Bossy Italian Wife

Two Paper Sisters {Adult Time Out Pages!}

2020-03-02T08:00:00.000-05:00

Happy 2020 all you people out there is cyber space! I find it ironic that my first post of the New Year is 1)incredibly late and 2) imploring you, dear reader, to put your damn self in time out. But, as they say, Momming ain't easy. Which brings me to the point here...

I am not big on putting my kid in time out mostly because I don't really understand how to actually enforce her to sit in one place... plus, you know, positive parenting techniques and all that jazz. But you know who regularly needs a time out? ME!

And while adult coloring books have been moderately successful for me in the past, these days I am more into non-committal shit. Like Lizzo. So when my frrrrand Susan told me about her adult coloring pages geared at giving parents the dose of profanity and time out we need, I was over-the-moon.

While I consider myself something of a wordsmith, I am not great with word oriented tasks such as word scrambles and crossword puzzles. However, my brilliant friend and her sister made a crossword puzzle that I can actually do, which I have to say, is something in and of itself. Also, anyone who offers me a word scramble that involves the word "Dicks" is pretty my best friend forever. So there's that.

Also, the "calm down" instructions around the page itself are hilarious. They are well written and definitely have that humorous bent that we all need to get us through those times when we have heard "Mommy" too many damn times in the span of five minutes.

These are great, downloadable pages that you can snag on Etsy and do yourself, or mail to a friend or family member that you know needs a little TIME OUT! Because six to eight hours away from your family per day just is. Not. Enough. Amiright?

Soooooo ..... click this logo and get your pages, already on the 2 Paper Sisters Etsy Shop!

Black Sheep

2019-11-19T06:00:00.000-05:00

In the 18th and 19th centuries, when a black sheep was born into a flock of white sheep, farmers professed that it was the mark of the devil. In reality, it was a recessive gene that produced the black sheep about 25 percent of the time. The truth behind the mythicism of the “evil sheep” was that wool workers couldn’t dye the dark wool, so it was less desirable for sale. A black sheep was simply an extra mouth to feed, and although common enough, it was a nuisance to the Shepard, and therefore a lie was concocted around the sheep’s worth.

With people it’s not so different. We don’t come into the world with a sign of the devil imprinted on us to mark our difference, but with the passage of time, people love to sort one another out and assign worth. We create our own myths to justify the othering of people. Even still, it’s hard to tell who, in fact, is the more desirable sheep amongst us, even as they are "assigned."

During my childhood, I had heard my mom classify herself as the black sheep of her nuclear family. It was something I became accustomed to hearing about, but never gave much weight to, until I was 12 years old, and I found out why. Finding out why my mom felt this way happened quite by accident, but the accident would lead to incident, and it would change all our lives...

One unassuming weekend, I picked up the phone to make a call to one of my friends. This was the 90s, when, if you had multiple receivers in the home and if someone else was on the phone, you were suddenly privy to their conversation. My mom was on the phone in what I recognized as an emotional conversation with her elder brother. She wasn’t quite yelling as she said, “Yes —you do remember. You do.” She said his name. I covered the speaker on the phone, listening intently. He tried to overtake her. She stopped him with, “We were in mom’s bedroom and you were on top of me, and you started to undress me…”

A fog went up around me, like a sudden pierce in the cloud of childhood, and the fog became thick, filling in all the gaps, sucking out the air in the room. Even at 12, I understood what my mom was explaining. There was something distinct: the level of upset in my mother’s voice. I quietly hung up the phone as the fog began to settle into me where the air had once been. I understood what I heard.

I knew what she meant, and there was a reason why I knew. The same thing had happened to me. I experienced what it was like to have an older sibling direct my own body, sexually. It had happened over several years, and though it had ceased a year or two prior, I had never told anyone. There was a part of me that must’ve known that what was happening to me, and with me, at the hands of my own elder sibling was wrong, but more than wanting to get her in trouble, or even wanting to make it stop, I wanted to her to love me. Silence, therefore, felt like love.

Now, confronted with my mother’s frantic emotion on the phone with her brother, the truth smacked me all at once. It was wrong what happened. Perhaps it was even upsetting. Maybe I didn’t need to keep it in. Maybe an adult should know. The prospect of telling my mom, which was becoming an imposing inevitability, suddenly brought me to tears. I was overwhelmed by the amount of truth I was being confronted with. It would also mark the beginning of a personal and familial reckoning that would take several decades.

There we were, my mom and I….divided in time by 29 years, yet both facing new realities, as two confrontations around childhood sexual abuse unfolded in literal parallel. That day, I told her about my own abuse. I told her about what I heard on the phone, and how the same thing had happened to me. Her voice bought me the ability to come forward. In this regard, her bravery and struggle was worth it. It also kicked off a chapter of my youth that followed me into my adulthood, just as it had for my own mother.

Ultimately, our own fragile, nuclear family could not withstand the strain… my parents could not possibly shoulder the pressure of taking sides for or against their children. It became the catalyst that eventually ended their marriage.

Through all the years of our family being in turmoil over this issue, no one ever said to me (directly) that they didn’t believe me. By contrast, my mother’s mother, as well as other family members, were vocal about the fact that they didn’t believe her, or that she should simply “get over it.” If she thought that she was alienated from the family before, unearthing her truth increased this with disgusting ferocity.

I rarely saw my cousins after that day on the phone when I was 12, and when I did, it was clear that they had been poisoned against us. They looked at me in wide-eyed curiosity, though they weren’t sure why. Whenever we had the experience of being with my uncle, at family reunions or funerals, I could never look at him without thinking in my head, “I know what you did.” Yet my mom and I continued to function in the family culture of shame and silence.

I was always incredulous that he walked around with his head held abnormally high, while my mom struggled with a sense of belonging. That she saw herself as somehow outside of these people was not incorrect, but it was because she was functioning in the light of truth and they were denying it.

Years later, I was unpacking boxes in the dusty attic of one of our former houses, and came across a Xerox box of my mom’s things. In it I found a letter to her older brother, who shares a name with my dad. Initially, I thought the letter was meant for my dad, so I mistook it for a love note. As I began reading it, though, I realized, it was anything but. It was a letter my mom had written, pleading with her older brother to “please apologize and acknowledge what happened,” so they could be a family again. Even after all that... she just wanted to be a part of her family. To have his love and an apology. It made me so angry to see multiple pages of handwritten desperation and love laid out so clearly. I tucked the letter back into the box, and back in the recesses of my memory and never spoke about it to anyone. I don’t know if it was ever sent.

Whether over the phone, or in written form, I never got that moment of summation with my own sibling. She passed away before we had the chance to confront our childhoods…but who knows if we ever would have. When she died at the age of 27, I wrote a note to her on college ruled notebook paper and folded it into a neat square, like we used to do when we were kids. I carefully placed it in her coffin. It read, “I was only so mad at you because I still loved you.” And I signed it, “Your sister, Billie.” When someone is gone, there is a finality to the story. It has become, for me, a closed account that I no longer have to pay for with my silence.

Movements like "Me Too" have ushered in more conversation around assault, rape, and other sexual violence and misconduct, and I'm happy about that... But I also feel that sexual abuse, especially in families, is still kept undercover, despite the fact that it's being actively experienced by so many people--male and female. The shame and the silence is ingrained in family culture, and in society. There is a ton of fear around talking about these themes even though it's necessary and true. We spend so much time talking about how a stranger can victimize a person, but I have to say, I have never been victimized by a stranger--only by people I knew. And I was forced not only to pay in the moments it happened, but later on with my silence, which costed me far more than the events themselves.

The sum of my personal experience, as well as the experience of watching the way my mom's family treated her, is this: if you have to pay for a status in any system, including a family, and the currency is silence, the debt will be perpetual, and the suffering endless.

Families tend to have a particular, individual type of economy when it comes to love, but fictitious labels once assigned to denote an economic value to a sheep should never apply to people. If using your voice rather than submitting to silence makes you a family pariah, that's bullshit. Maybe black sheep are really truth warriors... a carefully curated percentage of us, present by genetic design, who call out the shame rather than inhaling it into our ecosystems. That doesn’t mean the truth isn’t scary, or that there won’t be consequences…to quote Brene Brown, "The price is high, but the reward is great."

I will no longer exchange my truth for love. Ever. And if that makes me a black sheep, I willingly accept the title and wear it as a crown. Now, I am a queen.

Quick & Easy Pasta Sauce

2019-11-06T06:00:00.000-05:00

I am a busy gal, as you might imagine. So there are times when I need to throw something together, and sometimes that something is pasta sauce. It is a rare life moment when I will buy a can of sauce. I am Italian American, I just can't. So this is the quickest, most yummy version of quick red sauce this side of the Mississippi.

Also, isn't it just fun to say "This side of the Mississippi?" What would I do if I ever lived right on the Mississippi River? I would probably still say it, but instead, I would walk out of my house and shout it to the other side of the river. You know, for dramatic effect. But I digress...

Do you have 20 minutes? Then you, my friend, can have pasta sauce! This is a super-simple, absolutely delicious, FAST sauce that everyone will love. Yes, you can complicate your life by making any number of other sauces, but WHY? I'm talking 8 ingredients you probably have in your pantry right now...and, like, under $7 dollars. You're welcome.

And you know what else? I'm not even going to kill you with a bunch of story leading up to the recipe because I know you are busy... so here it is!

(Additional recipe notes at the bottom, if you want 'em!)

Quick & Easy Pasta Sauce

Time: 20 minutes, plus 1 hr cook time | Serves 6 | Difficulty: Can you open a can? Ok, we good.

You will need:

1 large onion
9-10 garlic cloves
1 teaspoon dried basil
1 teaspoon dried oregano
6-ounce can tomato paste
28-ounce can crushed tomatoes
28-ounce can diced tomatoes
Olive oil
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon of sugar
Pepper to taste

Method:

Give a good glug of olive oil twice around pan. Dice your onion and mince the garlic. Add them to pan, and cook on medium high heat for 5 minutes or until onions are translucent. And if you're wondering about the garlic... YAS: 9-10 cloves of garlic. I love garlic. If you must reduce the amount of garlic to suit your tastes, fine, but honestly, just don't tell me. It will break my garlic-loving heart.

When the onions are becoming translucent, add in all the remaining ingredients. Stir and bring to a boil. Your sauce will probably start popping off, and when it does, reduce heat to low, and cover. When I say "cover" it's more like "duck and cover" because the sauce is jumping out of the pot and it's obnoxious. But you know...

Then simmer for at least an hour, but longer if ya got it. I like to let mine go all day, and sometimes (if I think of it) make it a day ahead and let it sit in the fridge overnight. But I KNOW, it's supposed to fast... so if you only have 30 minutes, there are no sauce police that are lurking to see if you are following these directions. Just make sure you taste it and adjust seasonings. Add a little pepper, or a little more salt if you like.

The sauce will be chunky. For a smoother sauce, you can use all crushed tomatoes or use an immersion blender at the end. The immersion blender will make your sauce more silky, which is nice!! If you don't have an immersion blender, you can also use a traditional blender, but isn't that kind of a pain in the ass? Just eat the chunky sauce at that point, honestly.

Additional notes:
This is a vegan recipe, and it's SUPER versatile. I serve mine a million different ways. My daughter's favorite is with meatballs and a Caesar salad. My husband likes ground meat in the sauce itself. I like sweet Italian sausage. My grandma used to add hard boiled eggs to her sauce! This would also be amazing with veggies added to it!

We do gluten free pasta in my home, but this is a great sauce to go on just about anything you can cook up. So Mangia with your familia however you like best!

"HIGH FUNCTIONING"

2019-11-04T06:00:00.000-05:00

If you have any manner of disorder and have been labeled as “high functioning” then I probably don’t need to explain to you what a misnomer this label is… Whether it’s autism or anxiety or fill-in-the-blank, the “high functioning” label is never assigned in the interest of the individual who has the need, but rather in the interest of normative society. And hear me out because this is important.

As a person who has functioned, highly, with anxiety for my whole life and who is currently coming into new understandings of my neurological makeup, I can tell you that in the grip of anxiety or a full blown panic attack, I have never—not once—felt high functioning, despite appearances. What the world experiences and what I experience are separate and distinct, and honestly, very upsetting for me.

For as long as I have experienced any sort of abnormal mental episodes, I have heard it all, from “you seem fine,” to “it can’t be that bad.” And every. Single. Fucking. Time. It guts me. While I may appear completely placid on the outside, I am experiencing a complete, internal collapse. The walls of my nervous system are caving in… while the physical world around me moves like unstable jello. I’m hot. I’m cold. The room is spinning. I may run. I may disintegrate… It feels like is trying to do an obstacle course hopped up on psychedelics while simultaneously trying to act completely sober. But you experience me as…. Totally fine.

Which is cool for you, but paralyzing for me. Add in a dash of self actualization, and it’s hard for even great therapists and professionals to treat me because, what the heck can they do about my neurological wiring?! There is only so much talking I can do about what I cannot change, so in some ways, being “high functioning” has been a barrier to treatment for me.

And it’s all so hard to explain… why I’ve set my life up this way, and why planning is such huge thing for me. Why I my first inclination is to say “no,” or why I cannot return items I hate at the store. Why I smell my food to see if it’s still good, and wonder if it’s going to poison me… Why, if I don’t sleep, I feel dizzy and I wonder if I will actually pass out, and WILL THIS HAPPEN WHILE I AM DRIVING MY CHILD SOMEWHERE?

And yet… I can give awe-inspiring presentations to rooms full of people. I can communicate with such ease in written form. I am creative and bright and, under the right circumstances, illuminating. I am a complicated, spiritual being. And none of this is really “bad” or “good” it’s just a part of who I am.

The way it appears to me is that we are a society so completely obsessed with being normative that we assign this label in an effort to normalize our differences at the expense of ourselves. It grates on me. And it’s not that I want to be malfunctioning or anything… The truth is, I don’t actually believe that any of this makes me any “less” than anyone else. But trying to explain that in any given moment can be so flowery in nature that I am reduced to sounding like some idealist, granola munching, fringe scientist … when in reality, I want to be seen for what I am. I want to FUNCTION in the light of my own truth, and not someone else’s idea of what I am. Isn’t that the real point of a diagnosis, anyway? To self identify in meaningful ways that ultimately help you?

I believe that anxiety and anything else that can be labeled under the neurodiverse umbrella, is like a superpower…. We all have our kryptonite, just like our traditional superheroes, but they never dwell on the darkness, they dwell in the light. My anxiety and my other neurodiversities are like hidden talents. My ability to over empathize and see all sides of a situation give me a super unique ability to analyze. My anxiety is a superhuman alarm bell system that tells me to get R&R right away so I don’t burn out—and FYI, I tell my friends the same thing! I am the “take care of yourself” preacher AND I am my own choir, too!

