MoxiArchive - MARCH 2010

Still Eating Soup - 1 March 2010
Reviving Ophelia - 5 March 2010
Forgiveness - 14 March 2010
Middle Aged Snowboarder - 16 March 2010
Do What You Love - 19 March 2010
Remedy For a Grouch - 22 March 2010
The Bearded Lady - 24 March 2010
Man Hands - 26 March 2010
Nail Update - 27 March 2010

27 March 2010

Nail Update

One down, nine to go. I did not even make it through 24 hours with my new set of fake fingernails. One popped off this morning on our way to a soccer game, only it was glued to my cuticle, so I left it dangling for a while. It flew off as I was exiting my car, landing who knows where. I was just glad it didn’t hurt! After ripping my fingerprint off last night I was afraid of the pain of ripping a cuticle off. I’m not really into the glue situation, at all, or the pain associated with having my skin ripped off by the glue.

My son, the one who HATES chapstick, recoiled in absolute horror when he noticed the nails.

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! DON’T TOUCH ME. GET AWAY!!”

Those were his exact words, and he will not let me touch him. I even offered to scratch his back, which he usually loves, but even then he did not budge.

My daughter, on the other hand, wanted to know where I had my nails done (they look pretty authentically manicured) and why she didn’t get to have HER nails done.

The funniest reaction was my husband’s, who found my missing fake nail stuck onto the rubberized bottom of his travel coffee thermos. (It had landed in my cupholder!) He was at first mystified and then mortified when he figured out what it was. I have successfully thrown the family for a loop with the fake nails. My job for today is done.

“Always do something unexpected.” – Ratatouille, the movie

26 March 2010

Man Hands

Once upon a time there was an episode of Seinfeld with a character named Jillian; she was dating Jerry. She was an attractive woman with one flaw: her enormous manly hands. I believe this is the origination of the term now commonly referred to as ‘man hands’, meaning a woman who has, basically, farmer hands.

My hands, though not large (actually kind of narrow), are well worn from work in the garden. Sometimes I remember to don my gardening gloves, but not often. My nails, though clean, are cut to the quick; I have worker hands for sure.

Several months ago I was looking through my Oprah magazine and came across a recommendation for a product called Kiss Glue On Nails. The author of the article raved about them so much that I found them in my local grocery store soon thereafter and decided to give them a try. That was months ago, of course. The box has been sitting in my drawer gathering dust.

Tonight in an attempt to procrastinate completing my tax return, I pulled out said box and decided to embark upon the adventure of putting on my own fake nails. I should point out at this time (in case you haven’t already guessed) that I do not visit nail salons. I don’t get manicures or pedicures.

Kiss nails come in several varieties. They have a version for rounded nail beds and another for flat nail beds (I guessed!). They have many different lengths from which to choose. I picked ‘real short’. If they’d had ‘real real short’ I would’ve picked those, because even the ‘real short’ nails feel long.

The instructions stipulate using the glue (which is included) on both your own nail bed and on the inside of the fake nail, which I did. Then you have to press and hold for five seconds while the glue sets. It was pretty easy until one of my fingers got glued onto the top of one of the nails (the glue had seeped out from underneath the fake nail – I had used too much) and I had to rip it off, leaving a fine layer of my fingerprint behind in the process. Ouch. The price of beauty! Or of doing your own dang nails.

So I will document my journey with nails. I can tell you right now that my dogs are PRETTY happy about them; they love a good scratch behind the ears. We’ll see how long I can take not being able to properly pick anything up off of a flat surface. And I’ll see how long it takes my husband to notice. I’m not even going to venture a guess on that one. It’s definitely a social experiment for me, and something a little different. Here’s to keeping it spicy!

“What the country needs is dirtier fingernails and cleaner minds.” – Will Rogers

24 March 2010

The Bearded Lady

My daughter’s prepubescent hormones are not the only ones out of whack around here. Turns out my middle-aged hormones are also rearing their hairy heads. As if slowing metabolism and digestion aren’t enough of a challenge, now I get to deal with facial hair, too?

Honestly I really avoid looking in the mirror much, but a conversation with an older sister a few years ago made me wonder:

Me: “If I’m ever in a vegetative state, just tell them to give me some good drugs so I can drift off, please.”
(We like these dramatic hypothetical scenarios in our family)

Sister: “If I’m ever in a coma promise me you’ll come to the hospital and shave my face EVERY DAY.”

