit, you know that list describes 95% of what I eat.  Or, I should say, ate.

I mean, if you had told me to give up gluten, I would have said I would die.  If you had told me to give up dairy, I would have said I would die.  If you had told me to give up nightshades, I would have said I would die.  If you would have told me to give up sugar, you get the idea.

I have basically been told to give up everything I eat and love, and I'm still alive.

I have a long and sad history with food.  I grew up in a home with no choice over the type or amount of food I ate.  Food was forced and controlled, not eaten for hunger or health.  Add that to a child who was naturally thin and without a large or varied appetite.  Recipe for disaster.  I left for college and all. bets. were. off.  I ran with the freedom - from age 18 to 46.  I ate whatever I wanted.  I have never had a problem with my weight and have had almost 30 years of eating cheese, cheese, and more cheese.  Potatoes a go-go.  Fried, in pierogies, mashed, for breakfast for lunch, for dinner.  Pasta, pasta sauce, and bread.  Oh, the bread.  And the donuts on my way through the grocery store and the candy bar as I went through the check out lane.  Ahhhhhhh, the memories.

Until a few weeks ago.

The food I love has been slowly poisoning me.  Damn food.  I gave you nearly 30 years of loyalty and you turn on me.  Since the food never affected my weight or my health (I have had blood tests that put me on the healthy range of all indicators of health out there), I assumed I could just go on eating that way forever.  And be fabulously happy in my box of food comfort.

Except for the pain in my joints.  I have blocked it out long enough.  I have blocked out the little bits of information I've picked up along the way about inflammation in my body.  I have blocked out the people saying, "You know, you might want to give up dairy and see how you feel."  I'd be all, "Go away!  You are dead to me after that suggestion!"

I promise I will not write about this very often.  I have been at my computer ad nauseum over the last few weeks and am irrationally annoyed at what I've found.  I hate talking about food, and recipes, and what's healthy and what's not.  It's so annoying.  There's no end to it either.  Try to be a little healthier and you'll go down a rabbit trail of information and soon you won't even be buying a can of pumpkin puree to use in your fake pancakes because of the BPA in the cans.  You'll be growing and pureeing your own damn organic pumpkins.

I literally cannot go there people.  I just cannot.

Although, if you had told me even a few months ago that I would no longer be eating that long list of food I love above, and I'd be drinking kale and spinach, sprouting my almonds, and making pancakes out of pumpkin puree my head would have exploded.

So who knows what will come next.

But I'll try not to be annoying about it.

Me and my girl...

and her three best friends and their moms at Mother's Day Tea at her school.

I don't know how can be the tallest mom and Quinn is the shortest girl.

Maybe it's because she's holding her hands in the middle of her body.

Okay, okay.  I should get over that.

My other personality...

totally gets it.  I am not a total outlier.  (Like, totally.)

I completely understand and agree that some times/places/events require a bit more of an effort.  We just don't have many of those in our daily lives.  We wear jeans/shorts to church.  And out to restaurants.  And for holidays.

But just a few weeks before we even knew there was such a thing as an etiquette class we went to Once Upon a Child and bought this Ralph Lauren dress for $8.00.  I want to hug Ralph Lauren for this dress.  And the Size 10 girl who recently grew out of it.  It is pure genius for a girl who is not crazy about dresses.  It's basically a regular old polo shirt that just happens to have a skirt attached at the bottom.  Glory.  The embroidered pink polo player gives it an A-, but it's an easy compromise when faced with the ribbons and flowers and sparkles adorning 95% of the other options available.  And when you have knee socks that you can wear in keeping with your own personal style, that will help you to be more comfortable, that just happen to match the stripe in your shoes, that meet the hem of the dress, so no skin need be exposed - it's cause for an all out celebration.  I figured this would hang in the closet only to be pulled out for Quinn's Fine Arts Night (just this past week when I took these photos in the annoying evening sun) and the Mother's Day Tea coming up next month at her school.  At $4.00 an outing, I figured we scored.  Now she'll be wearing it this weekend to her final etiquette class held at a restaurant with a four course meal attended with her dad.  Let's hear it for $2.66 per wear!

