Mirror, Mirror on the Wall… Who Is That Looking Back?

Have you ever looked in the mirror and not quite recognized the person staring back? You know, the one who has apparently been walking around with a Hello Kitty sticker stuck in her hair for the past 8 hours? The one with the lines on her face that can't possibly be mattress marks because it's now 2pm and it's not like that face spends all that much time on a mattress anyway? The one with the slightly really completely harried look in her eyes? Yeah, her.

I recently saw her and she scared the bejeezers out of me. She looked frazzled, frustrated, and out of focus, even after I put in my contact lenses. Sure, it's natural to be tired when you have 3 kids ages 6 and under, a busy job, and a busy life. But the woman in the mirror didn't just look tired. She looked somehow off-center.

Later that morning,  I stopped at a local coffee shop known for posting inspirational and thought-provoking messages on the wall to pause for a few seconds in between dropping off 2 kids at 2 different schools, going to the grocery store, prepping for a conference call, scheduling interviews, writing up articles, and returning the 827 emails in my in-box while doing some online Christmas shopping, all before having to run the school shuttle in reverse. I looked up from my tall soymilk chai latte to see "Have You Found Your Center?"written in chalk next to the free-trade, organic, lovingly cultivated Sumatran fresh roast blend of the day.

Clearly, that sign was a sign, I thought. I decided it was time for a change. A perspective shift. A re-centering of my center. It was time to get my zen on. And so began a mission to find my focus, a Journey to the Center of… Me.

Church seemed like as logical a place as any to start. Sunday: the beginning of the week, so I'd begin there. We go to church every Sunday but this week I'd make a special effort to recommit myself to prayer. To focus on my faith. I'd remember the Sabbath and keep it holy… MOLY! How the *&^% (oops-tack one on to my list for confession) did I forget it was Sunday? I sprint back home from what I thought was going to be a leisurely Saturday morning jog (would the person who stole an entire day from my memory please kindly return it?), bolt through the shower, throw a dress in the general direction of my body (some people think I'm all fancy but really, who has time for separates?)  and do the same for the kids. Oops, 2 are boys. OK, they can wear separates.

We somehow make it to church and take our seats in Spiritual Siberia, the section outside the actual sanctuary reserved for families with young children. Not unlike animals in a cage, we peer longingly at the parishioners and wonder what it's like on the other side. Except some of it use it to play peekaboo with the ushers.

I bow my head and attempt to block it all out. And for a moment, it works- I feel myself re-centering, I hear a voice from within… it seemed to be calling me and tugging at my heart…

No, make that my eyelids.

"MAMA!!!! OPEN YOU EYES!!! WHAT YOU DOING???? MAMA!!!!" my two-year-old screams, his tiny hands planted on either side of my face. "We do ring-round-rosie?" he asks hopefully as the congregation joins hands.

The rest of mass passes in a blur of diversionary tactics/snacks/pleas/bribes to sit still, 5-10 laps around the building chasing a runaway toddler, and a long explanation in the hallway as to why the Sign of Peace should not involve ninja moves of any kind. We leave and I am worn out and out of breath, unsure if we went to mass or some new form of religious Zumba.

Later I decide to try meditation. Two kids were napping, one was playing outside. The house was, dare I say, silent and still. It was the perfect moment for ME to be silent and still and re-center myself. I headed up to my room, my safe zone, my sanctuary…my four loads of unfolded laundry.

So first I'll just fold this laundry, put it away, and then I'll meditate, I tell myself. But if I'm going to fold laundry, I'm going to need some music. So first I'll just go grab the iPad so I can listen to Pandora, then I'll fold the laundry, put it away, and then I'll meditate. But now that I've got the iPad, I can't help but give a little love (or at least a few "likes") to my Facebook friends and maybe update my status (Mona is meditating. Namaste, peeps!), and then I'll fold the laundry, put it away, and then I'll meditate. Just as soon as I take this quiz about how many 80s movies I've seen, which reminds me that I need to find a good recipe for pecan pie for Thanksgiving dinner, because my favorite 80s movie is When Harry Met Sally and who doesn't love the whole "Waiter, there is too much pepper in my paprikash, but I would be proud to partake of your pecan pie"thing, which also reminds me that I need to register for the Turkey Trot, which makes me think of the picture my 1st grader drew of a turkey trying to run away from a hunter, which totally cracks me up…

Wait, what was I going to do? Oh yes, meditate. But now the kids are up from their naps and they are rolling around in the unfolded laundry and playing Row, Row, Row Your Brother with the laundry basket while I run to block access to the giant waterfall, aka the staircase.

