Cravings

Following the best advice of a good health coach ( moi ), I spent the week boosting my water intake and tracking my cravings.  The cravings inventory hasn't been much of a surprise.  I could have told you without the aid of pencil scratchings in a spiral bound memo book I get an energy lag around 2:30 or 3:00 in the afternoon that sets the cap of my desire on a warm steamy cup of something caffeinated and frothy, preferably with a moist and sugary baked good for accompaniment.  I'm not alone in this type of craving: it's something the Starbucks corporation has made a name and tidy fortune for itself in recognizing and serving.  Couldn't their stock be reasonably classified as an Energy Industry equity?

Something about writing it down validates it, though.  Yes, I want a big jolt of sugar right now because I'm tired and sad and it'll make me feel better.  When you're aware, so the story goes, you can make better decisions.  Well, I'm here to tell you, you can still make worse decisions too.  The difference is, the inventory makes you attentive to those decisions.  You own them consciously.  This weekend, with the luxury of not being trapped in my cubicle, I actually let myself fall asleep when my energy lagged mid-afternoon.  Guess what?  When I awakened, the craving was gone.  Another time (or, let's be honest, three) I let myself have the sugar.  And guess what else?  I felt better.  There, I said it, health coach and all.  Yes, I felt instantly better after scarfing some cookies or milk chocolate.

Then I felt worse.  A lot worse.  Partly because the sugar did what you hear it does -- crashed and left me more drained and more hungry.  But mostly I felt exhausted because I let myself down.  The whole point of this exercise is to make informed and improved decisions; to do and feel better based on those decisions.

Doing better isn't just about making better food choices, though.  Doing better is also about not being so hard on yourself, not demanding perfection.  It's about being able to forgive yourself and letting you like yourself maybe just a little bit more -- at least enough to treat yourself like you'd treat a friend whose company you enjoy.  Would you stuff saturated fat and white sugar down her throat if she'd asked you to help her reduce them?  Of course you wouldn't!  Treat yourself, at a minimum, with the same regard you'd have for someone who's not even a blood relative.

Down half a pound.

Shame

159.  One hundred fifty nine pounds.

That's what the scale said to me this morning when I stepped on it wearing nothing more than my cotton Jockeys.  At 5 feet 2 inches tall, that's a number I only wanted or expected to see sometime during the third trimester of pregnancy.

No, I have no joyous news to announce.

How did this happen?  And how can I be openly admitting this to the blogosphere when I am supposed to be a Certified Holistic Health Coach?  Hardly the model for healthy living, am I?  It's not juicing or macrobiotics or a raw food diet or kale chips that jacks a BMI up to 29.1.  (In case you haven't been paying attention at your doctor or the gym, that's borderline obese).  It's not power yoga or pilates or personal training that whips one into globular shape.

I'll tell you how it happened, because as a CHHC, I know the exact reason  It's called emotional eating, my friends.  It's what one does to self-medicate away the abuses of a soul-sucking corporate job.  It's what one does to console oneself for spending too many hours away from the people who matter, the people one loves.  It's what one does instead of exercise to fill that fitful wedge of time between commuting and collapsing onto the Tempur-Pedic.  It's what one does to avoid contemplating the squandering of precious hours, days, months, and even decades of one's life.

I know exactly how it happened and I know exactly how to fix it but it's almost too humiliating at this point.  How could someone who's supposed to know better let herself get into this state?  The shame of knowing better and doing it anyway is enormous.  And not only the shame of the excess weight, but also, the shame of having, in desperation, signed up for Weight Watchers again because it worked in the past so it'll work again (blah blah definition of insanity blah).

Mostly, though, it's the shame of having produced this perfect excuse to escape the fear of putting oneself out there, in all one's imperfection, as a coach.  Coach: that sacred leader of teams.  The role model.  The inspiration.  The everyday hero(ine).  The one who's been there, done that, and knows what you're up against.

Well, hey.

I'm here.  I'm doing it.  And I know what you're up against.

Head of the Walkin' the Talk trail

What Makes Mama Mad?

There is no dearth of parenting opinions out there. Just stand around your local school yard and gossip with a clutch of moms. Or surf the Internet parenting sites. It may be possible to name a group of people more maligned than parents but I'll be darned if I can think of any right now. Perhaps the worst part of all of this is the most harpy-like voices amongst a cacophony of criticism are those of parents themselves. For doing a job that requires heroic daily feats of tongue biting and battle choosing, they sure are a shockingly judgmental and contentious bunch.

To wit: try googling "Picky Eaters." You will be treated to a feast of opinions on whether or not choosy children are born or made. I, of course, know the definitive answer to this. But you don't have to take my word for it. There are people with infinitely more impressive qualifications than my own field experience who have studied this very subject in great depth following rigorous clinical procedures. It pleases me to tell you that those with bona fide Ivy League letters trailing their surnames have arrived at exactly the same conclusion as I. Here is one of them.

