Simple Zoodles Recipe

Zucchini noodles are ALL the rage. And they should be. They are a satisfying substitute for regular pasta.

Zucchini is particularly versatile and can be found anywhere from salads to dessert breads. Though watery, it contains quite a few valuable nutrients including vitamins C and B-6. It’s incredibly easy to grow and can be quite prolific in a garden! I grow zucchini like crazy. It is SO easy to grow.

Zoodles with Sauce

Ingredients, Serves 2

1 large or 2 smaller zucchini, unpeeled with ends cut off

Olive oil (I always use a Misto sprayer to minimize the amount of oil I use)

            Using spiralizer or mandolin (I use a Vegetti), slice zucchini into thin noodles. Heat olive oil in large pan over high heat and throw noodles in, stirring regularly. After about 4 minutes, before zucchini begins to release water, remove. Serve with favorite sauce –like it’s a pasta! Enjoy.

Green Container for 21 Day Fixers

Clean Tomato Sauce

Making your own tomato sauce from fresh tomatoes is one of life's simple pleasures. I grow my own tomatoes during the summer and freeze them for recipes like these! Enjoy.

Fresh Tomato Sauce

Ingredients, Makes about 2 jars, adapted from Wellness Mama 

5 lbs fresh tomatoes

¼ cup olive oil

1 large onion, diced

2 tablespoons minced garlic

1/3 cup fresh basil leaves, chopped

1 sprig fresh thyme (or ½ tsp dried)

1 sprig fresh oregano (or 1 tsp dried)

2 bay leaves

2 sprigs of parsley (or 1 tsp dried)

Optional: 1 tsp red pepper

1 tsp salt

1 carrot  (half grated and other half whole)

            Begin by blanching tomatoes for 1 minute in boiling water. Immediately transfer to ice bath and remove skins, stems and any bruises. Set aside.

            Add olive oil, garlic, onions and grated carrots to large pot over medium heat, stirring continuously until aromatic and onions are tender. Add tomatoes, all the herbs and spices and sea salt. Simmer on low for 2-3 hours. Stir occasionally and break up any large pieces of tomatoes with spoon.

Chicken Parmesan Zucchini and Eggplant Bake

This recipe is a real crowd pleaser!

Ingredients, Serves 6, depending on use of pasta
2 chicken breasts, about 1 lb, cut into strips (about 3 inches long, 1 inch thick)
1/2 eggplant, halved lengthwise and sliced
1 zucchini, halved lengthwise and sliced
1 1/2 cup Japanese style Panko crumbs
1 jar clean tomato sauce (no sugar added)
    Here's a recipe to make your own using fresh tomatoes
1 cup shredded Parmesan cheese

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Pour half of the tomato sauce into bottom of a casserole dish (mine is 4 quarts). Layer eggplant and zucchini slices over top, feeling free to really bulk up here. Next, layer the chicken and sprinkle with Panko crumbs. Pour remaining tomato sauce over top and complete with the Parmesan cheese.

Bake for about 35 minutes, broiling on high for about 2-3 minutes after to brown the cheese.

Serve as is, over pasta or over zoodles! (Here's a recipe for zucchini noodles you should try.)

2/3 Red container
1/2 Blue container 
1/4 Yellow container
2-3 Green containers (but I don't even count these! Go crazy with your veggies)
1/2 purple, depending on if you used clean tomato sauce (sauce with sugar added counts as purple)

5 Ways Parenting is Like Being a Teenage Girl

Being a teenage girl was SO fun, right? As if.

While I was lucky enough to escape the teenage years relatively unscathed (belly-button piercing scar excepted), I still thank the Good Lord that I am not thirteen. Or sixteen. Or nineteen. Nope, I am 29 and will forever stay here. No matter how hard Cher sings, you can't turn back time, people. Be realistic (this does not apply to me). 

In addition to being a teenager (let's be clear, this was only like, 10 years ago for me), I was both a camp counselor and a high school teacher for years. I actually ADORE teenagers. They are amazing. Really, I have nothing but love for them.

But, they are intense. Like, really intense. You know what I am saying?