I have a super human algorithm built into me that if I haven’t talked to a person in a specific number of days, I will remember to text them and see how they are doing. I write letters. REAL FUCKING LETTERS. I am abnormally grateful, genuinely, because I feel like life is so fleeting and random. And I am fiercely loyal. I love without limits… arguably, maybe there should be more limits. So, yes, I have my downsides… I am intense AF. If you love me, prepare for a level of intensity that you may not have met before. I struggle to leave the house sometimes (read: all the damn time). I don’t like to go outside my routine. I sometimes have to cancel plans because the anticipation makes me feel physically ill, and I am afraid more than I am not afraid… but I overcome these things daily and sometimes hourly, and isn’t that amazing?

However, there is little credit given to a person who never seems to have a problem in the first place. And that is the misnomer of the high functioning label. I am working really hard to seem normative and it’s exhausting. As I get older, I try to break this barrier down as much I can. I’m beginning to get more comfortable doing what DOES serve me best… like wearing headphones in the grocery store, or explaining that I have depth perception issues (I'm not trying to park like an asshole, I swear!), or that facial recognition and recalling names is a particular challenge for me… or practicing my improv skills so I can be more flexible in everyday life. But I will never be “normal,” even if the world does see me as “high functioning.”

The people who love me best understand these things about me. They know that when I show up, maybe it took me three days of internal battle to get there because it was THAT important. They likewise understand that if I don’t show up, it was never personal. They will humor me as I talk about the same thing 10 different ways, and when they finally tell me to shut up about it, I get it. As the world becomes a better, hopefully more progressive place for the neurodiverse amongst us, I hope that everyone will learn to come to center a little more. I hope that typical people will be changed by their interactions with neurodivergent individuals and vice versa.

Because what it really takes to be high functioning in today’s world, typical or divergent, is a group of people behind you with undying love who lift you up and are a little bit changed by your you-ness.

As a Millennial Mom...

2019-10-28T06:00:00.000-04:00

Being a millennial mom is a "special" experience... and I don't mean "special" in terms of what my generation of kids was told about ourselves, I mean "special" as in fucking paradoxical and weird. I am almost 35 years old, and yet, there are times when the world treats me like I am an entitled thumbsucker, and it's.... frustrating. I know that I am not the only one in my generation that feels this way.

I am not entirely certain how my generation became the world's punching bag, but somehow, the people who raised us feel the constant need to shout about how we won't grow up, while literally saying we are idealist and unrealistic when we try to fix the shit they fucked up.

What's wrong, boomers? You don't the harvest from your crotch fruit crop?

Now, of course, I don't mean to over-generalize the boomers and other generally older (mostly white) people who keep bashing my generation as the "most entitled generation ever," because I know (I KNOW) there are lots of great human adults who know millennials have the potential to change the world. I guess.

As a millennial mom, there are SO many things that I have to worry about that my parents' generation cannot fathom. I am tasked with navigating the perils of parenting in the digital age where we don't just compete with the people in our proximity, but you know, globally we gotta stay on our toes. NBD. So, here's a tidy little list of a *few things* we have to worry about as millennial parents that didn't exist in our parent's worlds. Not to be entitled about it, or whatever.

The environment
Driving a car. Eating palm oil (which, by the way, kills orangutans and the rain forests.) Beach erosion--is it a thing and should we be replenishing beaches? Will my house be beach front in a few years thanks to sea level rise? Will it swallow us whole? Thank god my kid is a good swimmer...But there is goddamn flesh eating bacteria in the water because it's too damn hot. Mass extinctions. And IS recycling a sham now that China won't buy our trash? Why haven't we figured that out, already?

Why the actual fuck are we fighting over whether or not to make a switch to green energy? It could create so many jobs. And don't even get me started on corporate greed. And jobs. Anything bad about the world today can basically be traced back to the fact that for compounding generations, we treated the world like our personal candy bucket. We gorged on the candy and piled up the wrappers. But god forbid we stress over having a planet to live on or anything.

Food
Can I go to the grocery store and shop or should I order online? What causes more carbon emissions? What do I even have time for? Is it okay for me to buy chicken nuggets or do they have to be organic, and gluten free? Cow's milk is disgusting and I don't want my daughter having it... but then I watched that documentary about how the dairy industry is tanking, and that poor family in Pennsylvania! I feel bad now. Can we eat anything that comes in a box? Too processed? Everyone is so judgy these days about the quality of our lettuce. Not to mention food recalls. Fuck it. I should grow this shit myself because that's the only way to know if it's really good... however, soil depletion. So how do I fix that because what is the point of eating healthy if the food doesn't really contain nutrients... mushroom compost?

Social media
If you're happy and you know it, post online! Actually, just post online and pretend to be happy because we don't want to see your sorry ass sack of shit complaints. Like, you know, about the environment. Also, if you didn't check in somewhere, did it even happen? But also, if you disappear from social media, no one will notice. How depressing--kind of the like the entire experience of being online sometimes. And yet, CAT VIDEOS! But also... MOMO! (Seriously, that bitch was terrifying.) Paradoxically, media isn't social. And we're curating ourselves into these weird images that are soooo reductive. And we are constantly being told to "go outside and have some human interaction" which is hard, since the whole world is on fire. Or flooded. AND, seriously, people on the internet are so mean while simultaneously being offended by everything. Barf.

Education
For. The. Love.

Did I choose the right school? IEP meetings... don't even get me started. I hope she's up to par, educationally... but honestly, shouldn't she just be playing outside at her age? Social skills are way more important. Unless she's falling behind. Should we opt out of standardized tests? Teachers are so overworked. We haven't saved a dime for college... what's the current cost of a year of college? Should we point her toward a trade instead? Is coding a trade? She should definitely explore coding since the whole world is going digital and there is a huge bias in coding. They need more women in coding, especially once we live in the matrix. We don't need a virtual world controlled by men, we already screwed that up IRL. Maybe I'll think about this more once we get past Kindergarten, we have time, right?

And for some dumb reason, we can't protect them from gun violence and those lockdown drills are normal, so shaddup about it. It's not traumatizing.

Too Much Parenting Info
Access to information. YAY. Sort of. I mean, there are so many schools of thought on how you should parent your kid that you cannot do anything right. Give them chores. Don't give them chores. If your kid is an asshole, it's your fault. We should simultaneously teach them to stand up to bullies but never condone violence. Give them hugs, but not too many. Let them play outside, but only under strict supervision or your neighbor might call the cops because YOUR KIDS WERE ALONE! Tell them not to do drugs, but then give them drugs to calm them down in school. Make them aware of strangers (even though they are legit more likely to be victimized by someone they already know) and DO NOT SHAME THEM. Do not yell. Be a saint. You chose parenting, so be happy because not everyone can have kids. You're basically never allowed to complain-- especially if you are a stay at home mom because: what a gift you privileged jerk!

And if you work outside the home, congrats, you are setting the best example, but obviously, when you get home, you need to do all the things the stay at home mom does because you don't, you'll never prove your love. Oh, and breastfeed right after you have a natural birth without screaming a peep because MOTHERHOOD IS BEAUTIFUL, dammit!

Mental-fucking-health
We are a depressed, anxious mess of a generation because--DUH!-- see above. And yet, we are creative, innovative, and increasingly focused on self care and stigma breaking. But somehow all of this translates into us being whinny and wanting too many "safe spaces." Yeah, no. I don't buy that.

We are the generation who was in high school and elementary school when 9/11 happened. We've lived under a cloud of perpetual war, increased political division, the complete and utter breakdown of the college system, and an increasingly digital world that NO ONE UNDERSTANDS. And our parents told us if we just work hard, we'll be rewarded because that was their experience. But that is not what what it's all about these days.

We have to teach our kids a whole different thing which we are currently trying to navigate without any kind of road map. So yeah, enter yoga, acupuncture, meditation, smudging, rain dancing, and whatever else might give us a snowball's chance in hell to break through the noise and just be OKAY. And all of this is to say that Millennials have a lot on their plates. Most can't afford homes, and are struggling to find or switch careers. It's a jungle out there... well, er, it's a rapidly depleting jungle with mass extinction, but you get the idea.

We are basically a bridge generation between the age of the internet and all that came before. As an elder millennial, born in 1985, I grew up without CGI, without the Internet, but I was on the cutting edge of the glory days of dial up. I remember when you couldn't talk on the telephone during a thunderstorm because you might get electrocuted, AND playing in the streets of a neighborhood without the fear that some nosey neighbor would call CPS. In the short 30-something years I've been alive, we've experienced huge technological leaps that have redefined the world, globalized markets, and changed our everyday lives. So stop giving us a bunch of shit and give us a little more credit. Being a millennial is like walking a tightrope, and we are legit doing our best, all while trying to raise kids who hopefully aren't assholes in a world that will hopefully still be here when they come of age.

**And I know I missed some things in my list, so fellow millennials, please add to the list below in the comments section!

The Happy Bits

2019-10-22T06:00:00.000-04:00

I am currently sitting in my brand new office, in my new home, on a blissfully rainy Sunday evening. For two years, my husband and I envisioned and dreamed and from those musings, built a home with the help of a ton of people. From two visions, we carved a solitary, concrete reality and now, I'm sitting in it wearing my oversized, mid-drift length sweater, high wasted jeans, and uggs. Somehow, my clothing seemed an important sidetone because... I feel amazing in these clothes and this house.

I feel amazing when I wake up, and when I go to bed. Of course not every moment of every day, but overwhelmingly, this how I generally feel.

The thing is, it's hard to characterize and articulate the happy bits. It can be hard to put a finger on or admit to the moments where we just feel... happy. For me, it's probably some deeply ingrained sense of Italian-American guilt that nags at the senses and screams "NO! Don't admit it... there will be impending doom if you admit to the utter contentment you are experiencing!"

But you know what? There will be impending doom, either way. So fuck it.

I'm happy!!

I am standing a world of my own creation and, you guys, it's gorgeous! But I'm not here to brag or even humble brag about the great things that are coming into my life because... yuck. No. What I really want to implore you to do is to admit your own happiness. Or at the least, admit to yourself that you may not be as comfortable being happy as you think you are.

The truth is, I often opt for wrapping myself in sarcasm, apologies, or down playing the good things in my life so that I don't seem full of myself. Or, I do it so that someone else in a less than desirable situation will feel less bad, but is that even how any of this works?

I am a huge fan of Brene Brown, and she talks about how comparative suffering is not a thing. All suffering is important and relative. What if the same thing were true about happiness? The same way we try to equate suffering as relative is, well, relative when it comes to the way we share our joy. And we read about this stuff every day... some dumb meme on FaceBook will tell us "Don't dull your sparkle," but then you run into Karen at the grocery store and you totally dull your sparkle when she asks how you are. You say, "Um, yeah, you know, good.. I guess." Because why? Because it's somehow NOT okay to say, "I am so happy! I'm in a great place!" It's unacceptable in the same way that when someone asks you how you are, and you're feeling like shit, you shrug and say, "I'm great, thanks."

What IS that?! Is this symptomatic of our society? Could it be possible that we are now becoming uncomfortable with being unhappy AND happy while paradoxically presenting ourselves on social media as living our best lives 110% of the time? Jesus Christ... what is humanity coming to?

The happy bits are so important, and I was reminded of this today when I told my friend Susan, "I wish I could bottle this moment and open it at some point in the future when, inevitably, there will be a less happy moment." And she suggested writing about it... and I was like, "but that is so hard." And suddenly, Elizabeth Gilbert was ringing in my ears saying "NO, BILLIE! You are so wrong... art is NOT about suffering." Art is not about suffering, Liz Gilbert, and you know what? Neither is life.

So here we are at the intersection of blog-post-as-art-medium and a happy moment. Probably this is the closest I can get to bottling a feeling--using my words to create a memory and send out a call to you, Dear Reader, who will perhaps come away from this feeling empowered to embrace the joyful places within yourself.

The overarching concepts that strike me in this moment are two fold. The first is how very much I love the people in my life, and all the strangers who have come together in various capacities to help build my happiness. Think about it... in any given moment where we are happy, where we have joy, there are thousands of tiny things that have built up to that moment. Tangible or intangible, we are a tangled web of moments strung together. There is no better metaphor than our new house...

In my new home, how many hands touched these walls? From the foundation to the windows, to the painters, the tradesmen, the salesmen, the bankers, and more... maybe hundreds of people in all. These people were basically strangers to me, many of them doing their jobs, but usually going above and beyond to be sure that everything was just so.

And then there are the people who helped me--physically and mentally--to move my life. My friends and family who showed up on moving day, gloves on, and hearts full. My friends who ASSURED me that moving was the right choice. My friend, who donated his architecture skills and literally designed my dream home. The people who tolerated me at my worst while I was building, and told me I was great, when in fact, I was not great to be around.

This thought of all the things that came together to foster my dream, overwhelms me and makes me so grateful. This is life. It is an overwhelming orchestra of people playing a multitude of instruments to make one unified, beautiful sound. THINK about that awesomeness... doesn't that just fill you with joy?

The second thing is how you have to grab these moments with both hands and sit in it, like a meditation. I remember the last time I felt like this. It was after I got married. I felt so top-full with joy that I could barely speak. It was like there was nothing left to say. I felt like I had it all. So what does one DO with that feeling? First of all, celebrate the living fuck out of that feeling. Second of all, radiate that shit.

Radiate. Don't dull the sparkle.

Celebrate this by taking time for others (and yourself). Be happy, and spread like wildfire. If someone else is feeling down, shoulder it. You're happy, you can afford to. Cook for someone. Invite people into your orbit of joy. Check in with others. Write cards of thanks. Tell people positive things about themselves. Pay for someone's coffee. (Or tank of gas if you have more money than me.) Be a goddamn lighthouse and let them come to you and then share your smile.

And above all, please, don't be afraid to admit that you are in a moment of feeling terrific. The world needs us to share our happy bits because it is how we share the best parts of ourselves and shine light in the dark places. I wish you many, many happy moments, but more than that, I wish you the satisfaction of recognizing those moments and fully enjoying them. You deserve to be thrilled with life on several occasions.

Embrace the happy bits, my friends. <3

Headphones Are My Sunglasses

2019-06-04T05:00:00.000-04:00

Wendy Williams says that if you don't want to talk to people out in public you should throw on sunglasses and move about your day. Apparently sunglasses, when worn indoors, are the international symbol for "don't talk to me." When it comes to wearing sunglasses, I know it's unconventional, but I have trouble with the way the world looks through them. Like, literally. So, instead of sunglasses, I throw on a pair on conspicuous headphones, and blast music into my ears to shut out the world. It may seem, on the surface, to be isolating, or even rude, but the reason I do it has more to do with mental health than being a dick. (Even though there very much a dick version of me, and her name is "Angry Billie.")