Me: “What??!!”

Sister: “You heard me. I don’t want everyone’s final memory of me to be lying there with a full beard. I’m serious. My face is hairy, and soon yours will be too.”

I’m pretty sure I was shocked about this, having never even considered the idea. And by the fact that she had to shave her face now, too. Legs, pits, face, bikini area…..what’s next? What’s left to shave really? Arms? Head? Toes? I just never thought that getting older came with MORE work in the personal hygiene department, but I suppose I never really thought about aging at all. Hang around any woman ten or more years your senior and you’ll get an earful of what’s in store for you.

As a result of this conversation, I now notice how much more hair I have on my face. This is just one of the reasons I try to avoid mirrors, especially when they are anywhere near bright or natural light sources (the worst!!).

If only I could say that I did not care how I looked or how much facial hair I have; I’d be a big liar. The question is, what to do about the facial hair? Shave? Tweeze? Nair? Wax? Threading? So many options. So much hair.

When I told my running friend about this dilemma she said right away that tweezing is the answer, as long as you stay on top of it. Can’t let those hairs grow long enough to wax or thread!

So now I am not only trying to laugh my way through my daughter’s puberty, but also through my own transition into hormonal mayhem. I’m sure it will provide material for many blogs to come!

“Old age is the most unexpected of all the things that happen to a man.”
- Leon Trotsky

22 March 2010

Remedy for a Grouch

Last night I returned home around 6 p.m. with two tired kids in tow and a boatload of groceries to unload and put away. My husband was here already, having arrived home from work a couple of hours before we returned from soccer photos and grocery shopping. He had been kind enough to reheat some delicious homemade chicken noodle soup for dinner, but for some reason coming home just sent me spinning in a downward spiral – a funk.

As I made my way through the house after two trips in with groceries my husband asked why I was so grouchy. I told him I had two loads of laundry to take down from the clothesline and fold, and that I could chat with him when I was done with that. It was getting late and I didn’t want the clothes to become damp. “Just don’t take it out on me, whatever it is!!” was what I heard on my way out back.

In such instances, when I feel entirely capable of transforming into an evil Disney character – like, say, Ursula from the Little Mermaid, I try really hard to give myself some space. I no longer take any kind of verbal bait (from my husband, for example), because when I do it leads to nothing but bitterness and argument. Still, sometimes it feels like my raw anger is getting the best of me, especially if I do not choose to proactively change my frame of mind. Easier said than done!

Taking down laundry is usually soothing to me, but yesterday the wind was blowing so hard that the clothing had spun circles around itself and the lines, so it was difficult even getting the clothespins off of them. Then I had to unwind each item of clothing to get it out from between the tangled lines. It was a mess and rather frustrating, so my mood did not really improve much (as I had hoped it would). I brought the laundry inside to fold, plopping my basket onto the dining room table.

My husband was herding the kids into our living room to read and meditate before bed, and my daughter was protesting very loudly that she did not want to she did not need to and he could not make her. Watching that scene helped me realize why I was in a funk: grocery shopping with two tired kids. My husband was sitting cross-legged on his cushion, eyes closed. Rising above the melee, my nine-year-old son walked over to the table where I was folding, put his arms around my hips, laying his head against my belly. I stopped folding to hold him, and immediately felt happier.

“Mama, will you come sit with us and share a story?” And just like that, I felt calm and much less like Ursula. My daughter’s antics did not bother me. She rolled around on the floor protesting until she realized it was useless, and then petted the dogs as we read a story about a perpetually grouchy monk who was enlightened one day by a mouse taking a stone from his table. So apropos! After a moment of quiet meditation I thanked my son for helping find my peace and calm. “Por nada, Mama.” Never underestimate the power of a child!

“The soul is healed by being with children.” – Fyodor Dostoevsky

19 March 2010

Do What You Love

My son recently chose to quit singing in a local children’s choir in order to play on a competitive soccer team. As we were driving to his practice earlier this week, Celia and Rene were both singing at the top of their lungs, in harmony. It was quite lovely, until the bickering began….

Celia: “You miss singing with the choir, don’t you Rene?”

Rene: “No, I do not miss choir. I hated choir.”

Celia: “Then why are you singing?”