What makes me mad are the sanctimonious bunch who declare they know all about how to keep a kid from becoming a picky eater; who through their superior parenting skills have unilaterally molded their children into accepting any food put in front of them. To this I reply a word that begins with B and ends with ollocks. What these folks have managed to do is have the great good fortune to be delivered of a compliant, easy going, young human. They have no more engineered their child's non-pickiness than others have chosen not to raise their children to be autistic.

Part of my journey this year while I'm studying at the Institute for Integrative Nutrition is to not only amend my own food habits, but to also improve the health of my family. If I hope to help others implement changes in their diets I had better learn exactly how to go about it myself. One of my particular challenges is getting my strong willed 6 year old to leap aboard the nutrition train. Since she is a phenomenally picky eater, I have my work cut out for me. Let me define picky for those who suffer from some mistaken notion that we are talking about kids who prefer chicken nuggets, mashed potatoes, pizza, and grilled cheese to chicken stir fry, brown rice, pasta marinara, and panini. I wish. No, I'm speaking of a child who eats a sum total of thirteen foods. Count 'em. 13.
1. Yogurt.
2. Pancakes.
3. Chocolate milk.
4. Red grapes (under duress).
5. Bananas (under even more duress).
6. Macaroni and cheese but only if it's orange.
7. Scrambled eggs.
8. Toast with margarine.
9. Oatmeal.
10. Corn (under extreme threats of prolonged physical torture [kidding] {kinda}).
11. Hot dogs
12. Crackers.
13. Sugar. Under this single food category I lump baked goods, candies, ice cream, and Dunkin's Boston Cream doughnut.

I dragged this child to more than a year of occupational therapy including weekly trips to the feeding group which temporarily added string cheese, canned pineapple, and deli meat to her diet. All were lost again to the annals of history along with the carrots, sweet potatoes, rhubarb, spinach, peas, rice, broccoli, beef, and salmon of her toddler years. If I can shift her diet this year, I will be able to say I have accomplished something huge and true. Notice I say shift, not change. I am an optimist, not a saint. Nor a fool.

Tonight's dinner, for instance, included a shift. Hot dog, corn, chocolate milk (where's the shift, you're thinking), and a slice of bread spread with margarine. There it is. Did you spot it? If you, like me, are endowed with a picky eater you'll have picked it up right away. Yes, you in the back there? Right! The bread was not toasted. Good, very good. You're paying attention. Untoasted bread has a radically different texture than toasted. This is the level of picky with which I am dealing.

Let me elaborate: the margarine is Earth Balance's organic non-GMO expeller pressed oil spread. Don't want anyone calling the Department of Social Services on me for feeding trans-fats to my kid.

And lest you think it was as easy as simply not putting the bread in the toaster this time, let me tell you that there has been a steady march of margerined, buttered, jammed, or peanut buttered slices from my kitchen counter to the lunch box back home again to the fridge to, eventually and finally, the trash can. Since she started kindergarten. More than a year ago. You can see why I laugh derisively (some may say maniacally) at the standard Pediatrician/Registered Dietitian directive that a child must be exposed to a new food up to fifteen times before they accept it. Oh yeah? Try fifteen months.

Which is furthermore why I have nothing but ire for that sanctimonious lot who declare in that oh-so-self-satisfied tone that they single-handedly wrested their children from the fate of being picky eaters. Or that any child who is one, is solely and exclusively the fault of (say it with a sneer!) the parents. I see your Superior Parenting Techniques and raise you one former rhubarb-consuming 6 year old (see enclosed photographic evidence). Go ahead. Tell me she's picky because I made her that way. That doesn't make me mad at all. Bring it.

Tools I Love, Installment the First

Tonight's dinner was graced by a lovely tzatziki made from garlic, grated cucumber, and Greek yogurt. I adore Greek yogurt -- so gorgeous and creamy! It's thrilling to have it so readily available there are actually multiple brands from which to choose, even at my local downscale DeMoula's Market Basket. The cost, however, is less thrill-inducing and more coronary-threatening. That's where my Tool I Love number 1 comes in. Witness the Donvier Wave yogurt strainer. It's a marvel of simple design with its square plastic container, w-shaped mesh sieve, and handy plastic lid. Truth be told, it's one of those devices that can wind up chewing up a corner of the back of one of your cupboards, causing you to curse as you attempt to stuff your latest whiz-bang gizmo into the already crowded storage space before your spouse arrives home to mutter at you, "What did you buy now?" I have no idea what I paid for this thing back in the day. I think it arrived in a box full of other gotta-have-it-nows from King Arthur Flour's lovely baker's catalog and I probably got free shipping which meant I spent in the neighborhood of seventy bucks (not all of it on the yogurt strainer -- I'm crazy about it but not that crazy).