Anxiety and I have been well acquainted ever since my early 20s, when, for no reason in particular, I started suffering from intense and constant panic attacks. Those ebbed into occasional panic attacks, and then general anxiety, and then, after I went off of birth control, WHOOSH, it seemed to all but vanish. Until...and, of course, there was an until...I had my daughter.

Along with welcoming my beautiful, very spirited daughter, The Bird, I also got a heaping helping of postpartum anxiety which consistently kicked my ever-loving ass on and off for more than two years. Since then, I have overhauled myself in an effort to kick anxiety's ever-loving ass, and (mostly) won. And as my own problems cleared, I realized The Bird had some of her own issues, one of which is that she hates when strangers looked at her in public.

One day I said to her, "Don't look at them. You can just pretend they don't exist." Sound advice, I thought, and it seemed to help. Another time, I handed her a pair of headphones so she could do just that. It made her more comfortable, and everyone was happy. AMEN.

Then, on New Years Eve this year, for some stupid reason, I thought that the grocery store wouldn't be busy and planned a week's worth of shopping for that moment in time. GAR. It was so crowded that I had a sudden, familiar flush of anxiety. The volume of people in the store, for me, was like absorbing an energy bomb. It was frenetic, and I could feel the movement of all the people in their frantic states of trying to just get out and fast. The thought in my head was, "I am never going to make it through this trip without getting a panic attack."

In an effort to calm myself, I took a deep breath, and between the exhalation and inhalation I had a moment of divine clarity. I thought, "If I were The Bird, what would I tell me to do?" And I reached into my purse, grabbed my headphones, put on my favorite playlist, and I ROCKED THAT MOTHERFUCKER OUT. I mean, realllllly. I got all my shopping done, and I noticed, miraculously, that my music kept my vibe in check. It prevented me absorbing the collective energy and instead, created my own. In fact, by the time I left the store, I actually felt better than when I went it.

It was a revelation.

Sometimes being in public is just hard for me. Interacting with people when I am buzzing and ripe with anxiety is challenging. While sunglasses work well for resting bitch face and puffy eyes, they don't shut out the world the way a set of headphones does. So when you see me, rocking through the aisles of the local grocery, and I smile at you with my wireless headphones blaring music, it's my way of vibe-checking myself and getting through my day. I will offer you a smile, but the headphones say clearly, "I am not down to talk today." They are my proverbial sunglasses.

To The Mama With PPD or PPA

2019-05-21T12:56:00.000-04:00

Dear Mama with Postpartum Depression or Anxiety,

When my daughter was just a few weeks old, family members and friends would ask me if they could hold her. I was so relieved that someone wanted to hold her, I would happily hand her over...but the second that she was in someone else's arms, I would be flooded with anxiety and visions of them dropping her on the cement patio, or accidentally banging her tiny, fragile skull into the corner of the table. I could see the blood running from her tiny head, and it sent waves of panic through me. I was terrified they were going to accidentally kill my newborn.

I was so confused because I wanted physical space between myself and my daughter, but I was even more afraid once I actually got it. There was no winning. So I sat there, frozen as people held her, and unable to tolerate it for long. When my mother-in-law would urge me to take some time to lie down and rest, I couldn't. I was consumed with what was happening in the next room. It took more energy to will myself to lay in bed than it did to hold her.

A few months later, I put my bopping daughter in her excersaucer, this big, ridiculous contraption where she could bounce and spin, and I started on dinner. I was cutting carrots when I was suddenly overcome with fear that I might cut off her finger. She was no where near me, but I struggled to complete the task of cutting these carrots because I could swear, they were her fingers. I knew that something was deeply wrong, but I was so horrified by own thoughts that I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone about them.

Each day when I opened my eyes, it didn't matter how much I had slept, I was beyond exhausted. I was paranoid about people's intentions, and I was literally dizzy all the time. When my husband would leave for work, fresh panic would wash over me...what was I supposed to do all day long? I would lay on the floor and play with my daughter because I felt so dizzy that I sure I was going to pass out and drop her. I would watch the walls and I could swear they were narrowing in on me. I thought that perhaps they would crush us.

I would count the hours, sometimes the minutes, until my husband would arrive home. If he was late, I would begin nervously pacing, wondering why he was late...I would worry he was never coming back, or that he didn't want to be with me. Was he dead? Should I text him? Was I acting desperate? I felt desperate, but I was also desperate to hide it. Everyday when he would leave, I would trick myself into thinking that when he came home, I would somehow feel better, only to discover that I didn't feel better. And that devastated me freshly each day.

All of this was happening during a time when well-meaning people--people I loved and respected-- would look at my precious, beautiful baby and declare, "Isn't this the best time?" or tell me, "You are such a good mom." These complements served to further disjoint the experience that I was having on the inside because on the outside, I was smiling, and doing all the right things. But on the inside, I was secretly wondering what was wrong with me, and why I couldn't just "snap out of it." Why wasn't I happy?

I cried alone. I blamed myself, and even my husband. I hated people who told me how they enjoyed having babies. I thought I was defective because I wanted more puppies, but not more children. I worried that it would never end, and I felt robbed because I thought I was supposed to be happy. I thought that being a mom was going to be joyful and that I would be better at it. I felt enraged when people said, "you seem fine," because I was not fine, I was just good at hiding how utterly demoralized I was.

Why am I telling you all this, Mama? Because I don't want you to suffer as long or as hard as I did. I want you to read these words and if you recognize yourself in them, I want you to see that it's not normal, and it's not okay, and most importantly: that you can reach out for help. You can stop breastfeeding, or put your child in daycare and go back to work, or phone a friend or family member and schedule your damn breakdown. You can see a therapist or go to inpatient care if you need to. You are ALLOWED to reach out if the darkness is too much and too thick for you see your way out of. This happens to some Mamas.

I also want you to know that this doesn't make you a bad mother. It doesn't mean that you don't love your child. I know you love your baby, and you don't have explain that to anyone. This only means that something clinical and real is happening to you, and there is tangible help. And I want you to know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for every second that you've lost because of this. It sucks, and there are some people who will not understand what you are going through, but I understand. I understand how robbed you feel by PPD or PPA, but I don't want you to lose hope because you have a lifetime with your baby. That is why you have to reach out NOW and ask for the help you need.

You can do this, Mama. There is help and there is hope. You are important and you matter. You don't have to bear the unimaginable weight of PPD or PPA alone. This Mama's got you, and I'm here to say, I love you and I want you to tell someone. TODAY. Do it for yourself so you can be the Mama you need to be. Read someone this blog post, if it helps to explain what's going on for you. Read this through the tears you deserve to cry, and let them see how hard it is. Allow your strength to be in the breakdown because sometimes the strongest choice we can make is to stop being strong and let ourselves fall apart.

I love you, Mama.

XOXO,

Billie
Bossy Italian Wife

"I AM NOT OKAY."

2019-05-08T07:00:00.000-04:00

When I was a teenager, my family would take winter vacations to mountain resorts that included seasonal sports like skiing and snowboarding. I was never particularly good at snowboarding, but it was trendy, and I went a few times. Where I lacked in ability, I made up with enthusiasm and blind confidence, which is what lead to me to strap onto that flexible board of plastic and hurl my body down the side of a mountain.

One such time, all strapped in and feeling not only secure, but optimistic, I adjusted my rented board from the parallel position to the vertical “downhill” stance and began down the trail. As I quickly started to pick up momentum, I felt cool for a millisecond until I suddenly realized that I had no clue what I was doing. Sure, I was going really fast and appeared to be navigating properly, but it was an illusion. As I wizzed past unsuspecting skiers and snowboarders, I was lucky not to hit anyone. The speed was building to a point that I could no longer safely sustain. Then, a horrible reality dawned on me: I didn’t know how to stop.

Eventually, I would have to stop, and unfortunately for me, the only way to accomplish that on my own was to willfully fall. By that point the only choices were fall or crash. And because I like my face, and because I knew the conscious falling would do the least amount of damage to my face, I had to take a deep breath and tuck my body and hit the hard snow.

This is exactly what my self-professed "breakdown" was like.

The choice were clear: fall or crash, so I chose to fall. The thing about choosing to fall is that at least you are the one in the control, and this is a small comfort. You are the person doing the falling, and so you can choose the manner in which you would like to tumble. Though, I learned, one can’t predict what will happen once they do hit the ground. Sometimes you bust your lip on the hard snow, and other times, the damage is worse. For me, this was incredibly scary because having my breakdown meant choosing myself. It felt selfish in a way....It also meant I would have to come face-to-face with all of the emotions I had been unsuccessfully trying to outrun.

Now, when I say breakdown, I know that term can be off-putting to a great many people. They start thinking: white coats and straight jackets. Which is precisely why I needed to write this piece. Why in the fuck are we so afraid to admit we are not okay? We are suffering endlessly in silence. Who amongst us hasn't felt DONE? This was me: done. Emotionally and physically. I felt that I literally could go no further. I had been living with the same narrative in my head each morning… “How many hours do I have to pull before I can close my eyes and go back to sleep?” Somewhere in the midst of my days, I would wonder with genuine fascination, “Is this the day I will finally, once and for all, have a mental breakdown?” Each day, it felt as though a little more water was being poured into a quickly filling receptacle, and it was becoming too full and too large to ignore.

Complicating all of this was that I am a mother to a highly intuitive child who at the time was 3 years old. She could probably tell that something was deeply wrong with her mommy. Mommy could no longer pretend that everything was okay, and it was showing. This painted a fresh layer of guilt over the gloss of my mounting anxiety. Looking at my daughter, I knew I had to fix this before it got any worse and stole anything else from us.

So, in late 2017, with the walls quickly coming in on me, I phoned it in. I cleared my schedule, called in my helpers (who showed up with help and without judgement), and prepared to plant myself firmly on the couch and not get up until I was done crying, questioning, and eating snacks in badly coordinated outfits.

There were days when my face was swollen and sore from crying. I had days where all I could manage to do was make it from my bed to the couch. There were dinners that never got made. There were stretches where my daughter cracked out hard on iPad. There was a day when I wore an outfit so truly awful that there were no words. But I was also working it out. I was actively getting in the pit with my own despair and wrestling it to the death.

It took two weeks, more than one viewing of Little Women, and a lot of grace, but by the time I was done, I was good and broken down. During those two weeks, I systematically and painstakingly removed the layers of expectations that I had for myself, as well as the ones that others had for me. I gave myself permission to think, for the first time, about what self care meant, about how I wanted to actually show up in my own life, and what kind of family member and friend I wanted to be. I gave myself permission to cry and to not be okay. I was able to admit that trying to be everything, all at once, resulted in me not really being of any use to anyone at all.

By the time I could once again stand upright, I realized that the heavy release of emotion over those weeks was more like a prerequisite than the actual college credit. I had stopped moving long enough to see that without me, the world kept right on turning. All of the “things” I thought I needed to do, or participate in, really didn’t need to me function, and this was a distinct relief. Once I had enough room to breath outside of those things, I began to ask myself, “are these things really even all that important to me?”

I made a list of the things I had to do…like, HAD to do. I was shocked at how simple it was:

Show up to work, so we can pay bills.
Love myself.
Love my family.

Everything else was optional. Like, truly optional. This was my starting point— a new beginning. And like I said, the actual event of moving through the emotion was more like a prerequisite because coming out of all of that, I was surprised to find that I needed to rediscover what it meant to be "me." My breakdown lead me on a year long journey to unfold into a new, more realistic, and tailored version of my life. It also helped me reimagine what beauty really means in the context of a well-lived life.

In the day and age of social media, we are conditioned to participate in the crafting of our images. Naturally, this spills over into our everyday lives in subtle, and often harmful, ways. I believe that modernity predisposes us to become passengers on the runway train of “I’m fine—let’s stay busy and look successful.” I, like so many do, became obsessed with the notions of being perceived as strong and busy. This lead me down a well-intentioned path to hell. And that, my friends, is some bullshit.

Simultaneously, parenthood catapulted me into an arena I thought I was prepared for, but when I arrived, I had on the wrong type armor, and my weapons were those party balloons shaped like animals. Instead of throwing my hands up, and asking for help, or simply saying “what the actual fuck is going on here?” I tried to use the balloons and broken armor, while frantically running to outpace my enemies in the arena. The inevitable end was exhaustion and confusion. Perhaps as parents we are more susceptible to subscribing to illusionary expectations. I don't know.

What I do know is that nearly two years out from my famous couch-in, my life doesn't appear any different on the outside, but it is radically different on the inside. I changed the way I did business from the way I conduct friendships to family time, parenting, and even the way I work. I don't always feel happy, but I live with a ton more joy than I could have ever imagined. If you’ve been frantically trying to avoid the truth of yourself, or your life, by staying busy and outrunning the dragon, I implore you: schedule the damn breakdown, already. While it will feel like hell at first, a well-planned fall is better than an unplanned crash.

Bralettes & Minivans

2019-04-15T07:00:00.001-04:00

The other night, I was watching television with my husband, and an attractive woman clearly over the age of 60 professed, “Well that’s what 20 year-olds think!” I practically jumped up from my seat on the couch in disagreement, “HEY!” I shouted at the flatscreen, “stop telling us what 20 year-olds think—you don’t know!” The moment the words came out of my mouth, they hit the air and instantly dissipated into a hypocritical cloud of dust that settled on me. Because what I meant when I said it was, “Stop speaking for us.” Us. Us 20 year olds.

I am turning 34 this year.

My 30s are are place of perpetual duality. I cannot drink, or eat, or stay up late, or even sleep in like I could in my 20s, and yet, I have somehow convinced myself that not only am I still young, but I sometimes believe that I am still in my 20s. Someone asked me, not that long ago, how old I was, and to my shock I confidently answered, “Twenty four.” And then I laughed awkwardly and said, “Sorry, I have no idea why I said that. I’m actually thirty three.” Ooops?

The year I turned 30, I would proudly announce to people, “I am thirty!” Because it was exciting and I loved to see the look of amazement on people’s faces when they said, “WOW! I thought you were in your 20s.” Those comments are less and less these days as the years are starting to appear in small ways on my face. I didn’t even get carded at the liquor store the other day, and I was all ready with my license! This is not a complaint, so much as it is a casual observation about my changing landscape. I am proud to be aging, and honestly, aging pretty well. Although, I am puzzled about how I can go to sleep perfectly fine and wake up with a sore back.

Here at 33, there are the beginnings of lines between my eyebrows, and there are small crows feet by my eyes, especially when I smile. The other day, as I tried to gently pinch away a fleck of stray mascara, the skin under my eye took an abnormal amount of time to bounce back from my pinch. My face, which was once nearly flawless, is now punctuated not only by acne, depending on where I am in my cycle, but also by an overall more rough appearance. My lips are not as pink or as plump as they used to be, and I swear, my nose keeps growing. I do not cover any of this with makeup because this is what I look like, and I am proud of that.