Maybe something more active would work? Still zen and soothing and totally re-centering, but not so…still? I'm (clearly) not great with stillness. We move downstairs (on foot, not in basket) and I head to the entertainment center to search for my favorite yoga DVD.

"Ooh, movie time!! Can you make popcorn? Can we watch the Muppets? Can I sit in your lap?" says the world's sweetest 4-year-old as her big blue eyes glow with excitement. We grab a blanket and cuddle up on the couch. Yoga can wait.

Later that night, once all the bedtime stories have been read, after all the goodnight hugs and kisses (and the accompanying 8-10"Just one more?" hugs and kisses) have been distributed. I make one last re-centering attempt: a hot bath. I start to run the water in the beautiful jacuzzi tub that was such a draw when we bought the house, the one I envisioned using for nightly luxuriating soaks… the one we really only use to bathe the kids and that currently houses a tugboat, two plastic frogs, some squirt guns, and the lingering scent of "No More Tears" shampoo.

I catch a glimpse of myself as the tub fills and the bubbles part to the side, revealing the clear water in the center. And that's when it hits me. Maybe I'm not off-center after all.

Because you see, I am AT the center- the center of a bubbly, chaotic, sticky, messy world. In my world, it is loud, it is crazy, it doesn't sit still, and if you look closely you'll probably find it is more than a little bit wrinkled, it is likely wearing two different socks, and it may have remnants of breakfast stuck to its sleeve. It's full of crazy deadlines, school projects, dance class, soccer practice, birthday parties, late night work, and early morning workouts. When we go to church, we take the scripture literally and make a joyful noise unto the Lord. In my world there are epic battles over toys and who is looking out whose window and why is she breathing the air on my side of the car? But it's also a place full of giggles and hugs and wonder and excitement and most of all, love.

And here I am, at the center.

Yes, I am tired, and yes, I am at times frazzled. I could certainly use more zen in my life, more yin in my yang (or is it yang in my yin?), more OM and less OMG. I should really strive to do more downward facing dog to balance out my upward facing temper. And one day I might even learn to be still and meditate.

But am I off-center? Not a chance. 

I am right where I need to be. I am exactly who I need to be. 

And I wouldn't have it any other way. 

From Caterpillars to Butterflies With a Stop in Paris: The Many Transformations of Motherhood

When I was in college, I was fortunate enough to spend my junior year living in Paris, France. Ooh la la! As I packed for the adventure, I just knew it would be transformative. Like the title character in one of my favorite movies of all time, Sabrina, I would leave a slightly (ok, totally) gawky, awkward, frizzy-haired, caterpillar, and return a sleek and chic butterfly- or as they say in Paris, un papillon.

Audrey Hepburn plays a young girl in Paris, circa  1954

That's not quite the way it happened.

In my defense, it's not like Audrey Hepburn was EVER, even for a fraction of a second, gawky or awkward, and I'm sure it took a village of Hollywood hairdressers to transform her lovely locks into something even vaguely approximating frizzy for the "before" shots.

But back to me. So off I went to Par-EE where I did my best to absorb the language, the culture, the je ne sais quoi that all French women possess. Along the way I also absorbed a lot of croissants, baguettes, and brie. Oh, I was a caterpillar all right- The Very Hungry Caterpillar. I gained about 25 pounds during my stay in the City of Lights, which did not exactly help with Operation Papillon. And the whole frizzy hair thing didn't get any better on the other side of the world.