The shoes!  Have I written about the shoes?  I audibly praised God in the shoe aisle at Target when, amongst the two racks and four shelves of girls shoes, there was this one style that wasn't covered in sparkles or having a heel.  And of the three pairs left of this one style, there was one box with a Size 3 on the side.  I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I opened the box and rejoiced.

Who can turn the world on with her smile? 
Who can take a nothing day, and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile? 
Well it's you girl, and you should know it 
With each glance and every little movement you show it 

Love is all around, no need to waste it 
You can have a town, why don't you take it 

Dear Quinn,

You're going to make it after all.

XOXO

Does this hand placement make me look taller...?

Take two...

When Quinn told me a proper sitting pose includes folded hands on one knee or the other, not in the middle, because if your hands are folded in the middle of your two knees you'll look shorter, I had to quiet the shouting in my head.  I just said, "Really?  Is that a bad thing?"  She matter of factly replied, "Well, Mom, you don't want to look short."

In my head I ran screaming from the room with a string of curse words.  In reality, I just said, "Hmmm." and let it go.

I want Quinn to have the same knee-jerk reaction to statements like that that I do.  I want her to question the  idea behind it.  I want her to be outraged alongside of women everywhere who refuse for their appearance to be judged at best, objectified at worst.  I want her to immediately decide her hands will rest wherever they dang well want when she is sitting.  And I don't want her to think that the thing to worry about is whether or not she looks short.  God forbid.  

But Quinn is nothing if not easygoing and compliant.  She takes what is said to her at face value.  No questions asked.    She'll agree to shop for and wear some clothes she's not comfortable wearing, and she'll forgo the ponytail to wear her hair a different way just this once, and she'll not complain a bit.  No arguing necessary.  And certainly no causing a scene.

It is one of our main goals as parents to beat that out of Quinn provide her with lots of examples and have lots of conversation and give her loads of opportunity to practice disagreeing and questioning and forming her own thoughts and opinions about things.  Argue some.  Go against the grain a little.  So that even sticky things like etiquette and "proper" are up for debate.

I've actually formed my parenting style by questioning parenting styles.  Why do we do what we do?  Why do we say what we say?  What are we really trying to accomplish?  It should all be questioned.  And if the answers sound like, "well it's just because that's the way it's always been done, or that's the way I was raised, or that's the way everyone else does it," I begin to feel the screaming inside my head.  THEN STOP IT!

You don't have more value if you wear a dress.  (I actually had a back and forth email debate over this with the etiquette coach for Quinn's class.)  While the world values appearance, and competitiveness, and extroversion, and the newest and latest and greatest, I have worked with all my might to protect and give Quinn permission to look like and to be Quinn - a girl who is not interested in looking like everyone else, who does not have a competitive bone in her body, who is comfortable being an introvert, and who has no interest in fads and fad products or consumerism.

Kindness.  Compassion.  Generosity.  Humility.  Effort.  The heart of a servant.  Defender of the weak.  I have to believe that those things will shine brighter than what the world thinks a child should be exposed to and become.

And then we walked into etiquette class this past Sunday and her teacher was talking to Quinn as other were entering the room.  She didn't take any time at all to really notice Quinn.  She stopped in the middle of a sentence and looked over Quinn to the girl who just came in.  Girl is wearing a pink frilly dress with layers upon layers of ruffles down the skirt and a pair of sparkly shoes with her hair in curly ringlets which her mom was foofing and fussing over, and Quinn's teacher exclaims, "Well now, don't you just look absolutely adorable?!"

Seriously??!!

If she had ANY idea how much Quinn pushed aside and tried for the sake of this class - the clothes she has on in the photos above are a HUGE stretch for Quinn.  I've not seen her hair down aside from when she's just come out of the tub in over five years.  She dutifully put forth an effort because she was expected to and it may not look like much but what it represents just makes my heart swell.  And the girl with the pink and the frills and the sparkles and the curls is what got noticed.

I truly have nothing against pink, frills, sparkles and curls.  I know some girls who naturally love and are drawn to that on their own.  Let's just not overlook the ones who naturally aren't.

What am I even trying to say anymore?  I don't know.  I just wish the world worked according to Julee.  Would that be so hard?