With all of these years behind me, one would think I have mastered my domain. But I have yet to crack the code of what type of skin I have. Is it oily or dry? Beats me, man. I try various products with no regularity and none of it helps. I do floss regularly, but I still have those weird dreams about my teeth falling out, so I am not sure if it’s working or not. And I’m now responsible for a whole child, which I think we aren’t fucking up too bad. Although, during a conversation about good touch/bad touch she did ask me, “What if someone tries to touch my asshole?” And as I told her that no one should ever be touching her “asshole.” I also kind of laughed because I think more than wanting to know if someone should or shouldn’t be touching it, she probably just wanted to say the word “asshole.”

Paradoxically, despite all this, I find a growing confidence coming to life. I proudly wear my high waisted jeans and my crop tops. I think I look better than ever, not because of the clothes, but because of the way I feel in them. I have finally settled on the hairstyle that makes me feel the me-iest. Since underwire is a torture device, and I will not subscribe, I wear Calvin Klein bralettes. Yes, my breasts look small, and you know why? Because they are small. And not the cute, perky small they once were. They are the breasts of a woman who breastfed for the better part of four years. I’m not going to put them in shaped cups to hide the truth of their bittiness. They are bitty, and to me, beautiful.

I dance to the latest Indie and Pop music, and I believe I am cool driving down the road in my ten-year-old minivan that we bought off Craig’s List. As I blast music, with my nearly five year old in the backseat bopping around, I think to myself, “Why didn’t I drive a minivan ten years ago? This is the coolest car I have ever had!” There is room for my tea, my water, my snacks, and my giant purse. If I was 20, I would have been able to fit all those things, plus my friends, into this van. My husband and I still act as though this is possible when we say, “This van was such a great purchase—there is so much room for our friends!” But we know that our friends will almost always opt to drive their own minivans because they might want to leave early.

Leaving early is almost always necessary when you have kids, aging pets, careers, and all of the other responsibilities you didn’t have in your 20s. Maybe all of these responsibilities have a way of shifting our thinking. It certainly has a way of making one try to conform, only to realize that conformity is hardly worth the cost. So I try to feel my youth because I am still young, but not as young as the younger young person. And that stings a bit as I shout at the woman just ahead of me on the life chain on the television and I see myself reflected back. I’m not sure if I enjoy the view, so I cock my head and contemplate all of these concepts from my face to my breasts, and my inability to sleep in, and my minivan.

And I, in the midst of thought and heavy silence, suddenly come to accept I am no longer in my 20s.

My heart will continue to believe she is timeless, which, of course, she is. That is the answer. There is, in each of us, a timeless portion of our heart that cannot be divorced from our youth. I love deeply the part of me that hears “those young people” and immediately fires back, “What do you know?!” It’s probable that even the commentator on television, well into the upper part of midlife, thinks that she knows what 20-year-olds are thinking just as I have purported.

But deep down she probably also knows, like me, that there is this other part of us that is rooted in humanity and the inescapable timeline of years. We gather experiences like a snowball rolling downhill until we have become so heavy we stop and are planted. As we sit there-- a chunky hard bit of snow--the sun comes out, the season changes, and then we begin to melt until we are once again small, and then nothing at all.

{ {Mommy} }

2019-04-08T07:00:00.000-04:00

“Mommy, it’s morning.” She says with her voice just above a whisper. The sun has just peeked above the tree line, but she’s been awake for over an hour, patiently absorbing herself in play and awaiting that sliver of sunlight to appear so she could come in and announce that it’s morning. Who needs a rooster when I’ve got my own 5 year old songbird?

“Mommy.” She says it just to say it. She sighs. “Mommy...” it sounds like a breath. I’m trying to will myself out of bed. “Mommy!”

“What?”

“I want to make a fishtank for my Moshi animal.”

“Mommy! I want to dance to my favorite songs on YouTube!”

“Mommy! Look at the art I made—I’m working hard to be an artist!” She announces all of this in the small space of time it takes me to go from the bed to the hallway and click on the coffee maker. I tell her that’s nice, that sure we can listen to YouTube, and, yes, your artwork is wonderful.

Time for coffee.

“Mommy! Haaaaalp me!” She bellows as I pour my cup of beige coffee—lots of creamer—wondering why I am so tired, why I didn’t drink more water last night, and if the cramping in my side is menstrual. Please let it be menstrual, I silently pray.

I go over and help her make a fish tank, which entails pouring water into designated plastic containers with lids. She’s pulling out all the Tupperware. She needs several aquariums. They need to be see-through. They need to be stacked. “Mommy, look! Mommy, I can pour it myself, I’m big now...Look Mommy! My aquarium is a city!”

And Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, makes it's own rhythm all throughout the day, sometimes all throughout the night. I can’t always tell if it’s that she wants me, or that she wants to simply know I am there, as a sort of quiet observer, taking in her childhood. A safety net. A home. A Mommy.

I sit, sunken in to my well-worn place in our old leather sofa, between two carefully arranged pillows, ignoring whatever background noise is going on, pondering the fact that most of the day, I don’t feel like a “Mommy.” I'm cozy there, sipping my coffee, still feeling 25 years old and sort of scared. Will this always be my default? Slightly buzzy in a sort of a peaceful scared? The passage of time is both mysterious and untouchable, and I wonder about how in the wide world this stuffed shark came to be in living room. What ARE shopkins? And how exactly did I come to know so much about LOL Dolls?

Sometimes, in the still moments, when my daughter asks me, “Mommy, do I have to go to school today?” I want to scream, “No! None of this matters! We should be learning to grow our own food, and raising livestock! Let’s drop out!” But Mommy can’t do that, can she?

Mommy is steady on the outside, yet confused on the inside. Mommy is thinking... should we be going to church or something? Is god everywhere? Can we stop lying about Santa yet? Why do people give me weird looks when I tell them my daughter is obsessed with talking about death? Why can’t kids do anything unsupervised anymore? These questions are constantly clicking behind my eyes, furrowing that space between my brows and making a well-worn path as if to say, "this is the map to your inner thoughts."

I have done so many strange and outlandish things in my life. I’ve sold scrapple sandwiches at music festivals. I quit my job to become a writer. I’ve paid way too much for boiled wool blankets that I rarely use because they are way too nice. But of the all the weird things I’ve done, being Mommy is the weirdest. At my best, Mommy and Billie meld into a single person as they move through their day together. At my worst, Mommy is on her own, and Billie only looks out through the eyes of Mommy, trying her best to come to grips with the presentation of the day.

As I push my daughter on the swing outside, I make fart noises and say, “Ew gross, you fart too much!” And she laughs like I am the funniest, most brilliant human that ever, ever lived. Which, to her, I am. Later in the week, she yells at me in the grocery and people I don’t know give me looks I do know that clearly say, “you are both failing.” But I don’t care because they don’t know: I’m Mommy, and I make all the best fart jokes. And also killer quesadillas. Fuck them, I think, as I push my cart, like a steadfast ship with a screaming passenger, through the aisles. This is "don't judge me" Mommy. And she is a total badass.

Oddly, I find is there are as many incarnations of “Mommy” as there are utterances of the word. As my daughter sing-songs "Mommy" as a request, a reply, and a comfort throughout her day, this Mommy person bobs and weaves to meet demands and fill roles. The Mommy that crawls out of bed looking for coffee is different from fart joke Mommy, and grocery store Mommy, and school pick up Mommy. End-of-the-day Mommy is a woman apart, having lived all the moments of the day, she’s tired, satisfied, and has a two story limit. She has Mommied all day with reverence, joy, bewilderment, and likely some anger.

“Mommy,” she says after the second story, “can you cuddle me?” And as I wrap my arms around her she says, “I’m a baby and you’re a baby, and I’m a mommy and you’re a mommy.” And oh my god, how true and strange it is, laying there, tangled up in her little bed, that we are exactly the same, at once, babies and Mommies only made separate by the invisible passage of time.

The Healing Power of Congee {With Recipe}

2019-03-18T05:00:00.000-04:00

Last June I started attending acupuncture for my severe digestion issues. They were so pervasive that they were bleeding into my mental health, and if that sounds dramatic, I swear, it doesn't do the situation justice. Now, I could write an entire series on how much I LOVE acupuncture and all the amazing things it has done for me personally, but today I want to talk about the first, best, easiest thing you can do for your body, digestion problems or not.

And that is to make and eat congee every. Damn. Day.

Now, I don't want to front or anything. I am no expert on Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM), or even on congee itself, but I have been a years-long sufferer of ill digestion, and I'm nearly a year in on my acupuncture and TCM diet regimen, so I have picked up a thing or two along the way. I've also read The Book of Jook, which is an amazing foundational book on TCM's eating philosophy, which I highly recommend if this interests you beyond your breakfast plate.

Let's start with the basics. What the heck is congee and why should you be eating it?
Congee is a slow-cooked, broken rice porridge, not unlike a cream of wheat or cream of rice hot cereal you might get at an American grocery store. It's essentially one part rice to 8 parts water, and during the cooking process the water swells the rice so exquisitely that it bursts, turning into a creamy, slightly sweet, porridge. When cold, it congeals, but when heated, it becomes nice and creamy.

It is a staple food in China, and one eaten by the peasants, who incidentally, live longer than their wealthier counterparts who do not eat congee. It is also a foundational food in the TCM philosophy of eating because of its constitution (rice and water), its versatility in being paired with ingredients (and healing herbs), and its ability to slowly awaken digestion in a soothing manner, and therefore be a good breakfast food that promotes the positive movement of Qi--the energy life source, the gooooood stuff.

The idea, distilled, is this: raw food is hard to digest. We have to work really hard to break down food that isn't already what the principles would dub "the 100 degree soup." So, if you're throwing an apple in your gob first thing in the morning, well, you're working overtime. And in TCM, that is no way to gently awake the system.

Another way to think of this is to consider the stomach like a fire. Hot foods help stoke the fire, while cold foods are like throwing a damp towel on your digestive fires.

Congee is a terrific candidate for the job of digestive wake up because it's full of water (hydrating), rice is easy to digest, it's warm (no extra work on the stomach's part), and you can add lots of healing herbs and spices to make it even more beneficial. It stokes the fire. Also, if I've had any upset from the night before, this generally quells the beast, and gets me back where I need to be, digestively speaking.

Let's talk versatility
Congee is a great "base" food. Which is probably why it's so favored in TCM. As you can probably imagine, there are as many maladies as there are people in the world. While congee benefits everyone and anyone, if you are trying to heal, your protocol is likely to be more individualized. Luckily, congee pairs well with everything from sweet to savory. I enjoy mine with a variety of fruits, like blueberries, dried cherries, pineapple, or mango and I like adding a bit of raw honey and ginger and cinnamon.

But there have also been times when I have found I skipped breakfast. One reason I do this is if I am not hungry. My acupuncturist encouraged me to stop eating when I wasn't hungry (even if it's mealtime.) It's too taxing on the digestion, who is not signaling a need for food. There are times when I skip breakfast and instead enjoy congee for lunch with savory items, such as Irish beef stew, or my favorite, Beef Bourginon. It is SO delicious ramped up with some salt and lots of gravy!

Will it keep me full?
The goal of congee is not so much to keep you full as it is to get your system started in the morning. It's a complex carbohydrate, so it breaks down a bit more slowly than others, so it is a great breakfast food for this reason. I'll also tell you a secret: for a person who has had digestive issues (and anxiety issues), feeling hungry is the best feeling EVER because it means 1) I'm not anxious, and 2) everything is working properly!

So the short answer is that unless you pair your congee with a protein, you'll probably be hungry again in about 2 hours. For me, this works because I have my congee about 10am, and then I eat lunch about 12:30PM or so. According to my friend, in school for Acupuncture, the optimal time to jumpstart your system is between 7AM to 9AM...but we aren't the breakfast police, so you do you.

So, is this easy?
Is congee easy to make? The answer is YES, but for ease, it does require a crockpot. If you don't have a crockpot, you could use the stovetop, but it would require some babysitting, and I honestly have't tried it. However, it you do use a crockpot, it is so simple and easy that you can cook it while you are at work during the day, or while you are sleeping at night, as it has an 8 hour cook time on low. One pot is enough to last me a little over a week, and even share some with my mom. So make it on a Sunday and have breakfast all week long!

Ready for the recipe? Here she blows....

Simple Congee Recipe

Time: 8 (inactive) hours | Makes: 1 large pot | Difficulty: SO EASY!

You Will Need:

1 cup of white rice (I use organic white or jasmine, both are great!)

8 cups water

Special equipment- Crockpot

Method:

Add rice and water to crockpot. Turn on low and cook for 8 hours. If you are able, give it a stir a couple of times throughout the cooking process. If not, no worries.

Cool and store in the refrigerator, and reheat for breakfast or whatever meal you fancy!

Serve with your choice of sweet or savory toppings (see above suggestions).

When Lying is a Good Idea

2019-03-04T14:31:00.002-05:00

Last year, I was happy to discover that they were planting corn in the fields outside our house. It's so nice to have the privacy, I thought to myself. Until I remembered a story my friend Katie told me about how her two cousins got lost in a corn field for hours when they were children. "They were screaming and my Aunt couldn't find them. Literally," she said, "it was traumatizing."

My daughter is, for the record, obsessed with corn. She tells me corn is favorite vegetable, and that corn stalks are her friends. So instead of panicking, I did what any decent parent would do. I lied. Yes, I did. At first, I had some misgivings about this, but after running it by a trusted friend, who assured me that it was the right thing to do, I felt it was totally fine. Her reasoning was that in tribal cultures there were myths that they would tell the children to help keep them safe, and this was no different. And we dubbed it "the safety lie."

There was only one thing my daughter had been afraid of up to that point and it was called "The Lump." Don't ask me why, I guess the word just freaks her out, so I decided to leverage this to my advantage and, ultimately, hers. We told her that "The Lump" likes to live in the corn fields--that's where he makes his home--so it's important for us to stay out of the corn fields because, naturally, we don't want The Lump to get us. That was it. That was all I needed to say. She never touched a toe in those big, leafy corn fields, and when they plowed them down, she asked what was going to happen to The Lump. I told her he would go move to another field. No harm, no foul.

Eventually she will get older and she will realize there are not Lumps that live in the fields, and this will be part of her maturation process. But in the meantime, it kept her safe, not lost in a corn field, and bought me some peace of mind. Sometimes you have to tell a little lie to keep kids on track.

And you know what? I think we need to lie to kids a little more often.

This became clear to me, particularly when it comes to Active Shooter Drills in daycares and elementary schools, as my daughter's new fears now extend beyond Lumps. After an intruder drill at daycare several months ago, my kid now ends phone conversations by saying, "hey, if any strangers try to come in your house, let me know!" and asks her grandma during sleepovers, "What will you do if a guy with a gun is waiting outside the house?" And as it turns out, she is far from alone.