Monet's Gardens at Giverny, 1993

But I did learn a lot about myself, including the fact that I was born without the scarf-tying gene that all French women possess. Try as I might (and I did try) I always ended up just looking like I was being choked by a yard of fabric. Try as I might (and I did try) I never looked anything like a French woman. And that's OK. Because what I did learn in that year away from my family, my friends, and the language and culture I grew up with, is that I am still me without all that. Strip away the trappings that seemingly define you, and what you're often left with... is you.

A random train was calling my name, somewhere in Europe. 

Unfortunately, the lesson didn't quite stick. Upon returning from Paris I said au revoir to my evolved self and reacquainted myself with the American tradition of trying to be things I'm not. I spent years trying to change myself myself to fit in with various crowds, always coming up short, feeling somehow "less than" as a result. I played the roles and dressed the parts: the intellectual, party girl, the suburban mom, the corporate ladder climber, and yes, even at one point in my life, the Club Med showgirl.

Club Med Turkoise, Winter 1995 

But none of those were me, and none of them felt quite right. I always found myself feeling like an outsider wearing a costume (sometimes literally) that didn't quite fit. It wasn't just the jobs, but the whole package. As my "finding myself" years stretched into decades, I started to wonder- was it just me? Was being just me just not enough for me... or for anyone else?

Until one hot summer day in 2009, when God sent me a message. It was a 7 pound, 12 ounce message which arrived gently and with barely a cry.

Sweet Baby Girl

One minute a bundle was placed in my arms and the next two big, blue eyes blinked back at me with an intensity I'd never experienced. I could see instantly that this little girl knew who she was. She was laughter, she was love, she was chocolate frosted cupcakes and warm, sandy beaches all rolled into one. She was pure joy. In fact, I was so sure of it, I knew right then and there it was literally her middle name.

Joy arrives. 

And since that day, she has more than lived up to it. At age 4, she is still so blessedly and unabashedly bold, so completely absorbed in being herself that she doesn't have time to even consider an alternative. If there is a song playing in her head (and there usually is), she dances with abandon, not giving a moment's thought to whether the rest of us can hear the tune or know the moves.

Beachside ballerina. 

Not only does she march to her own beat, she leads the band with a plastic recorder while wearing a skunk suit.

Leader of the band.

She is a girl unafraid of making a bold fashion statement, the kind that involves mixing multiple prints with multiple muppets.

Style maven. 

And when it comes to accessories, she's got a plan of her own.

Work it, girl. 

And so for the past four years, that fearless girl, my sweet Cecilia Joy has reminded me that we are meant to live our own lives. Not the one down the road with the fancy catalogue furniture and the Pinterest-perfect porch decor, not the one that looks so impossibly put together each morning at preschool drop-off and only wears yoga pants to do actual yoga, and not the one in the office down the hall that seems so much more accomplished or at least seems to be able to accomplish work AND a full night's sleep. No- we are meant to live the life we are given and to live it with joy. Or in my case, with Joy. 

Joy squared.

I'd like to say I've religiously applied that mantra to my life and have effortlessly blossomed into my very own butterfly at last, but progress isn't always linear and I've had my share of slip-ups. Lately I've found myself back at the comparison game, which is one I always lose. I've been spending too much time looking at what others have, or what they've achieved, or where they've been and wondering once again why I don't ever seem to fit in. 

And at the same time I've seen the first traces of self awareness creep into my little girl's brain. I can see her watching other kids closely, studying their words and their movements and trying to imitate what they do. I see her hesitate ever so slightly before she moves a certain way or says a certain thing, the wheels turning in her brain as she seems to question if she's doing the "right" thing. I watch her holding caterpillars in her hand and wonder what she's thinking. 

She calls them callipiters. 

So for her, and for me, it's time to make some changes.

For her, and for me, I left a job I didn't love, one which was rapidly turning me into a person I didn't love, a job I was holding on to because it was easier than finding my own path. 

For her, and for me, I'm recommitting myself to celebrating the things that make me different, and the wonderful people in my life who embrace those differences because, really, who has time for anyone who doesn't? 

For her, and for me, it's time to be OK with who I am and where I am. 