Have a beautiful day!  Be it pink or navy blue.  Dress or jeans.  Ringlets or ponytails.  Go forth and be you!

Run and hide your crazy...

and start acting like a lady...

Quinn is taking a class at the Etiquette Institute.

I could sit here and write for hours about the ideas in my brain that are at war with each other over this.  And I just might.  Let's see how far I get.

My interest in the workshop was mainly in the social skills aspect of the curriculum for Quinn.  Parts of the classes focus on things like introductions, eye contact, handshakes, conversations, telephone skills, etc.  Things Quinn could use practice with and discussions about with someone other than Jimmy and me.

Quinn was not excited when I told her about the classes.  They are on four Sunday afternoons and end with a four course meal at a nice Italian Restaurant in the area.  But Quinn is nothing if not compliant.  She truly does anything we ask of her without complaint.  I knew she was apprehensive about going, but she bravely  did as she was asked and got in the car last Sunday to attend her first class.

It was a disaster before the class even started.

I missed an email that was sent after her registration was received.  A very important email.  In it were directions to the class, being held in a Dillard's conference room at a nearby mall.  Directions to the elevator, the floor, and the room for the class.  All this I missed.

So we got to Dillard's and found someone who could direct us to where we were going.  Which took a while.  Which made us late.  Which made us walk into an etiquette workshop that had already begun.  Which caused the instructor to wait for us to sign in.  We tried to inconspicuously stand at the edge of the half circle of seats where all the girls were sitting, their mothers standing behind them.  Then a mom motioned to the empty chair, sitting right in the middle of the half circle.  So Quinn had to walk in front of everyone to sit down.  Her worst nightmare.  I tried to walk to behind her chair, which made three of the moms have to move, and then I had to move out of the way for one of the moms to get back to her spot.  All while the instructor was introducing the class.

When all was settled, I looked at the half circle of girls.  Seven girls, dressed as if they were IN a wedding.  And Quinn.  In her daily uniform of jeans and a long sleeved tee shirt.  Jeans that were long when I bought them in August, but that are now way too short, but that I refuse to replace with longer ones since she'll be wearing shorts soon.  She's also wearing her beat up TOMS botas with no laces and holes worn out in each of the toe areas.  This is when I first clued in that I must have missed a message somewhere along the way.  When I searched my inbox later and found the message, it was stated very plainly that jeans were unacceptable.  Unacceptable.

Oy.  I was that mom.  And I am rarely that mom.  Which was all the more mortifying.

When I picked Quinn up after class I noticed all the other girls leaving carrying a doll or stuffed animal.  Quinn told me they were supposed to have one to practice introductions.  I apologized profusely to her.

To her credit, Quinn not only did NOT notice that she was the only one in casual clothing, she assured me she didn't mind that I didn't know about the stuffed animal.  I love this girl.  Compliant and very forgiving.

I emailed the instructor as soon as I got home and apologized.  Using my best written manners.  We ended up emailing back and forth a few times, and I'll save that for another day.  This is long enough as it is.

So I'll share the following photos.  We were asked to take photos of two of the poses she learned at her first class and put them in her binder.

The way to properly sit.  (I am biting my tongue, I have so much to say about this!)  This photo is actually unacceptable and we'll have to take it again.  Quinn's folded hands are supposed to be on one knee or the other.  Hands resting in the middle make one appear short.  My head will explode if I write anything else about that so, moving on.

A Model T pose.  We took a few before Quinn caught herself and remembered to put one hand behind her back.  I didn't ask what this was for, because I was trying to be polite.

The clothing is a whole other story.

The next two photos bring me peace.  Olive.

And Quinn and her baby.

I'm glad I got all this out.

Husband brag...

I haven't bragged about my husband in a long time.  Not because I don't have reason.  But I think facebook has turned me off to the blatant public brag in general.  That and the private message between two people that's not really meant for the other person, but for the 589 combined friends of theirs to witness.  Because really, there's private messaging on facebook.  Either that or the living room is not that far of a walk down the hall.

But I do like looking back through the archives in this blog every once in a while and something I've posted will jog a memory and make me smile, so I'm posting a photo of my random Monday surprise from my husband.  It was on my computer desk when I came home from work.