Rene: “Because I like to sing. I just hate choir because all you do it stand up sit down stand up sit down. It’s boring.”

Celia: “No, it’s not boring. Boring is chasing a little ball around a giant field.”

Rene: “I just like being active more than boring old choir.”

And so the conversation went, back and forth like a never-ending ping pong match. Their conversation made me think about how different my kids really are, and about how nice it is to be able to participate in activities that we really love. As adults we sometimes lose sight of these simple pleasures; we get caught up in the activities of daily living: work, grocery shopping, paying bills, doing laundry, caring for others – the list goes on and on.

Not everyone loves to exercise, I know. There are days that I don’t want to exercise, for sure. But I love to run, and remembering that on the days that I don’t feel like going helps me get out the door. I am grateful to have the strength, ability and freedom to run. What do you love to do?

Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success. If you love what you are doing, you will be successful. – Albert Scheweitzer

16 March 2010

Middle-aged Snowboarder

My husband and I learned to snowboard nearly 18 years ago while we were courting. At the time, snowboarding was a relatively new phenomenon. Over the years it has become the snow sport of choice for young, hip, and attitudinal ‘shredders,’ as they like to call themselves.

Needless to say, my husband and I are exceptions to this stereotype. We do not wear saggy pants. We don’t hit the terrain parks. We don’t defy gravity on the half-pipe. We’re definitely not ‘shredders.’ We do, however, always wear helmets. We often stop to help fallen skiers. And we always say please and thank you.

Snowboarding has two distinct advantages over snow skiing. The biggest perk of boarding has to be the comfortable boots; they are soft and warm and very comfortable. Additionally, simplicity is another major reason snowboarding is more enjoyable than skiing; just one board to carry and strap on, as opposed to two skis and two poles.

If you ever have an opportunity to try a day of snowboarding I highly recommend it. Last week as I floated over the snow, feeling exhilarated, I was taken back to learning how to board. I felt happy, a little bit scared, and very free. It’s not something I get to do often, and I was so grateful to be in the mountains with my family and a few friends. If I’m lucky I’ll be out there 18 years from now, too.

“I know many people who used to ski, but I don’t know anyone who used to snowboard.” Unknown

14 March 2010

Forgiveness

I never thought I would see the day that my daughter and I would butt heads on a regular basis. Over the last several months, thanks to imminent puberty, that day has come. Celia has transformed from a demure, compliant child into a pre-teen with an attitude. While I mourn the relatively easy days of her childhood, I am trying very hard to embrace the young woman she is becoming. Some days are harder than others.
We have spent the past 10 days and nights side by side during a spring break trip to Colorado. As we deplaned in Denver, I reminded Celia to gather her belongings. My kids assume responsibility for their own things when we travel. It used to be she would gather her things with a smile and follow me off the plane. Now, however, my reminder is met with eyeball-rolling and backtalk. In an attempt to help her become more aware of her errant behavior I spoke with her about it as we walked through the airport.

Me: “Celia, when I remind you to get your things you may either respond by saying ‘ Sí, Mamá,’ or by just quietly getting your things.”
Celia: “I don’t want you telling me what to do all the time!”
Me: “Well, it’s my job as your mother and I’m trying to be helpful because I love you. “
Celia: “You just make me so angry when you tell me what to do!”
Me: “Then try to remember how much I love you.”
Celia: “I forgive you, Mamá.”
Me: “Forgive me for what?”
Celia: “For making me so angry.”

I laughed so hard at this that it came out as a guffaw. When I stopped to breathe I noticed that Celia was scowling at me, arms crossed in front of her chest. That made me laugh all the harder. When she realized that she was powerless against my well-developed sense of humor she gave in and began laughing along with me. Thank goodness she has a sense of humor, too. I’m pretty sure it’s going to take a lot of humor to get us through puberty intact and sane.

Iwhat we ought to see in the agonies of puberty is the result of the conditioning that maims the female personality in creating the feminine.” -- Germaine Greer

5 March 2010

Reviving Ophelia

I pulled out a copy of the book Reviving Ophelia earlier this week and left it sitting on the kitchen counter. A friend and I had been talking about her 12 going on 13-year-old daughter and the fact that she’s been having a difficult time, so I suggested she pick up and read this book. It had been a while since I had read it, so I grabbed it off of my shelf intending to re-read it.