No more waiting for some magical transformation to turn me into a butterfly. Maybe I'm already there. Any maybe I'm not. But either way, I don't want to wish away all the joy (and the Joy) that's already here. 

Monuts- Chocolate Edition

What kid doesn't love chocolate? And what kid doesn't at least occasionally turn up his nose at green stuff?

So what if you could somehow make the best of this situation by giving them chocolate with some strategically placed green stuff hidden in the mix?

Enter the Chocolate (and avocado- shhhh!) Monut.

In case you've forgotten what a Monut is, click here for the original version and the story of how Healthy Mona and Not-so-Healthy Donut came to find common ground... hence, the Monut.

But why stop there? Because everything's better with chocolate, right? And what's better with creamy, dreamy, fudgy chocolate than avocado? That's right, avocado. Much like chocolate, it's also creamy and dreamy, and it really deserves more than just a ride on the occasional tortilla.

Avocados are a superfood- loaded with healthy fats, vitamins, and nutrients, and can be easily added to many baked goods, puddings, and smoothies without altering the taste.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not exactly an advocate of hiding vegetables in food. I really believe that kids need to know what they're eating and why they're eating it.

But I'm also a fan of reality, and in reality even my veggie-loving kids who live in a home where there are only 2 menu options (take it or leave it) have anti-green tendencies. So if you need to pull the occasional sneak maneuver, trust me when I say I won't judge. Neither will your kids when they bite into these delicious, chocolaty donuts. I mean, Monuts.

Ingredients 

1/2 ripe avocado
1 cup granulated sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/8 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 cup cocoa powder
1/8 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup milk (I used almond, but soy or cow's milk would likely work just as well)

Powdered sugar for dusting

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Spray donut pan with nonstick spray.
In the bowl of a stand mixer, beat together the avocado and sugar until well combined. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, until fully combined. Stir in the vanilla.
In a small bowl, combine the white and wheat flour, baking soda, baking powder, cocoa powder, and salt.
Slowly add the dry mixture to the avocado alternately with the milk, until all is incorporated.
Spoon the mixture into the donut wells and bake for 12-15 minutes or until the donuts spring back when you touch them. Cool completely before removing from the pan.
Dust with powdered sugar before serving.

The Unofficial School Supply List for First Graders

I've heard the horror stories about new math, inventive spelling, and lattice multiplication, but I thought I had a few years before my children's schooling left me dazed and confused. After all, my oldest is only going into first grade- how hard can it be?

Then along came glue dots.  

I remember glue pots, glue bottles, glue jars, and that awful gluey rubber cement stuff we would inhale and then use to make fake boogers (admit it- you did too). I'm familiar with glue guns and glue sticks, but glue dots? What are they and why are they on the first grade school supply list? 

Even Target couldn't answer my question, and in my book, if they don't sell it at Target, you just don't need it. Unfortunately, St. Patrick School does not feel the same way, because glue dots are apparently very necessary to first grade success. 2 packs of them, to be exact.

So what to do about this important but elusive supply so critical my child's academic future? I couldn't very well send him off to face first grade lacking in the appropriate adhesive, now could I? I searched the other big box stores and was still glue dotless until finally I turned to the one source I knew would not let me down: Facebook.

My trusty friends were quick to the rescue, and although the answer was slightly terrifying, for the sake of my oldest child I put on my big girl pants, stepped boldly where I usually fear to tread, and purchased 2 packs of glue dots from the craft store.

Once the dust settled on Operation Glue Dots, I got to thinking about the supply list. As comprehensive (and expensive) as it was, it still seemed so incomplete compared to what was ahead. How I wished I could arm my son with everything he'll need to tackle the challenges of the next 12+ years of formal schooling. But there's no Trapper Keeper (do they even still make those?) big enough for that. If I could I'd fill a 5-subject notebook (single ruled) with the mistakes I made and make him memorize them every night with a quiz each Friday, but I know he needs to find his own way. So instead, the best I can do is pray I've prepared him to do just that.