Thoughtful and sweet.  That defines my husband.

And if I needed further validation on any given day, I need only walk into work.  This was the exact conversation I walked into yesterday afternoon.  It was a beautiful sunny warm Spring day and I was wearing a tee-shirt after months of cardigans.  A tee-shirt from Target.  It was purple and navy striped.  And I was wearing a new pair of orange Toms.  I know!  The very height of fashion.

Christina - Julee, I love your shirt!
Presley - I really love your shirt too, Julee.  And your shoes!
Mercer - I love your shirt and your shoes too.  You look very beautiful.

I mean.  I could see what was happening.  The "I can top that" game.  But still.

Have a great day!

Taco Night...

Taco Night is in regular rotation at our house.  All it took was a package of vegetarian Boca crumbles, a box of taco shells, shredded cheese, tomatoes, lettuce and 15 minutes for dinner to be served.  One pan to wash, everything else in the dishwasher, and we could make dinner, eat it, clean up after it, and be out of the kitchen in under a half hour.  Glory in the highest.

Except now I've gone and decided that even the small amount of packaged foods we eat could be reduced.  And I have to jump on the eradication-of-all-genetically-modified-foods bandwagon (which almost all soy is), which is hooked to my no-high-fructose-corn-syrup bandwagon (I'm pretty sure bandwagons hooked together, right?).  And I'm all healthy, and thrifty, and generally annoying about stuff.

This from the girl who hates 99% of all food, conversations about food, and thoughts about food.

So, veggie crumbles are a thing of the past.  Enter the black bean taco.  (This photo is not mine.  A box of Taco Bell taco shells won't kill us.  I have yet to make my own taco shells.  Yet.)  I halved the spices.  We're not lovers of the spice.

Jimmy dug right in and immediately professed his love of and preference for the black bean taco filling.  Quinn and I looked at each other apprehensively.  I let her know I'm not the most adventurous eater, but I model trying new foods.  She has NO idea what this costs me.  NONE.

It is very good, people.  Really.  Quinn and I approve.

I also made a side of Mexican Rice because I guessed (correctly) that Quinn would dutifully try one taco and decline a second (she usually eats two of our veggie tacos).  Why have I not been making Mexican Rice with tacos all along?  I've been such a slacker.

Well, because dinner took more than 15 minutes to makes and more than that to clean up.  But Jimmy always cleans the dishes and the kitchen after dinner, so it wasn't a terrible investment.  Quinn is also great about offering to help make dinner.  She cleans and chops vegetables and gets ingredients for me and we enjoy being in the kitchen together.  I'm getting over my desire to make dinner as simple and as quick as I can and getting out of there.  I don't think it was teaching Quinn anything about food or health or enjoying serving her family.

I don't have a photo, but here's the new Mexican Rice recipe I tried and love (I hate typing recipes, so when I do, I don't add a ton of detail to the directions part).

2 T oil
1/4 medium onion, chopped
1.5 c rice
3 cloves finely chopped garlic
2.5 cups vegetable broth
1 cup tomatoes sauce
parsley if you want it

Heat oil, add fresh onion, saute for 1 - 2 minutes until softened
Add dry rice and brown for about 5 minutes
Add garlic and saute for one more minute
Add broth and tomatoes sauce (and parsley)
Stir and bring to boil
Turn heat to low and cover
Simmer for 20 minutes

And, since I'm on a roll, this is a photo from Quinn's birthday party.  Two of her friends hadn't arrived yet and I have no idea what my nephew and Quinn's friend are discussing on the left, but isn't this cute?  I bought tee shirts from PAWS for all the kids since they'd be cleaning in the cat rooms and playing with cats and dogs.  That money goes to the shelter too and I didn't have to make goodie bags, so it was a win win win win win.

And this is a picture of the cat Quinn sponsored by asking for the gifts from her friends to her be donations to the shelter.  Family members stayed with the kids for the party and, along with our family and one of my sweet friends who loves Quinn, ended up donating a total of $267.34 to PAWS for the care of McKitty (and really, all the pets there)!  I am in awe still.

This is what you get when I don't write for a while.  A terribly long post.  I had something else to write about today, but it was going to be three times as long.

You're welcome.