There are more and more reports coming out that children are being traumatized by these drills--that they are scared of going to school--or, like my child, think that a "bad guy with a gun may come in at any time." Personally, I don't think that these are things that five year olds should be scared about. Lumps, to my way of thinking, should be about as scary as it gets.

Of course, I cannot fault the daycare for doing the drill. They are being prepared, and as a mom, I can appreciate that. Ditto for schools. But what I cannot get on board with is telling kids what they are all about because it's too much unnecessarily scary information. And the drills themselves are, in fact, scary for children. For god's sake, we need to stop telling little kids whose wild imaginations cannot process the thought of "active shooters" that we are doing a mass murder preparation drills. Call it a "hurricane" drill. Call it a "safety drill." Call it an "all out ostrich, put your head in the sand" drill. I don't care. I'm asking that we collectively get together and tell a little white lie to protect the innocence of childhood.

Adults used to be comfortable lying to their kids about all kinds of things. Shit, my parents told me that a chicken lived behind our refrigerator because it made a strange clucking sound. And also, my mom told me that she was elf--a real elf--who traveled on Santa's sleigh to his workshop. I mean, how many of us are about to tell our kids that A HUGE BUNNY is coming to deliver presents?! And I get it, these things are "fun" and silly and traditional, but maybe that's more to the point. We will lie to our kids in the name of a good time, but not to protect their developing minds which deserve a safe haven. Nah, bro. I ain't down with it.

Yes, they will look back and realize what it really was, and that we told them a lie. YES, we can give them more information the older the get, but NO we don't have to be explicit about what that means when kids are four, five, six or even seven. I think a lie--a safety lie--is in order. I even think that looking back, our kids will thank us for not giving them information they really weren't ready for. The worrying needs to be left to the adults because the adults are the ones who are equipped to fix it.

And honestly, sometimes, for all our rigid morality, the truth is simply overrated.

Easy Kale Salad Recipe

2019-02-13T05:00:00.000-05:00

I love an easy recipe. Extra points if it's healthy. This is one of those box checking recipes that is not only easy, but healthy, inadvertently vegetarian and gluten-free as well as having the possibility of being vegan. I KNOW, right?!

Every time I have made this, I have converted non-kale eaters to kale eaters. And when I made this the other day, and posted it to my Instagram Stories, I knew I needed to do a blog post because I made yet *another* discovery about this totally easy, totally amazing recipe. You wanna know what it is? Brace yourselves....

THIS KALE SALAD TASTES PHENOMENAL WHEN HEATED!

Additionally, this is one of those recipes that you can add into your weekly meal prep rotation and enjoy all week, IF, (and this is a big IF) you can keep yourself from eating it within a day, which, in my house, we can't. Also, any of the ingredients in this salad are merely suggestions. If you prefer rice in place of quinoa, go for it. If you've got green onions on hand, throw them in! Fan of dried cranberries or cherries, by all means, DO IT! This is a recipe you can continually switch up with new ingredients, or just use to clear out the veggies in your fridge at the end of the week!

All of that, and you can shovel this delicious salad into your gob with zero guilt. What's not to love? Now, I like to buy the pre-washed big ol' bag of kale in the store, but I don't want to tell you how to live, so you can buy whatever kale you love best. My mother-in-law recently purchased purple kale and said it was miles above regular ole green kale. And, when it comes to the dressing, I kept it simple with olive oil and vinegar, but if I had lemons I would have squeezed them in too. Heck, an orange would also give it a zing. This is a salad you can take citrus risks with. So don't hold back--just taste as you go!

Lastly, I want to take a moment to build the tension and wax on the beauty of the colors in this exquisitely beautiful salad. Ever heard the phrase "eat the rainbow" when it comes to veggies? It can be easier said than done, but I feel so good when I can cram a bunch of colors into a dish. I mean, just beautiful amiright? Of course I am. I'm always right. I'm the rightest McRighterson that ever lived. That's why you came here--for my rightness and my recipes. Or at least my recipes, right? Right I am.

Easy Kale Salad

Time: 30 minutes | Serves 6-8 | Difficulty: Easy

You Will Need:

A really big bowl, preferably with a lid

1/2 bag of pre-washed kale

1/2 cup quinoa, cooked according to directions, and cooled slightly

1 purple onion*, diced

1 bell pepper, diced

3 carrots, peeled and shredded (I use my food processor because it's so easy!)

Handful of nuts, your choice, I like pecans, pine nuts, walnuts or slivered almonds.

6 cloves garlic, minced (you can use less if you prefer)

2 heaping handfuls of parmesan cheese

Apple cider vinegar

Olive oil

salt and pepper

Other (optional) additions:

Cucumbers

Tomatoes

Feta Cheese or goat cheese

Roasted beets

orange or lemon juice

Fresh broccoli (uncooked) chopped finely

Method:

You're going to spend most of the time on this recipe chopping, dicing and slicing and then basically throwing everything in. It's your call whether you like to add as you go, or to prep everything ahead of time and add all at once. The only consideration you'll want to make is for the quinoa, which you will want to have cooled slightly.

Start by filling your gigantic bowl about 3/4 full with your kale. Remove any large stems from your kale, and if you wish, tear it into smaller pieces with your hands. Add all of your veggies to your bowl and then mince the garlic into the bowl. Add your parmesan (if using) and then begin adding the vinegar and oil.

What I like to do for the dressing is go a few times around the bowl, pouring as I go, first with the oil and then with the vinegar. This would be a fine time to add your citrus juice, if using, too. Then give the whole big bowl and big toss, taste and add salt and pepper. Repeat the process with the oil and vinegar until you've reached a balance that is good for you. This is the point where I like to call my husband in and say "hey can you taste this--does it need anything?" And then we taste and add and taste and add and basically we are just eating and it's delicious.

If your bowl has a lid, it's also great to put the lid on and give the whole thing a good shaking!! Store in the fridge. Serve as a side to practically anything OR throw it in a bowl and pop it in the microwave for about a minute or two and enjoy hot! Mmmmmm. So good.

*I will not say "red onion" because the onions are not, in fact, red they are PURPLE. I even did a not-even-close-to scientific Instagram poll which confirmed by visual hypothesis that these onions are not RED as originally named. So hitherto and therefore, such onions will only be referred to as purple herein. And whatnot.

Stuff I Love: Spelt Flour

2019-01-22T05:00:00.000-05:00

Last summer when my acupuncturist told me I needed to give up traditional wheat, I agreed with a reluctant heart. I knew that it was worth the try because I had literally tried everything else, but for god's sake, I'm Italian-American. NO PASTA? NO BREAD? It felt so...wrong. I was unhappy to admit, though, that cutting wheat out of my diet had a big impact on not only my gut health, but my mental health.

I would repeat to myself, as I prepared pasta for my husband and daughter, or watched them gobbling down a delicious wheat-based confection, "Nothing tastes as good as mental health feels." And it's true. Still, I'm a solution oriented kind of gal, and I am quite crafty in the kitchen, so I knew I could nail this problem of needing a substitute close to wheat that gave that same mouth-feel. Hehe. Mouth-feel.

That was when I came across two little words in a book about eating for your blood type... Spelt flour. It peaked my interest so I bought a bag on Amazon to see how it made me feel, and also how it was to cook with. Turns out, this stuff is pretty gosh-darn amazing, and I've been using it ever since. I order about 4 pounds at a time and it lasts about a month. In fact, it's nearly replaced flour in all my recipes, and my even my husband (ever the skeptic) likes it, too.

So what's so great about spelt anyway?
Spelt is an ancient grain, so it predates modern wheat, though it's like a cousin to wheat in some round-about way that I will butcher trying to give an explanation on. Spelt has a super hard outer hull, which makes it naturally more insect resistant. This means it doesn't require the pesticides that are traditionally used on wheat, so it's free of pesticides, which I love. It also has less chromosomes than it's modern wheat counterpart, and a lower gluten content, so it's easier on the digestive system.

In addition, it's chocked full of good stuff like vitamin B2, manganese, niacin, copper, phosphorus, protein, and fiber. It tastes a lot like whole wheat, with a slightly nutty flavor.

Application
So, I will admit that spelt flour isn't 100% like regular flour. For one, the color is darker, and the taste is a little bit different, like a whole wheat. Maybe I would classify it as a "tang" that only nature can provide? But after going months without flour, for me, this made little impact. Like, when you haven't had a steak sandwich, or any sandwich, in months and then you have a freshly baked whole wheat flavored bun for the first time, you're just eating, eyes closed, and everything fades away.

The thing is, it absorbs water differently than wheat, but you CAN pretty much use it cup for cup if you're willing to experiment here and there with adding a little extra, and testing the waters. For example, I've used it in chocolate chip cookies, and the cookies will spread farther, and turn out a bit more crispy, but they are delicious. But in my fig cookies and chocolate crinkle cookies this Christmas, this flour performed beautifully (both those doughs, though, had to be chilled in the fridge for 24 hours.)

At this point, I use spelt for everything from pie crust to bread to tomato pie dough, and even slippery dumplings. The more I have worked with it, the more I know how to use it, so it's like any relationship in cooking: it gets better as you are more versed in using it. Pinterest is amazing because it has a wealth of recipes for using spelt, and below I am linking some of my favorites!

Spelt Flour Hamburger rolls
--> I use this recipe to make rolls, French style bread, and even focaccia bread (which I then turned into Philly style tomato pie!) This is a real winner.

Spelt Flour Tortillas
I also don't eat corn, but these are super awesome and do the trick. I make a bunch and then freeze them so I can just pull out a couple when I need them.

Spelt Pie Crust (vegan option)
So you can make this with butter (which I do), but the recipe is for a vegan pie crust. This recipe also works for a double crust (top and bottom), which I used to make a chicken pot pie. YUM!

Spelt Flour Flatbread-
This is my own recipe for a regular flat bread which you can replace spelt flour in cup for cup. It doesn't rise *quite* as high as traditional flour, but some people prefer it (some people being me). In my home, we eat this every Friday night, and it's one of my daughter's favorite meals! I half the recipe and make spelt flour flatbread for myself, and traditional wheat flatbread for my two lovelies who prefer that style because I am cool like that.

Take-Out Fake-Out: Cold "Peanut" Noodles

2019-01-10T06:00:00.000-05:00

Let me tell you about me and my group of friends: we are a chef's nightmare. Half of us are gluten free, some of us are dairy free. One is vegetarian, another is vegan. And I don't eat peanuts (among other things). Most people would be intimidated by this set of challenges, but we manage to get together around food, like, a lot. We have become agile in cooking for different dietary needs. Seriously, you should come to one of our houses for dinner.

Under this shining review I just rendered, you would think that this <<AMAZING>> recipe would satisfy all of our gluten-free, dairy free, peanut free needs...alas, there is one person in our group who cannot eat this because he is allergic to almonds. You can't win them all.

All of this is to say that if you, like Charley, are allergic to almonds, you can swap out the almond butter for peanut butter, unless someone else in your group doesn't eat peanuts (like me) and then maybe you can try cashew butter (which I haven't). In addition, you could also use traditional wheat pasta instead of gluten free pasta. Your choice. Mah point: this is a versatile recipe that can feed a diverse crowd of 30 and 40-somethings with a whole range of dietary sensitivities and needs. And kids love it too. How's that for a tasty introduction?

This really is one of my very favorite recipes. It pairs well with a salad, or a meat, or a soup. You can make it ahead. You can enjoy it hot, or you can enjoy it cold. I know it says "cold" in the title, but trust me, it's good either way.

I do want to take a moment to talk about why I use a more traditional noodle instead of say, an Asian-style rice noodle. Because, after all, this is an Asian-ish dish. (I say "Asian-ish" because honestly, I don't know the roots of this dish. While it appears on many a Chinese take out menu, my understanding of Chinese-American food is that it's a largely American incarnation.) So maybe we are just heathens and enjoy these exclusively in America... if it's wrong, I don't want to be right.

The problem with flat rice noodles, or even vermicelli style rice noodles is that they tend to fall apart as you stir them with a sauce, and this really get under my skin. I have found that spaghetti and spaghetti-style rice noodles (my favorite brand is Tinkyada, by the way) stay intact and absorb the sauce really well. The ONLY problem with rice noodles is that they don't tend to stay as fresh in the refrigerator over time so you wanna eat these within a day or two, or heat them.

For serving, you can top these noodles with sesame seeds if you have them, diced green onions if thats your jam, and if you stray toward the spicy, Sriracha. YUM!

Okay. With all the formalities out of the way, let's dive into this recipe, shall we?!

Cold "Peanut" Noodles

Time: 25 minutes (active) 2+ hours (passive) | Serves 4 | Difficulty: EASY!

You Will Need:

12 ounces noodles (spaghetti, gluten free or regular, your choice)

3/4 cup almond butter

4 cloves minced garlic

1/4 cup rice vinegar (I have also used apple cider, which is terrific too!)

1/4 cup toasted sesame oil

1/2 cup soy sauce

1/8 cup olive oil

1/4 cup pasta water

Special equipment- blender or immersion blender (I prefer to use my immersion blender, but this totally a personal thing.)

Method:

Fill a large pot with water and bring it to a boil.

While you are waiting for the water to boil, you can blend your ingredients to make the sauce. Place the almond butter, garlic, vinegar, sesame oil, soy sauce, and olive oil in a glass jar or in the blender. Blend until nice and smooth:

You can taste the sauce and adjust a little if you like more acid (vinegar) or more salt (soy). But be warned, once you taste the sauce, you are literally going to want to eat all the sauce because it's outta this world!

By now your water should be boiling. Go ahead and cook your pasta according to the directions on the package. When it's finished, I like to pull the pasta from the pot with a pair of tongs rather than draining it. 1) It makes it easier to get the 1/4 cup pasta water you'll want to add, and 2) it leaves a little extra moisture on the noodles. These noodles are going to absorb a hell of a lot of this sauce and the sauce will become nice and thick, so don't worry. Mama got you.

Put your cooked noodles, your prepared sauce, and your 1/4 cup pasta water into a bowl and give it a good stir. I like to use tongs, but that's just me. You do you. The sauce may seem runny. It may seem like maybe you did something wrong. You didn't. Trust the process.

Generally, I will let my noodles sit on the counter a little while until they aren't so piping hot. Maybe I eat some noodles out of the bowl while it's hot and yell, "YUM" into the void of my empty house (because everyone is at work and school and it's awesome.) When you're ready to stop plucking those hot, delicious noodles from the countertop bowl, put your noodles in the refrigerator for at least a couple of hours, giving it a stir in the middle somewhere to help it cool evenly. When it's time to eat, top with sesame seeds or green onions, and serve with a salad or a nice piece of meat!

Enjoy in the company of people you love!