Still, there are a few tweaks I'd like to make to the official supply list.... 

Washable markers are great, but sometimes life's most meaningful projects are the messiest ones, the ones that leave our fingers stained, our shirts a streaky mess, and our minds a blur. While some marks are permanent, I'll always be there to help with the clean-up. Or better yet, to pass on the tools he needs to clean up on his own. 

64 crayons sounds like a fantastic deal, but more isn't always better. I pray he won't be dazzled by metallics or mesmerized by glitter. It takes years to figure out your own true colors, much less anyone else's, but when you surround yourself with the colors that bring out your best and you can't go wrong. I don't care if no one else likes Burnt Sienna. What I do care is that he becomes the kind of kid who sees that no one is eating lunch... I mean coloring...with Burnt Sienna and he reaches out to Burnt Sienna to give it a chance. Because sometimes the most beautiful colors are left sitting in the box.

What's with all the No. 2 pencils? Why not a No. 1 pencil, or a No. 3, or a No. 658? I hope this dear child never stops asking questions, never loses his curiosity. May he fill his pencil box with it and always keep it sharpened.

And I completely agree with the fine folks at St. Patrick School. Adhesive will be necessary. Life is sticky, and he'll need to be even stickier to get through it. He'll need to stick true to what he believes, to stick by his friends, to stick up for those who need a hand, to stick with his goals and his hopes and his dreams. And we'll need to stick together through it all, especially since the path to becoming a trapeze artist/astronaut/garbage collector/doctor isn't an easy one.

So for my sweet boy as he enters first grade I wish endless supplies of whatever sticky substance will keep his gentle spirit grounded, his innocence intact, and his heart and mind open.

Even glue dots.  

Move Over, Cronuts- It's Time For Something Leaner....Monuts

Those who know me well would probably agree that "Mona" and "donut" and are not exactly words that go together. But believe it or not, I've been on a major donut kick this summer! No, my brain hasn't been taken over by aliens (unless you count my children) But I have discovered, thanks to a $2 garage sale find, that I can make my own, healthy, baked donuts for special treats. We've made chocolate, blueberry, cranberry, strawberry, and you-name-it-berry donuts, but so far the reigning favorite (as declared by my trusted band of taste testers) is this whole wheat baked cinnamon version. It's not the kind of thing we eat every day, but for a treat- absolutely.

So yes, you CAN put Mona and donut together without compromising your health goals and ideals. Behold, the Monut.

Ingredients:

2 cups whole wheat flour
3/4 cup sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 1/4 cups almond or soy milk
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

For the topping:
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Directions

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Coat donut pan with baking spray.

Into a large bowl, sift together the flour, sugar, baking powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt. In a small bowl, whisk together the egg, milk, melted butter, and vanilla. Stir the wet mixture into the dry ingredients until just combined.
 

Spoon the batter into the baking pans, filling each one a little more than three-quarters full. Bake for 17 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean.

For the topping, combine the sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl. Dip each donut in the cinnamon sugar, either on one side or both sides.

The Accident

I knew it would probably happen at some point, which is why we were prepared.

And then I knew it did happen, because one day I picked up a child from camp who was wearing a pair of green and orange neon plaid shorts with a bright red Angry Birds t-shirt.

"Ummm, that's an interesting outfit," I said as nonchalantly as I could as he climbed into the car.

"Yeah, I had to change because I had an accident," he mumbled under his breath before excitedly launching into a detailed retelling of the conversation that he and his friend had on their banana phones at snack time.

But all I heard was the accident part.

In the past when this had happened, I'd tried different approaches. I'd most often been Comforting Mom (hugs and kisses will fix this!). Occasionally, I was Scientific Mom (nope, no bladder infection but you haven't really lived until you've taken 3 children into a bathroom at the doctor's office and asked one of them to pee in cup while the others cheered him on excitedly). And once or twice, though it pains me to admit it, I'd been Angry Mom.

Because even though Rational Mom knows that this is TOTALLY normal, that this happens to ALL kids, that he is just FINE, every once in a while Crazy Mom swoops in. And Crazy Mom is convinced that she must fix this immediately lest he end up the only freshman in his college dorm who needs Pull-ups in size 18T because Crazy Mom is well, crazy.