Look at the gorgeous, cream cheese texture you get after straining low fat yogurt!

Here's the way it works. First you find a recipe which calls for Greek yogurt. Add it to your shopping list. Next, stand in front of the yogurt display at your local emporium gasping and wheezing at the difference between the price of 20 ounces of Major National Brand Greek style Yogurt and 32 ounces of Organic Regional Brand low fat plain Yogurt (hint: when a greater quantity of organic stuff is cheaper you know you're being price-gouged for the sake of au courant marketing caché so flip the fickle finger of fate at the trend and buy the yogurt from Vermont instead). Step 3 entails you remembering the night before you need the Greek yogurt to get your lovely Donvier Wave out of the deepest recess of your Cupboard of Shame, drop the wavy sieve into the box designed to hold it, spoon the entire carton of Vermont yogurt into the sieve, pop the cover on, and shove it in the fridge. Lastly, at the moment your recipe calls for stirring Greek yogurt into your fabulous concoction, spoon the gorgeous dense, creamy, ricotta-textured strained yogurt into your dish and feel smug about all the money you saved while enjoying a vastly superior dairy product.

Here's a recipe for the Tzatziki adapted from one printed in Dinnertime! A Special Edition of Disney FamilyFun magazine:

1 English cucumber, peeled, grated, drained, and squeezed to remove excess liquid
2 cups Donvier Wave-strained or Greek-style yogurt
1 clove garlic, minced
1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon lemon juice plus zest of lemon removed with soon to be published Tools I Love II, the Microplane Grater
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon pepper

Smoosh it all together and spoon it atop your favorite gyros or falafel sandwich. Also good shoveled straight from mixing bowl into mouth with home made cumin-and-kosher-salted pita chips. Stin iyia mas!!! (What, that's Greek to you? It means "to our health!")

Health Care Reformation

Plenty of medical practitioners testified earlier this year in front of Congress during the health care reform debate and stated it better than I will here, but let me paraphrase what they said that truly resonated with me. We do not have a health care system in the United States. Rather, we have a disease management system. We expect to be treated for and eventually die of heart disease, cancer, or complications due to diabetes. We expect our insurance companies or Medicare (in other words, our fellow citizens) to pay for the expensive medications, tests, and procedures commonly used to monitor and treat these often preventable diseases.

We can do better. I am absolutely certain of this. What we need is less a health care reform than a total Wellness Reformation.

My dream is to be on the leading edge of true reform in health care in this country. My vision of a reformed system is one in which we each take seriously our personal responsibility to care for our bodies. To the best of our abilities, we must invest effort, time, and cash in our own wellness. We can do so much damage control and risk mitigation at home by preparing and eating good clean foods, moving our muscles, and living consciously, authentically, and joyously. Doing so will minimize the cost to ourselves and our communities of providing after-the-diagnosis medical treatments. It's simple, really. Like voting, serving as jurors, paying taxes, and shoveling snow from the sidewalks in front of our houses (I'm talkin' to you, Massachusetts!), I firmly believe we all have a civic responsibility to do so. Then our health care system will be freed up to treat the things that really need attention: congenital illness, accidental injury, infectious disease.

That's right. I'm saying it's our duty to family, nation, and deity to eat our vegetables and abstain from excessive sugar.

Are you shocked? If so, why? Is this really such a radical notion? It's not a new one. You've heard it before. Your mom told you to finish your vegetables or there would be no dessert for you. Your grandma told you fish was brain food. Your great-great-grandfather fled poverty and persecution to bust prairie sod, feed his family, and build a new nation. Your pastor read you religious texts about your body being a temple. These are not wild, crazy, extremist ideas. There's no fascism, socialism or any other kind of -ism at play here. It's just you, your body, and your way down deep honest to goodness knowledge that sitting on your duff in front of the tube with a large pizza and a liter of cola every night is not really in the best interests of your long term health. You also know it's not really in the best interests of economic stability and cost of living in this great nation.

Come join me on the leading edge. If you'd like some help, give me a call. I promise to support you. I consider it my duty.

And now for some photographic inspiration. This is the filling for a beautiful lasagne I made earlier this week. Look at that gorgeous rainbow of goodness! Carrots, red peppers, onions, mushrooms (yes loved ones, I ate mushrooms!) zucchini, broccoli. If it weren't for a Meatless Monday meal, I might have spiced it up a bit with some slivers of turkey pepperoni or some chicken hot Italian sausage but really, once you get these pretties all layered up between silky noodles and gooey ricotta and luscious herby marinara sauce, who misses the meat? Not even Guy, who can still be surprised at the end of a meal by the announcement, "and there was no meat in it!"