Why I Made The Decision Not to Drink

2018-11-08T10:30:00.000-05:00

For months leading up to this past summer, I had been saying to myself, as well as out loud, that I wanted to take 30 days off of drinking alcohol. There were a number of reasons for this, but chief among them was that I was having a lot of digestive problems and I was trying to heal my gut. Clearly, alcohol wasn't helping when it came to any stomach upset, and I felt like it was making it worse.

Another reason was that I had noticed drinking simply was becoming less fun for me, and it was even causing me worry. For example, if we were attending a party and there was going to be drinking, I would obsess about whether or not I would drink at all because someone was going to have to drive home, and drinking and driving gives me metaphorical hives. Rather than enjoying myself, I would have a drink, glug down copious amounts of water and then spend a lot of time ruminating in my head about how I felt and whether I was reaaaaalllly good to drive home. On the other hand, if we were hosting an event at our home, I often found that I wouldn't really drink all that much, but would feel an internal pressure to drink with my friends or family (this was totally on me, not them.)

This dance was playing out in my mind over and over and it was becoming exhausting.

In June, I began treatment with an acupuncturist and changed my eating habits pretty drastically. Finally, I felt like the timing was right for me to take an extended break from alcohol while I actively worked on my health. I was mentally prepared. I took a six week hiatus from drinking, and to my surprise I saw a huge difference in my mental health, and my overall enjoyment of life. I had expected to feel physically good, but I hadn't expected to feel so much like...myself.

For my birthday, which falls in late August, I decided to enjoy a couple of glasses of wine throughout the week of festivities. They tasted magnificent, but I noticed some key things. The first was that I had a lot of trouble sleeping after drinking, and I didn't feel well rested in the morning. Also, while I didn't experience any panic attacks while imbibing, I had heightened anxiety in the days that followed, and I had an extremely intense panic attack the day after I drank one time.

Then, as I was scrolling through Instagram, as one does, I came across a re-post that read: "DRINKING ALCOHOL IS LIKE POURING GASOLINE ON YOUR ANXIETY."
The quote was from Laura McKowen. It hit me a deep place and sent waves of panic through me. This immediately registered as the truth for me, which was illuminating and, ultimately, a little upsetting.

The sum of all these experiences left me in a state of confusion about my relationship to alcohol in general, and what this meant for me moving forward. I am pretty prone to overthinking things (in case you couldn't tell) so I decided to go ahead and allow myself a deep analytical dive into my relationship with alcohol. While I was thinking through my relationship with alcohol, I decided to once again abstain from drinking for a minimum of six weeks.

Initially, it was pretty scary to think about my life in terms of "never drinking again" and I often wondered whether I was making a decision to be "sober." I questioned whether I might have an issue with alcohol since the prospect of not ever having a drink again made me feel very boxed in. Simultaneously, I worried about the fact that I can be quite given to swinging from one extreme to the next, and I didn't want this to be one of "those things."

As I was processing all of this, I looked to some my hero on social media, who I realized were actually sober women. Glennon Doyle, Brene Brown, and January Harshe are all sober women doing amazing, inspirational things, and their work is very fortifying for a person grappling with tough questions surrounding self and alcohol. I also have some relatives who don't drink, and I was able to gain perspective from them. Some don't drink because they feel they go overboard, and others are simply uninterested in drinking. In conversation with them, and after some deep and thorough thought over several weeks, I came to some surprising conclusions. Here is what I found...

Was I getting Sober?
Sifting through this question was important to me for a few reasons. Sobriety is a hard-fought path for many, many people, and I wanted to give reverence and respect to that process. I didn't want to call myself "sober" unless I was truly in recovery because that is a distinct path. Also, I wanted to consider what the future held for me...was it okay for me to open ended about my not drinking? Or was this an all-or-nothing decision I was making?

I concluded that I was not getting sober, which is an important distinction. First of all, I don't have a problem with alcohol. I had a waning interest in it, which I struggled with partly because I was worried about the social impacts of that. And, I've noticed that my sober friends have to actively work to stay sober. I do not.

Are there still triggers?
You don't have to be an alcoholic to have situational triggers when it comes to habits like drinking. One thing I noticed about not drinking is that sometimes the fleeting moment where I want a drink will come up. Let's say it's been a particularly trying day, or, alternatively, I'm in a social situation, and I think for a moment "oh, would a glass of wine be nice?" At first, I thought I might be tempted by these moments, but then I would stop to think about the reasons behind why I was wanting a drink and the impacts of my decision (like, the net day)... do I really want a drink, or am I just in need of some self care (maybe even just a deep breath?)

What is interesting is that when I stepped away from alcohol culture, I realized how pervasive it was. We tell ourselves that we "deserve" a drink because we've had a hard day, or that it's "wine o'clock" or whatever. And some of it is totally funny and harmless, and some of it is less so. As I got more and more time under my belt without drinking, I was able to more easily discern how I was REALLY feeling and what I needed to unwind or relax. Being a person who mostly doesn't drink has made me much more thoughtful before I take a drink, and 9 out of 10 times I will simply choose to abstain.

Does it need definition?
I struggled immensely with this one, which is somewhat odd considering I am less than conventional in so many ways. Yet, I found that I was drawn to labeling the fact that I wasn't drinking. I was able to reason my way into the unconventional on this one, though, and concluded that I don't have to label my drinking as "sobriety" or even as "I never drink." The truth is that I mostly will not drink and this is what I have chosen for myself, and overwhelmingly choose to abstain on a daily basis. But there may come a day where I am compelled to have a cocktail, or enjoy a glass of wine, and if I want to, I absolutely can. I don't have to label that, either.

Maybe it's tougher when we define ourselves because then we think we have to stick to something even if it's not how we feel in the moment. It's been a few months since I've had a drink, and I haven't had a desire to drink...but that doesn't mean that can't or won't change, and I am open to that possibility and seeing how I feel in that moment. I don't have to define it for myself.

What is this really all about?
What does this decision really come down to for me? Mental health, and overall health. And this beautiful realization that when I don't drink, I feel more like myself for consistent and long periods of time. As I am getting into my mid-30s, I am coming into a whole new self-love vibe. I am comfortable with the fact that I am a pretty serious person who likes to be in tune with the world around me. It's easier for me to do that if I don't drink, and that allows me a lot of enjoyment.

The simple answer: it just feels good.

Anatomy of a Panic Attack

2018-09-19T11:18:00.002-04:00

For any of you who may not know me: I'm Billie. Wife, mother, and bossy Italian human with anxiety. I've written some over the years about my struggles with anxiety (which you can read about by clicking HERE and HERE) and over time, my relationship with my anxiety has changed. I had several (blissful) years where my anxiety lived on a shelf somewhere in my brain and didn't bother to show itself.

Then I became a mother. My entire chemical makeup got a one-two punch and was transformed. My anxiety re-emerged as an entirely new beast. I had postpartum anxiety, and I struggled immensely. Now, I am in a much better place mentally, and physically, but I STILL experience anxiety and, on occasion, full-blown panic attacks.

One of the bits of feedback I always get is that the people around me would never know I was having trouble. I seem totally steady and "put together" on the outside. The "you seem fine to me" phenomenon, I suspect, is not something I experience in isolation. In an effort to bridge the gap between what people think they know, and what happens for a person in the grips of panic, I want to attempt to dissect a recent panic attack. I hope this will help people without anxiety understand what happens to those of us who have it, despite whatever we might seem to look like externally.

I feel it's important to note this is merely my experience. There are as many types of panic attacks and presentations of anxiety as there are people. It's a highly individualized thing. I also believe in the universality of our experiences, and I want to give voice to something that simply isn't talked about with enough regularity. At the end, I'm also giving a short blurb on what I think is helpful when I am experiencing anxiety or panic. I am hoping readers will comment in and give every one more helpful tips as we collectively raise awareness!

The Lead Up
It was a normal Monday, and I knew my head didn't feel quite right. After lunch, I tried to rest a bit to try and cool off the "buzzing" I was experiencing in my head. After about 40 minutes, I decided I needed to go run my errands--that it would be easier without my daughter in tow, given how I was feeling.

I was knocking out the grocery shopping for the rest of the week. The grocery store was packed to the gills, a common occurrence for our small beach town when it's brimming with vacationers during the hot, summer months. The lines were about three people deep no matter where I went, so I pulled up my cart and prepared to wait patiently. As I got in line, I began to feel some tingles in my body and I thought I had better distract myself while I waited.

Being an anxiety veteran, I am unsure if this distraction tactic is a coping mechanism, a reflex, or a bit of both, but I worked to pull my focus from the "bigger picture" of the bustling noise of the store to the more "close up" details around me. I did this through observation...a magazine with a picture of Megan Markle on it, Cosmopolitan Magazine with some ridiculous headline about some sexual position that will change your life, a man tapping his thumb on his cart... I tried a little too frantically to concentrate on something because I noticed I was being pulled from one thing to the next and quickly getting overwhelmed.

**The distinction for me with my panic attacks is that they are not brought on by a specific fear, or thought. While that may have been true in the past (I once was deathly afraid of thunderstorms for a period of about a year), at this point, I seem to only experience the physical side of anxiety. My inability to focus is almost like having the opposite of thoughts...there were no thoughts, but an over-abundance of feelings.

The Attack
That was when the switch flipped. All at once I felt a strong sense of disorientation come over me. It is akin to suddenly feeling the ground shift underneath of me. I had been cold in the store, so earlier I put on a light sweater, but at this moment, it was as though someone threw a ball of fire into the center of my chest and it suddenly exploded, sending a fiery sensation up through every limb and out of my head. A burst of heat overtook me swiftly, as I struggled to get out of my sweater. My heart was racing wildly. My palms were suddenly clammy, sound began to take on a "wonky" quality, and the inability to focus turned to sheer panic. In this flight/fight/freeze scenario, I was frozen on the spot.

On the outside, I probably only looked as thought I got a little warm and needed to remove my sweater, but on the inside, I silently wondered if I was going to faint and hit the floor or dissolve into thin air. I took a breath, and I told myself to bend my knees, which I did. The lights were overwhelming, and I wanted badly to run from the store because standing still--staying patient--seemed an insurmountable task. Simultaneously, I needed to sit down and/or run a marathon, neither of which were possible in the moment because I could barely move. I realized I might cry. I tried to orient myself, even though my vision was somewhat obscured by my mental experience. I repeated to myself in my head "stay. stay. stay." (This is a technique I got from meditation.)

My hands were shaking as I saw a tiny sliver of the conveyor belt had opened, and I began to put my items on the belt, still unsure if I was going to be able to talk to the woman behind the register. I felt desperately alone in a sea of people. There was all of this brisk life happening around me, and I was struggling to catch up to it... in the grips of anxiety to this degree, it's as though sound and light, even faces, were distorted and the ability to process and recognize what's happening was delayed.

I focused on putting each item on the conveyor belt, my hands shakily grasping them, I worried I would drop them. By the time I was able to connect my eyes to the familiar woman at the register, the worst was, in fact, passed. I was still not myself, and I was fighting back tears. I said very little as the transaction concluded.

The Comedown
By the time I was able to pay for my groceries and began walking out the store, a huge relief was settling over me. I knew that by the time I reached the car I was "safe" and could go on with my day, so to speak. I was still shaking, and not quite myself, but I was in a phase of recovering. I can't really remember putting my groceries in the car, but I did.

Once I was back in the driver's seat, I slid on my sunglasses and let the tears roll. I want to note that crying during or after a panic attack may be common for many people. For me, though, this was pretty new (and not unwelcome as it felt like a concrete release). I put my hand on my heart, told myself I had done well, and I told myself "I love you." And I made a decision right there to allow myself however much time I needed to cry it out.

After this ordeal, I was quite tired both mentally and physically. It was an overwhelming moment that lasted about 10 minutes or infinity, depending on your perspective. I fell asleep quite early that night, and needed extra rest to accommodate what had happened that day. I was grateful that the people around me were as gentle with me as I was with myself in those moments.

How you can help
In this case I was by myself when my panic attack occurred. Sometimes this is a blessing, and sometimes this is a curse. If you are in the presence of someone who is experiencing a panic attack, they are likely feeling very overwhelmed. The first best thing you can do is to say as few words to them as possible. Start with something along the lines of, "I am here with you, and you're safe. I'm not going to say much until you are ready. Let me know."

Offering a loving presence without expectation, at least for me, takes the pressure off. I don't want to explain how I feel because sometimes I can't. But it's nice to know that someone is with me. Another thing you can do is breathe deeply (and sort of exaggerate your breathing sound) so that the person having the panic has something to latch on to. You could even say, "I'm going to take some deep breaths, if you want to do it with me."

Lastly, wait for their cues. They may want to walk, they may want to sit still. They may request something from you, if only you give them the time. If this is someone you are close to, like a family member, I would highly suggest asking them in advance of a panic attack what the best reaction for them is...a sort of panic action plan, if you will. You can make agreements like, "I will not touch you unless you touch my hand, then I will know it's okay for me to hug you." or "We will immediately find a quiet place alone and ask others who may want to help to give us ten minutes."

I hope that those who found this helpful will share it with their loved ones, and open conversations (both online and in real life) about how they can support their loved ones with anxiety, or how they can be supported. If you have a technique that has worked well for you, please share!!!

Yes, I Yelled At Your Kid(s).

2018-08-27T12:00:00.001-04:00

There are two types of parents in this world: those who believe that no one should ever discipline their children except for them (not me), and those who believe that if their kid is being a butthead, other parents have the right to step in tell them so (me.) I was reminded of this the other day when I yelled at a child who was not mine. Let me back up a little...

It was the most exquisite beach day and we headed down to our favorite beach spot for a couple of hours of playing in the sand. When we first arrived, I spotted this little boy, a couple of years older than my daughter, and I knew he was going to be trouble from the moment I laid eyes on him because the second I saw him, he was holding his boogie board above his head, ready to clobber mine over hers.

Since he relented, I said nothing. I also said nothing when just moments later, I saw him splashing and splashing my daughter and repeating the phrase "You will die!" in an effort to eradicate her from the area by the rocks where he was also playing. She got the message, and eventually left. In situations like that, I try not to intervene if I can help it because, you know, kids have to learn how to handle things for themselves.

But my nerves became frazzled past the point of reason when, just several minutes later, I observed the same kid, this time in tandem with his older brother, trying to muscle my daughter off of her Beater Board in the ocean. I marched over there, and yelled a little louder than intended "HEY! I saw you splashing her, and now you two are trying to push her off her board! That's hers! Beat it!" And the boys, sort of shocked, I assumed, by this tiny woman in her floral bathing suit and not-even-matching-a-bit striped sun hat, aborted their mission and backed off. The older boy carried on in the water. The younger boy, went and told his mom.