So this time, I thought to myself, pushing the Crazy down as far as I could, I'd be Cool Mom. Easy, Breezy Mom. Relatable Mom. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Of course, it helps to actually BE cool if you're going to take this tactic.

But this was no time to get bogged down by details. I'd just have to wing it with my limited understanding of coolness. Let's see... Cool Moms definitely don't overreact. Cool Moms probably bake cookies. Cool Moms probably tell funny stories. Cool Moms exude a Cool Vibe that is so irresistible to children that they can not help but be swept up down the Cool River of Understanding.

So I whipped up a batch of my famous quinoa cranberry protein bars (so Cool, right?), poured two icy glasses of lemonade (literally Cool!), and invited my sweet boy over to the couch, a normally crumb-free zone (how Cool is that?).

"So, you want to hear something funny that happened to Mom?"

"Yo mean the time you got sprayed by the skunk and then you had to go to the store to get the stuff that makes you not smell like skunk and everyone was saying 'Oooh, it smells like a skunk in here!"

"Umm, no."

"How about the time you fell down in a mud puddle when you were out running and ripped your shorts..."

"NO!" I interrupted, feeling a little warm under my Cool Collar. Deep breath....

"A different story," I replied gently, regaining my Cool Composure. And I proceeded to tell, in great detail, the story of how when Mom was working in TV news there were often times when we were out in the field for many hours away with no bathroom in sight, and how on one of these occasions when Mom was 6 months pregnant with a future Broadway star tap dancing on her bladder, Mom had been holding it ALL freaking day in the back of a live truck while staking out a house in the middle of nowhere, and Mom had even briefly considered asking the cops if it might be OK to cross the yellow crime scene tape just for the briefest of moments to use the suspected meth lab's toilet since there is no real way for a giant pregnant woman in a maternity suit to discretely squat down in a field without having Mom end up the unwilling star of someone's viral YouTube video, and there was no field to squat down in anyway, so when the police finally came out of the house for a press conference and Mom stood up that's when gravity reared its ugly head so if your'e wondering why Mom's blazer was tied around her waist during those live shots, there's your answer.

We shared a good laugh and I gave my Cool Self a mental high-five.

"And so you see," I continued Cooly, "Everyone has accidents. Even Mom! I just want you to know that it is totally OK that you peed in your pants today. It happens!"

He furrowed his little brow and looked at me with utter confusion in his green eyes.

"Mom! I didn't pee in my pants. I was washing my hands after art and got water all over my shorts. It was an accident." He grabbed a bar, downed the rest of his lemonade, and headed toward the basement to play.

"But cool story!"

Yup.

Soooooo Cool.

Peanut butter oatmeal banana energy bars

I recently came across an article listing the 10 Worst Foods To Feed Your Children (or yourself in my opinion!) and it may surprise many parents to see granola bars on that list. While they might seem like a healthy snack option, packaged granola bars are highly processed and usually loaded with sugar. So what can you grab-and-go for energy on the run? I have several easy, homemade solutions.

Here's one that we're loving right now that takes all of 5 minutes to prepare- peanut butter (and you can substitute any nut butter or sunflower butter) oatmeal banana energy bars.

There's very little added sugar, no flour, no oil, and no butter. They freeze well and make great lunchbox treats or a simple breakfast alongside a bowl of fruit.
 

1 1/2 cups oats
1/4 cup packed light brown sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup almond or soy milk
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1-2 large mashed bananas
1/4 cup creamy peanut butter

Directions:

1. Mix together the oats, light brown sugar, baking powder, kosher salt and ground cinnamon.
2. Add in the vanilla extract, milk and egg. Mix the ingredients together.
3. Then add in the mashed banana and peanut butter. Combine all of the ingredients.
4. Pour the mixture into a lightly greased 8 by 8 inch metal baking pan. Bake at 350 F degrees for 20-25 minutes.
5. Cut into squares and enjoy!