Live authentically and well,
Mad Mama

A Morning of Ments

Both excitement and disappointment.

Finally! A couple hours free in my insane schedule to get back to this blog and where is the photo of my Big Red Box from IIN?

So, here, have a picture of my garden produce from July of this year. Isn't it pretty?

I wanted to describe to you all the wonderful things that arrived the Friday morning I was writing to you and got interrupted by the FedEx Home Delivery guy. The box was prettier than anything Santa has ever dropped down my chimney. When I flipped open the top I found a Student Handbook, a red velvet plush heart, a red water bottle with the school's logo printed on it, and a very titillating little white plastic box approximately 4 inches by 2 inches. Sure enough, it contained my IIN-red iPod, fully loaded with coursework. WHEE!!! Let me tell you, it was so exciting, I think the little red velvet plush heart was thumping right along with mine. I was in heaven! Beside myself! Thrilled! Couldn't wait to get started! I shoved the box out of the way but it felt heavier than an empty box should. Whaaaaaat's this? It turns out the box held TWO delicious, lovely layers of wonderful stuff! It was like getting that wooden box of candies from Burdick's and realizing there's another layer of treats below the one you've just mowed through.

Layer two held the text Integrative Nutrition written by the school's founder Joshua Rosenthal. It also held a Fast Track business coaching workbook, a hardcover volume of case histories, two DVDs about healthy shopping and cooking, and a journal. As you can imagine, my head popped off from excitement and rolled around the room for a while. (It's OK, it's back where it belongs now. Not sure I reattached it quite right, though. I know what you're thinking: can't be any worse than it was before.)

This morning FedEx Home Delivery Guy dropped off another box from IIN; this time with a whole booty of gifts just for me! Books, magnets, pencils, journals, bags. I grabbed a photo of those too and uploaded them from the camera to MY computer this time. HA! Who knew the memory card transformed into a little USB jump drive? Goodies! Toys! Bookies! I am so happy!!!

Actually, I must say, this feels very much like it's the right thing for me to be doing. I spend every extra minute of my day reading and studying IIN course materials and messages from fellow students. There's a beautiful online forum where we meet each other, have discussions, post assignments, set up study groups, whack each other upside the head with new and novel ideas about nutrition. On top of all the coursework and home life tasks, I've grabbed responsibility for setting up Facebook groups for two special interests: one is a study circle for Boston metro area students and the other is for people interested in sharing tips for living with or treating irritable bowel syndrome and inflammatory bowel disease. It's bound to help me with future business tasks if I learn how to do things like this now. Facebook is so powerful! Amazement!

Tonight I'm attending a teleseminar about "Having a Healthy, Happy Family" hosted by health coach and former IIN student, Michelle Pfennighaus. I'm looking forward to learning tips that not only help improve my own family's health but help give me ideas about how to run sessions like this for people I hope to help in the future. More menting happening here (that would be mentoring excitement)!

One last note. Juliet's going commando at school today or rather, her lunchbox is. No, not that commando. I'm speaking of refined carbohydrate-free, totally unprocessed snack and lunch. There's a turkey sandwich made from whole wheat bread and turkey breast I roasted myself, grapes, vanilla yogurt, and vanilla milk (we can talk about all that sugar and my belief in gradually transitioning children's food habits another time). Snack is a BPA-free bottle of Brita filtered water and sliced apples with cinnamon-sugar "dip". Let's hope this adds another ment, astonishment that she's eaten it, to my day.

Guy just phoned. Look what he found! Big Red Box photos! Fulfillment!

Layer 1

Layer 2

Why Mad Mama?

Not that you asked.

I'm punning on the word Mad*. Mad as in crazy and mad as in, y'know:

"I told you to pick up your toys before dinner!"
"You're 6 so you MUST eat 6 bites of peas!"
"Turn off that TV!"
"Put the DS down and get dressed, NOW!"

The kind of mad (grrrrr!) that makes you mad (whoop! whoop! whoop!).

A lot of families I know have mealtime struggles. Either there are picky eaters to contend with or they'll all eat absolutely anything plunked in front of them if only the Chief Cook could figure out how to get something healthy to the table in the 14.37 minutes between soccer practice and homework. My target market for this venture is people who want to eat healthier but still want to live their lives.

I wish I could say I lead by example but I have as much to learn about how to pull this off as those who keep asking me what to do. Until now, I've been too chicken to tell them, "Beats the boogers outta me." Folks keep asking though, which tells me I exude the How-To-Feed-A-Family-Good-Food pheromone. Might as well follow where nature leads.

OMG! FedEx just arrived with a big box from IIN. Gotta go! Wheeeeeeee! See ya!

* Full disclosure: the idea did come to me on a Monday morning following a previous night's viewing of Mad Men. Coincidence or plagiarism? You decide.