Back up on the beach, I overheard the boy telling his mom, "a lady yelled at me." I raised my index finger in the air and copped to what I had done, explaining what had happened. She made him sit in the beach chair, and I heard threats of his iPad being taken away. I figured it was over...until...I heard another member of her party in the ocean, yelling at my husband. She even threatened to get her very large husband to "take care of this situation." Oy vey. Thankfully, the husband's solution to "taking care of the situation" was to placate his wife, and he calmed her down. After all, it was not even her child I had reprimanded.

In those moments, though, I felt bad for the larger issue this stirred up. I could feel the adrenaline in my system, and I took some deep breaths to calm myself. I knew I had stepped in a parenting landmine...Probably I shouldn't have been so harsh with those boys. This isn't New York City, it's a sleepy beach town, and I should have used my sleepy beach town voice when telling the boys that they couldn't pick on someone half their size. Later I apologized to the other mom, (when her agro friend left the beach) and she was pretty cool about it, even admitting, "it was probably well-deserved."

Now, I'm fully aware that some people will say that I was just flat out wrong, and I get that. Others will argue that I was justified as the day is long. As I noted in the beginning, there are two camps here, and they are pretty clear. But rather than pitching my tent on either of those sides, after giving this serious thought, I would like make my camp right on the line, and maybe you will join me because I can't stop thinking about the moral dilemma of it all.

You see, I trust other parents in the broad sense of the word. If my child had gotten yelled at by another parent on the beach, I would have marched her over, had her make an apology and thanked the parent for stepping in, and gotten the rest of the story later. Because why else would a parent step in like that? Sometimes kids are straight up jerks, and as adults we have to rely on one another. We are the world, as they say.

The other thing is that this other mom, or rather, the people she was with, undermined adult authority in a sweeping way, and the kids were watching. Whether they meant to or not, they sent those children the message that if an adult you don't know tells you to knock it off because you're being a jerk, then you can get your posse and they'll bully those people. Or, they basically said, "You don't have to listen to the village." I feel that this attitude contributes to an imbalance in our society where kids think they are running the joint, and it worries me.

When we talk about how unruly today's children are, or how they don't respect authority, we have to take some responsibility for that. As adults, we should have faith that others are, overwhelmingly, doing the right thing. I do think I (mostly) did the right thing because both of those boys--who had been running roughshod over the beachgoers--finally calmed down enough to play nicely with everyone else on the beach. And the day was really awesome! I think the other mom also did the right thing in asking me what happened because, of course she should. But everything that happened after that was complete and utter bullshit, and I have to speak truth to that.

Yes, I yelled at her kids. Next time, I would be nicer about it. I would use my "teacher voice" and not my "mama bear" voice. Lesson learned all the way. However, if you fall into the category of "no one should ever tell it to my kids except for me" you may want to consider about the greater consequences of undermining the overall concept of adult authority. Sometimes adults will be wrong, but we have to also weigh the messages we unconsciously send children when we don't let strangers (in public places) tell our kids when they have stepped over a line, even if they do it differently than we might have as parents.

My Favorite Chewlery

2018-06-18T11:55:00.001-04:00

For the last several months, we've been using Occupational Therapy techniques with my daughter. It's been a great tool for our family and has made our daughter, The Bird, feel tons more comfortable in her skin as well as helping her to overcome anxiety, especially at school.

While she has the most issues in the proprioceptive realm, this manifests in a few ways. The neat thing about proprioception is that it crosses into other territories, one of those being oral. For us, this meant that my daughter wanted to lick her hands a lot, or mouth and bite a lot of toys. While this may not seem like a big deal, when it comes to cold and flu season, or toys in shared spaces, it was really becoming quite a nuisance!

Luckily, this was really easy to us to remedy because we came across jewelry that was meant for chewing called Chewlery. After looking at several different brands, I settled on the Munchables brand and ordered a necklace. The day it came in the mail, my husband and I walked down to the mailbox with The Bird, telling her there was a surprise in the box. The minute we opened it and showed it to her, she took one look and popped it into her mouth! Viola!

We knew it was a good fit for her. And it was really cute, too. It just looked like a cool necklace that a gal her age would wear! Most people in our extended family didn't even know that its purpose was for chewing on. It's really made a huge difference for The Bird. She enjoys chewing on it and it's directed her away from chewing toys and the hand licking completely resolved. I was unsure, at first, if she would even wear because classically, she's never liked having things around her neck, but the ability to chew outweighed that!

I was so excited about the product, I reached out to the company, and talked with Laura May, the owner. She's a mom of two, and she runs her company from home in Canada. (Shout to her because working from home with little kids takes moxxy!) She says, "Munchables kids’ products are perfect not only as fashion accessories, but also for children that chew. Our sensory chewelry provides a safe alternative to chewing on collars, cuffs, fingers. Redirecting chewing to a safer option can increase focus and confidence."

I can definitely say that I have noticed these benefits for my own child. Also, a word on the necklaces themselves. The owl, which was our first necklace, is for lighter to moderate chewers only because of the beads on the sides. I learned after receiving the second one (the unicorn) from Laura, that The Bird is a heavy chewer, and so that one was a more accurate fit for her. However, my child loves to wear both necklaces at the same time, so when she chewed through the smaller beads on the owl necklace, I just removed them and it continues to be a favorite!

These necklaces are durable, fashion friendly, and safe. I love that they unsnap (so that a child won't be in danger should the necklace become twisted) and they are pretty lightweight, too! If you have a child that munches on their hands, or has sensory issues, these are an awesome solution. I got my first one on Amazon, but you can also order directly from their website BY CLICKING HERE.

How Occupational Therapy Changed Our Family

2018-05-14T12:23:00.003-04:00

As you may know, my husband and I are raising a Spirited Child. That has been its own journey, and it's full of laughter, joy, hardship, and patience. Today, I want to talk about something that can frequently go hand-in-hand with Spirit, and is lesser known, but could ultimately be the missing piece of a puzzle for you and your child. That's Sensory Processing Disorder and Occupational Therapy.

Some of you may have heard about Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD) as being associated with autism and the spectrum. In fact, this was how I associated it at first. I remember being on a Spirited Child group on Facebook and seeing all the parenting talking about SPD and literally thinking "Thank god I don't have to deal with that!" Hahaha laughed the parenting gods.

The thing is, I didn't know much about it, how it could present, and mostly importantly, how identifying SPD and engaging in Occupational Therapy (OT) could make such a stunning difference for my child and our family. Because of my experience, I feel a strong responsibility to speak about OT to all parents, educators, and practitioners because it can be a total game-changer. My daughter is currently four years old, so we are lucky to be in this position from a young age where we can help her come up with confidence! But remember, it's NEVER too late to start your sensory journey!

My lightbulb moment....

A friend of mine commented in on a Facebook status about something totally unrelated and said her child had Oral Sensory Processing issues. I immediately messaged her and asked if she was raising a Spirited Child. Our conversation, and her generosity of spirit and openness with me, opened a panacea of information for me. A lightbulb went off in my head as I realized, "Oh my gosh--her kid is what I would classify as bright, fun, and like most other children." That was when it first dawned on me that maybe my child could have SPD as well. Not all children will have other developmental issues and have SPD. There is a broad spectrum when it comes to SPD and children can effected in different ways. The field is vast, people!

So, what is it?

According to the Star Institute, it is defined as "SPD is a neurophysiologic condition in which sensory input either from the environment or from one’s body is poorly detected, modulated, or interpreted and/or to which atypical responses are observed. Pioneering occupational therapist and psychologist A. Jean Ayres, Ph.D., likened SPD to a neurological “traffic jam” that prevents certain parts of the brain from receiving the information needed to interpret sensory information correctly."

We have seven (not five!) senses where we get input in our bodies. The two that aren't always talked widely about are proprioception and vestibular senses. These are body awareness and movement. The other five that we are often more familiar with are tactile (touch), visual, audio, oral (gustatory), and olfactory (smell.) When a child has SPD, one or several of these can have trouble integrating.

Children can avoid certain things, like the feeling of getting their shirt wet or the texture of a certain kind of food, or they can seek out more sensory experiences to satisfy an unmet need, like rough housing to feel deeper pressure. For our child, who has proprioceptive, vestibular, and oral issues, she wasn't able to articulate, "Gee, I have no idea where my body is in space and I need pressure on chest and limbs!" And it's no wonder--what adult could even articulate that?!

How symptoms present

For our daughter, The Bird, some symptoms were obvious and some were not. The biggest symptom that was causing issue was anxiety. Mornings before school were especially hard, despite implementing a positive reinforcement system, gentle parenting, and new communication style. Sometimes my daughter would cry the whole time at school! Turns out, there is a huge connection between anxiety and SPD, and ultimately this is what pushed us to get a sensory evaluation. Through working with our school's Child Mental Health Consultant, who wanted us to attend therapy, I realized that before we went that route, we should get a Sensory Evaluation.

There were other things that seemed like personality quirks, but turned out to be SPD symptoms. For example, she was always licking her hands, chewing her toys, and mouthing other items. She also loves spinning in circles, rough housing, was sometimes rough with other children, and would get wound up to the point of no return. The Bird loves a good mess, and was always seeking to make them.

Some less obvious symptoms that were a direct result of SPD were performance based. For instance, she wasn't able to participate in school activities without great difficulty. Circle time and sitting still were a challenge, or telling the teacher what a certain color was near impossible, despite the fact that she knew all her colors. Not to mention meltdowns, which were simply due to her inability to soothe herself and her sensory needs.

The Sensory Diet

After getting our Sensory Evaluation, we began what is called a "Sensory Diet." The Sensory Diet is basically a series of exercises and activities that are highly individualized to meet your child's specific needs. For us, it looks (something) like this:

Morning-

Brushing each limb 10 times (in a downward motion away from the body)

Joint compression

Wiggling legs and arms (with a song)

Tapotement on the back

Evening-

Brushing each limb

Deep Massage

Joint compression

As needed/ Throughout the day (before any special occasion)

Tapotement on the back

Wiggling arms

Sensory Tube

Bouncing on a ball

Bear hugs

Log Rolls

Squishing between pillows (we call this game "ice cream sandwich")

There are also some things we do all the time that help a great deal. For example, brushing teeth was always a huge ordeal for us. Since our OT recommended an electric toothbrush, I've not had a problem. Also, the hand licking was an issue during flu season, but since understanding her sensory needs we got her chew necklaces (more about this in an upcoming post!) And we now use tools like her sensory tube, a weighted blanket and weights for her to use on her lap at school and in the car. All these things help tremendously.

I also am pretty diligent to offer sensory experiences whenever I can. Play doh, kinetic sand, water (even if it's just an extra long bath), vinegar and baking soda experimentation, and good old fashioned mud puddles are ALWAYS on the menu for us. Once a day, we try to do some sort of sensory play together.

Ongoing Process of living with SPD

Right off the bat we experienced some pretty wonderful results. I am aware that it doesn't always work this way. If you have a child who is sensory avoiding, it can be a totally different process. For us, because she is sensory seeking, it was easier to know what she was craving and how to satisfy that.

Through adding many of the tools and exercises, my daughter was able to go to school and felt comfortable. This happened almost immediately. The teachers and staff could hardly believe how much the OT and our sensory diet gave her relief and allowed her to participate in the classroom with such ease. She immediately felt more comfortable being away from me, even asking to do overnights with her grandparents!

However, I do want to concede that the process is ongoing. For example, we are now in the process of changing classrooms at school because she has moved up an age group. This has been disturbing for her on a few levels and has changed her sensory needs. We have to give her extra time because she's also spirited, and routine is BIG for her. So we see some regression because of this. And that's OKAY. We just go back and re-tool the formula a little bit.

Find Support Wherever You Can!

I am always looking for new and creative ways to get her sensory needs met. One of my favorite websites is Yourkidstable.com There is so much great information on there! Another thing that I have found that has made this process easier is support. Everyone in my family and many of our friends are all on board. They ask us questions about sensory needs, watch and even participate with exercises! Both sets of grandparents regularly do exercises with my daughter, and my husband's mother (who sews) helps us making sensory tools (like a resistance band and a sensory tube) for my daughter to enjoy. Support is key!

Also, we have found terrific support from my daughter's school which is also a full time daycare. They have installed a sensory cubby for her with several soothing items. They noticed she liked the tight space of sitting in the cubby, so they allow her to go there whenever she is having a hard time, or even a meltdown. They are helping her to learn to soothe and trust herself when I'm not there, and that gives me a great deal of piece of mind!

Chinese Hot Pots {My Way}

2018-04-04T12:34:00.003-04:00

Who doesn't love a good Asian-style noodle soup? Since I first tired pho, I've been obsessed. I have rarely met an Asian soup I don't love. I make my own pho at home as well as my own ramen noodle inspired bowls. But a few weeks back I came across something on Pinterest called "Chinese Hot Pots." I had to give it a try.

When I tried to the recipe, I wasn't too impressed, the broth was too vinegary and the vegetables too underdone. So I did what any bossy pants mama would do: I made it my own! The basic concept with the hot pots is that you make a delicious broth you ladle over the raw veggies and they cook in the hot broth for a few moments. This is a great concept, but there are also some veggies I prefer boiled just a little. Maybe this makes me a hot pot blasphemer, and I'm comfortable with that.

In my version of the hot pots, I cook the baby bok choy and the mushrooms a bit in the broth, and then I add that to some raw veggies laid out in the bowl. It's the best of both worlds! I feel like this dish would be the outcome if pho and ramen had a baby. Doesn't that sound amazing?! After posting some shots to my Instagram account (by the way, you can follow me on Insta @bossy.italian.wife), I had a few requests to share the recipe. As they say, "sharing is caring!"

ALSO, it is of note that this dish can be tailored to anyone's dietary needs. It's naturally dairy free, but could also be converted to be vegetarian/vegan. And the vegetables? Merely suggestions! You can add or subtract any of the vegetables you like best. Get creative! That's what cooking is all about--an expression of creativity.

What you will ultimately end up with here is truly a beautiful bowl of soup, perfect for Spring when it's sometimes still cold and you want a warming bowl of soup, but with all the loveliness of fresh, colorful vegetables. It's basically Spring in a bowl. Mmmmmm.

Chinese Hot Pots {My Way}

Time: 45 minutes or so | Serves 4 | Difficulty: Easy-Moderate

You Will Need:

5 boneless skinless chicken thighs
3 heads baby bok choy
1 8-ounce package Mushrooms, sliced
Bean sprouts
1/2 Red pepper, sliced thin
1 bunch scallions, sliced
Chinese noodles (your choice) I used thin, wheat noodles that reminded me of ramen noodles.