No sooner had I done that than my own 10-year-old daughter came barreling through the kitchen, upset about who knows what, when she stopped suddenly and gazed quietly at the cover of my book for a few moments. The quiet did not last long.

“Mommy, I am NOT a ‘DOLESCENT’,” (emphasis on the DO syllable, pronounced ‘DOE’)
I didn’t move or speak, afraid that I would break into laughter.
“MOMMY, DID YOU HEAR ME? I AM NOT A ‘DOLESCENT’!!”
That was it. I could not hold in my laughter, so I ran into the garage, pretending to be looking for something. She followed, still angry and getting angrier by the minute. I’m pretty sure she had forgotten all about what had made her angry before the book caught her eye.

I was bent over laughing by the time my daughter reached me, and she had to work hard to suppress her own laughter. She wanted desperately to remained pissed off at the world and take it out on me, though. I could tell. I explained that the book was not for her, nor was it about her.
Celia: “Yes it is.”
Me: “No, it’s not.”
Celia: “Yes it is!”
Me: “No, actually it’s not. It’s for my friend.”
Celia: “I know it’s about me.”
It was going nowhere fast, so I just explained to her that in her stage of development it’s normal to think that everything is about her. This made her even more agitated, if that was possible.

“Why do you like all of this psychology stuff anyway??!!”
“Well, it just interests me and it’s a part of the counseling I’ve done.”
“WELL I DON’T LIKE IT AND I AM NOT A ‘DOE-LESCENT’!!!!!’
And with that she stormed back into the house and I stood in the garage with my head spinning, still laughing to myself. I realized then that I really do need to re-read Reviving Ophelia, to help myself understand my own daughter and her emotional swings a little better. If you have a daughter or know someone who does, this book is a great resource.

And thou shalt in thy daughter see,
This picture, once, resembled thee. ~Ambrose Philips

1 March 2010

Still Eating Soup

It’s still winter around central Texas, and spring break is upon us already. By the time March rolls around I’m getting pretty tired of stews and heavy wintery dishes. I found this recipe adapted from Cooking Light and it is fabulously light and zesty, and very filling. You can use rotisserie chicken and broth in place of using the whole chicken to make your own broth, and I use whole-wheat orzo in place of regular orzo, which I add to the soup to cook (instead of cooking it separately). You can also substitute tofu for the chicken if you’d like. Enjoy!

Lemon Chicken Orzo Soup
Yield: 8 servings (serving size: about 1 3/4 cups soup)

Ingredients

1 (4-pound) whole chicken
2 carrots, peeled, cut in 1-inch pieces
2 celery stalks, cut in 1-inch pieces
1 medium onion, peeled and sliced
6 garlic cloves, crushed
4 sprigs fresh flat-leaf parsley
2 teaspoons whole black peppercorns
2 bay leaves
6 cups water
1/3 cups chopped carrot
1 1/4 cups chopped onion
1 cup chopped celery
2 teaspoons salt
8 ounces uncooked orzo (rice-shaped pasta)
1/4 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
2 1/2 teaspoons grated lemon rind
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
Lemon wedges (optional)
Coarsely cracked black pepper (optional)

Preparation

1. Remove and discard giblets and neck from chicken. Place chicken in a large Dutch oven. Add 2 chopped carrots, 2 chopped celery stalks, and next 5 ingredients (through bay leaves) to pan. Add 6 cups water; bring to a simmer. Reduce heat, and simmer 45 minutes.

2. Remove chicken from pan; place chicken in a bowl. Chill 15 minutes. Discard skin; remove chicken from bones, discarding bones. Chop chicken into bite-sized pieces; cover and chill. Strain broth mixture through a sieve into a large bowl; discard solids. Cool broth mixture to room temperature. Cover and chill 8 to 24 hours. Skim fat from surface; discard.

3. Add enough water to broth to equal 9 cups; place broth mixture in a large Dutch oven. Add 1 1/3 cups carrot, 1 1/4 cups onion, 1 cup celery, and salt to pan; bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat, and simmer 15 minutes or until vegetables are tender. Add reserved chicken, and simmer 3 minutes or until thoroughly heated. Keep warm.

4. Cook pasta according to package directions, omitting salt and fat. Add pasta to pan with chicken and broth mixture; stir in parsley, rind, and juice. Garnish each serving with lemon wedges and cracked black pepper, if desired.