Broth:
Enough water to cover chicken in pot + more for later
Heaping tablespoon Better Than Bullion chicken base
Heaping teaspoon Better Than Bullion pork base
2 whole star anise
5 cloves garlic, minced
Palmful ground ginger
Heavy glug of soy sauce
Tablespoon (more if you like) of sesame oil

Finishing:
Chili garlic sauce
Hoisin sauce

Method:

Put chicken in a soup pot and cover with water. Bring to a boil and poach about 20 minutes or until chicken is fully cooked. Remove chicken from water, let cool, and slice. Add more water to pot (I have a standard soup pot and I usually fill it halfway.)

Add star anise, garlic, ginger, soy, chicken and pork bullion, and sesame oil. Bring to a boil and allow to cook about 15-20 minutes. Taste and adjust seasonings, if necessary. You may want a little more chicken or pork flavor, or more soy sauce, depending on your personal tastes.

Meanwhile, cook noodles and drain. Set up bowls with cooked noodles, chicken, sprouts, green onion, and bell peppers.

When broth is done, remove star anise pods. Add sliced mushrooms and bok choy to broth and allow that to boil about 5 minutes. Ladle hot broth into bowls and serve with hoisin and hot sauce!

Why I Ditched Over Half My Wardrobe

2018-03-28T12:29:00.002-04:00

You might have noticed less of a presence from me both on my blog and on social media. Rest assured that just because you aren't seeing me doesn't mean I'm not up to something. I am. I've been up to something for several months now...a sort of inner journey. I'm not quite ready to talk about all that, but what I do want to talk about is how this inner journey has effected my outer appearance, namely, the way I dress.

The Lead Up:

If you follow what I'm currently reading, you'll see I'm reading, "The Power of Myth" by Joseph Campbell. All thoughts about Campbell "the man" aside, I feel this book is really valuable for where I am in my life. Something that resonated deeply with me in the book is when Campbell talks about deliberately changing your style of dress when you enter a new phase of life as a means of ritual. *BADA BOOM* It was a mic drop for me. Thank you, Joseph Campbell.

You see, black in September I cut bangs again. I love my bangs. They make me feel like myself, and I can't explain why. But they do. When I read that bit about clothing, it really made me think deeply about the way my clothes make me feel, and how I can become more of myself through clothing. Back when I was pregnant, I had a smaller wardrobe because, hello, maternity stuff ain't cheap! But you know what? I loved every piece I had, getting dressed was easy, and most importantly, I felt good in everything I was wearing! My maternity clothes were literally the highlight of my pregnancy. Truth.

Since giving birth, I have sort of waffled on style. My pre-pregnancy stuff didn't really fit...I wasn't sure it was my style anymore, anyway, etc. etc. To sum it up: being a mom changes your body, your mind and your life. I was in the style desert wandering aimlessly for the last 4 years. And what I needed was a radical fashion change to help me come into the person I am now. Yes, people, we are talking fashion as a means of transcendence.

The Problems:

Standing in my way, first and foremost, was that I have this weird thing about me and the clothing I wear that I will share with you guys: I hate being seen in the same thing twice. I have had this strange belief that if someone sees me in the same outfit twice they will be the impression that I am poor, fashion illiterate, or just a loser. Secondly, I had to ditch all the clothing that was weighing down my closet and my life. And finally, I was lacking a definition of my personal style. So I had to really hone in on my three fashion "key words."

The Process:

To deal with the fear of being seen in the same outfit, what worked best for me was developing a loose uniform. This was easier than you might think because what I long to wear most every day of my life is pretty simple: a white t-shirt and jeans. Once I identified that, it was my paradigm for my uniform. And the premise is pretty simple here in developing a uniform: people are going to see me in the same thing nearly all the time, SO THERE! AND, I'm going to love what I am wearing, feel good, and look good, so I won't care.

I would also like to take a beat here to say that after giving it a lot of thought, I realized that 1) people just aren't really paying that much attention to what you are wearing and 2) that my value isn't merely decorative. While I like to look good and feel confident in what I'm wearing, it shouldn't cause me stress and getting dressed was, in fact, causing me a load of mental stress.

The next step was decluttering my life of all these clothes. In my searches on Pinterest, I came across two words that really helped me: CAPSULE WARDROBE! It's basically having a set number of pieces in your closet that you dress from on a seasonal basis. The pieces are meant to be interchangeable, high quality, and ideally, each piece should be something that you would want to wear at least once a week. I love a good template, and this worked for me.

Armed with this knowledge, I went out, bought a bin at Dollar General, got a trash bag (or two) ready, and scrutinized every single piece of clothing in my wardrobe. I looked at each piece and thought about why it was in my closet, if it was practical to the life I live, and whether or not I actually wore it. The result: 60 pieces left hanging in my closet. I had either stored or gotten rid of more than half of wardrobe. *Cue sigh of relief.*

Finally, I looked at all the things in my closet, and after taking inventory of them, I put a set of nine words up on sticky notes and attached them to my closet door. These words were descriptive of what I thought my ideal wardrobe looks like. After sitting with the words, I chose three I thought best fit my personal style and they were: Casual, Chic, and Bohemian. I love a simple, casual style with bohemian touches.

Where I am now:

Now, I have a closet filled with things I absolutely love. There is room for everything I have and I am continuing to get rid of things that don't fit my lifestyle, don't get worn, or just don't look good on me. I plan on re-doing my capsule wardrobe every three months with the seasons, but still sticking to my basic uniform style as my go-to/signature look. I can dip into my "storage bin" each season, re-clean it, and take things out and in as I please. It's like shopping in my own attic!

While some fashion bloggers and experts are super strict about the number of items they keep in their capsule (like 37 items including shoes and accessories) I have been much more flexible with myself. I keep track of what I am wearing by putting a piece of washi tape on the hanger after it's been worn, so I can honestly assess if I'm making use of my clothing. When it is time to go shopping, I have a list of items I'm looking for, for example: red striped shirt, or black pants. I am not randomly finding things in stores that I am merely attracted to that can't be easily interchanged with one another.

Most importantly, I feel happier, and lighter, as a result of having less clothing and a more defined style. It takes me no time to get dressed, and I think I look better. I've been getting more compliments on my hair, too, because I am using my extra time to style my bangs or straighten my hair. It's also forced me to take a realistic assessment of my life as it is, in this moment. For instance, why did I have so many formal dresses in my closet when I probably attend 1-2 formal events (if even!) This, for me, has brought a deep sense of security to dressing for my day, and that is the best gift of all!!

Why I Deleted My Facebook App

2018-03-07T12:57:00.000-05:00

It was a Monday and I had been contemplating it for months. I told myself that moving my Facebook app to the back of my phone in a file labeled "Media isn't Social" would keep me from opening it so much. And it did...sort of. But the amount of self control it took sometimes wasn't even worth it. So I held down the icon, waited for it bounce, and I hit the "X." My heart rate immediately rose.

The thing is, Facebook can be so much fun. And informational. And enlightening, even, at times. But it can also be a grim filter through which to see the world. And depressing. And argumentative. Despite the fact that I had been limiting my use of Facebook, something was really beginning to nag at me. Well, several things actually. A mounting list of things I was doing (and that you probably do too) weren't sitting well with me.

The first thing was something most people complain about: it's an increasingly negative experience. Everyone has an opinion, and I get that because I can be amongst the strongest when it comes to "taking a stand." It's great that we have a platform to get our causes out there, and to share ideas and exchange information. It's also kind of exhausting because you begin to see the same sets of opinions from the same 25 people.

Think about it...when you post a political status (or any status), you probably know exactly who is going to like it, who will love it, who will hate it and tell you so, and who will argue with that person over the merits of the status. And how many minutes add up to hours spent on a virtual platform arguing over a political ideal that no one is really going to meet in the middle on? For me, the answer to this was "too many." Here's why: I value debate. There are some friends of mine that I can count on for robust disagreement without all the dramatics, and that's great. I prefer my debate in person where no one can catch a case of "keyboard courage" and go ape shit on me.

Mostly though, at this point in adulthood, I have no interest in arguing points with acquaintances, "that guy" from high school, (god forbid) a coworker that I don't know super well, or my best friend's mom (I love you Jan!) It never goes well, and minds aren't being changed, but sometimes real feelings get hurt.

A second issue for me is that I have noticed when we get on platforms and throw out political stances, we are tricked into the notion that we are "doing something," when in reality, we aren't. Donating money, calling your congressman or woman, writing a letter, attending a meeting or joining a committee, VOTING IN AN ELECTION--those are things you can DO. And there is a big difference. If something is truly important to me, I want to be moved enough to actually do something. Saying something about it simply isn't enough for me anymore.

And all these things, they would probably be reason enough to log off altogether, but they really weren't. The kicker for me was a realization that boils down to much more than petty annoyance (because keeping your mouth shut is always an option, amiright?) The real issue for me is this: I am a complex, wonderful human being, and I don't deserve to be whittled down a single Facebook status. I don't want to be viewed in pieces and through filters, and neither should you.

When we put these snippets out there on the Internet, we are doing each other a disservice. There are people I love in my life and the experience of them in real life is amazing. But if you only looked at them through something like Facebook, you might not want to even start a conversation. It's dividing us before we even enter the world, and I don't like that. Someone may not like my stance on a particular issue, but they might really like ME. These things can coexist. I'll bet you have friends that you absolutely love and you probably disagree on a few things, maybe even strongly, and I would be willing to bet that you would worry about it way less if you just got off of Facebook a little more.

When I step outside my door, the world is a humbling and beautiful place. THAT is the experience I want to begin having more and more. It's not that I'll never go on Facebook. There are aspects that I love about it...like Messenger and posting my blogs! But if it's your way of "keeping up" with people, maybe it's time you started shutting down the app, and picking up the phone and give your friends a call instead.

It's been a couple of weeks since I deleted the app, and I have to say, I don't know as much about what my friends did today, or what the political pulse is. I have only seen the pictures posted to Instagram (which I love), and I get my news by either going to a website, or watching TV. I haven't seen any cute kitten videos lately. But I sure have been reading more, and connecting with the people I love. My daughter hasn't asked me to put down my phone as much, and I've been looking up more recipes than statuses. My time isn't wasted nearly as much as it was before when I was using Facebook as entertainment.

I feel like more of a spiritual being and less of a virtual one. And for now, that's really working for me. So what are you waiting for? Delete your Facebook app, and see what happens!

Parenting With Spirit

2018-02-21T10:53:00.000-05:00

No matter what kind of child you have, parenting can be really tough at times. It's exhausting, begs of your best self, and challenges you at each pass. Once you get used to a stage, it changes. Not to mention dealing with the social stratum that is preschool/daycare and eventually the public school system. It's a wild, rewarding ride.

For me and my husband, though, parenting seemed to be encompassing a bit more than the above-mentioned, run-of-the-mill parenting trials. It started fairly early on when, as an infant, I noticed that could never put my daughter, The Bird, down. She always needed to be touching me to sleep, and her separation anxiety took on a life of its own. Later, as I looked to some of my more seasoned friends and family for parenting advice, I noticed that despite taking their advice, the techniques just didn't work.

Coming into last summer, I felt that I was doing something wrong. The people around me would tell me that I was a good parent, and I knew that I was truly striving to be one, but inside I didn't feel like a good parent. I felt I had fleeting successes, and a lot of frustration. Why, I would ask myself, is everyone else's kid doing what they ask and mine seems incapable? What am I doing wrong?

A series of events over the fall found me looking a little bit deeper. Behaviors that people said my daughter would "outgrow" simply weren't going away. I Googled...furiously. I was going to find an answer if it was the last thing I did and that was where I found two words that changed my life: Spirited Child. Faster than you could click a mouse, I ordered up "Raising Your Spirited Child" by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka, Ed.D., and thanks to my Amazon Prime membership, it was here in two days.

It arrived on a Saturday. By Monday, I felt a seismic shift in my parenting, and in my confidence as not only a parent, but a person. Finally, everything I had experienced up to that point: my parenting failures, my inability to integrate parenting advice from friends successfully, and the how's and why's of my daughter's behavior, all made so much sense. I am not exaggerating when I say that the contents of this book changed my relationship to my child, and my enjoyment level as a parent has gone up exponentially.

The book espouses gentle parenting, which is something I am innately drawn to. But in order to put something into practice, you have to have clear techniques and phraseology. This book lays it all out with clear techniques for your child's individual personality traits. For example, my child is a "spirited introvert." For my child, socializing can be quite exhausting, and she needs time to recharge. Changes in routine can be perplexing and disruptive, and so she needs to know when things change, and how it will be different.

The book also explains what makes a spirited child different from other children in terms of them just being "more." They are more sensitive, more persistent, more EVERYTHING, and as a parent to a spirited child, I am therefore required to give MORE. (If you are parenting a spirited young one, no, it's not your imagination, you are, in fact, working very hard.)

Spirit is why you can't let your child "cry it out" during a tantrum (it would never. ever. ever. end). It's why the ingrained style of discipline we parents have may not work (these kids respond to very specific techniques). It's why it's extra hard to leave them with anyone--grandmas, schools, babysitters. It's why your child is acting like a complete maniac in the crowd at an outdoor festival, despite her own excitement. It's why they don't sleep like other kids. It's also why your kid loves play doh, the water, and other sensory experiences. Or why they don't. It's why they can lock into something for hours. It's why they are hilarious, and creative. It's a part of who they are.

Now I am more familiar with terms like "slow to adapt," and I can anticipate hard moments and try my best to head them off at the pass. I am familiar with WHY I was failing before, and I'm experiencing a lot more success. I am also aware of how much calm it's going to take on my part, and that is a new kind of exhausting. I am parenting harder than ever before, and I have to be really on top of my game. But on the flip side of that, my family is having some of the best times we've had together. We are communicating, disciplining, and loving better.

In my mind, I had this vision of being a parent. I want my child to know me for who I am, and I want to bring that truest vision of myself to my child. Before I knew she was spirited (and an introvert), I was spinning my wheels, and I felt bad about my parenting because it was going against who I wanted to be...now, I find that I am being pushed to be a more thoughtful parent, and bring more of who I am at the deepest level to my parenting. It feels really good.

Parenting a child with spirit in these early years is a challenge. But I know that I have been given this challenge because I can not only handle it, but I can succeed at it. Spirited children are said to make wonderful teenagers because the qualities that make them a challenge to parent in early life are the same qualities that make the impervious to peer pressure, boast leadership, and create good problem solvers. So that is a major silver lining.

If you are parenting a child with spirit, then you've probably been suspecting that something was up. I cannot recommend this book enough. It is life-altering for parents and children alike. This book really validated some of the things I knew in my heart, but couldn't really wrap my head around, like why my daughter doesn't want to kiss or hug people hello. Now, I don't feel bad for a single second telling people (kindly) to give her a little space. I don't feel like I need to keep comparing why my parenting isn't getting me anywhere because now I have techniques that really ARE working for me. They don't look like what my friends do, but for the most part, they get us at the same place.

Are you parenting a spirited child? Feel free to discuss in the comment section below!!