I thought that, being the 20-something gal I am, that I had escaped the tumultuous time of my teens. Then I had children. While my girls are far from being actual teenagers, I am reliving my teenage days IN ALL THEIR GLORY. Let me count the ways... 

The drama. You thought middle school was dramatic? Goths and cheerleaders have nothing on my daughters. If there was a crying Olympics, my children would medal. EVERY. TIME. Seriously, villages in Africa could exist off their tears. Not only would my daughters medal due to the volume of liquid produced, but the lightning speed at which it is produced! Oh, you didn't want that kind of cheese? PUDDLES.

Someone is always telling you what to do. You may have forgotten but, being a teenager is hard. Your voice is seldom heard. Any control you have is pure illusion. Sound familiar? It's kind of like life with my two lady monsters.
     Mama, do not go upstairs.
     Mama, this milk is cold. I want it hot.
     No potty breaks today, mama. (Ok, I am making this one up but you feel me, right?)
     Put Harper in the pink dress, mama. I want us to match.
      

via GIPHY   

The Ups and Downs. When I was a teenage girl, I could have the best moment of my life AND the worst moment of my life in the span of half an hour. This is SO my world now. One minute, Charlotte is reading to Harper and the world stands still and I think, "I am the luckiest lady in the whole wide world." And the next minute, I am in a total "Jesus, Take the Wheel" moment as Charlotte catapults her sister off the coach and the puddles ensue. Perhaps it has something to do with how BIG my heart is for these kids. I feel ALL THE FEELS as if I was going through adolescence again because never before have I been so exposed, so raw. The entirety of my heart is walking on four unstable legs right out in front of me. It's enough to make anyone feel bipolar.

The moodiness. While I put out a ton of moodiness during my teenage years, I also had to deal with a lot from my sister and friends. Here I am again! I am 1000% biased but my daughters are super cute and sweet. AND THEN THEY ARE NOT. 
       Mama, where is my tutu?
       Which tutu, Charlotte?
       The one like cousin Caroline.
       Hmmm let me see, this one? (holding up incorrect tutu).
       No. my. Red. TUTU!  


via GIPHY

The butterflies. Oh the butterflies. I would get crushes on EVERYONE. All. The. Time. From my very first boyfriend Clint (I lived in Texas, people) to the boy who asked me to roller skate with him (I still hold a small candle for you, Adam), butterflies were a way of living. Just one look at that special someone's face and I was done. Well, being a parent is like that, too. Amidst the chaos, all I need to do is take one look at my daughters and the butterflies are back. It's really incredible. I love what Dax Shepard said in an interview about his new daughter, Lincoln, "When I look at her, it’s like when I was in 7th grade and fell in love for the first time, where it’s debilitating. That’s available 24/7 if I want, which is amazing.” I mean, RIGHT?!?!

There is so much to wade through as a teen and as a parent. From angst to acne (oh, the ACNE!), these two phases in life run the bases. Yet, I find myself reflecting on my teenage years with more fondness now that I've put them in perspective. How brave I was to navigate all of that! I'm not sure I could do it again.

But, here I am. In the throes of more tears than I've ever seen, more drama than I've ever made and, most of all, more butterflies than my heart can handle. Would. Not. Change. It. 

The Mom Lie

Photo by Mallory Parkington Photography

I've seen it play out countless times on my favorite makeover shows:
Zoom in on the sloppily dressed woman who, after years of mothering and nurturing, has completely forgotten how to run a brush through her hair. 
OK so maybe I'm being a teensy bit dramatic (as I am known to be) but haven't we seen this? There's something about becoming a mother that turns a lot of women into a the first 15 minutes of What Not To Wear. Or, at the very least, keeps us from feeling like the women we did before having children.
While I don't believe our worth should be measured by what we look like or whether or not we keep up with the latest trends, let me suggest that this tendency for mothers to fall into the pre-makeover category is indicative of a greater problem: The Mom Lie.
The Mom Lie goes like this: once you have kids, you must come last. All. The. Time. Especially regarding your body.
But here's the thing: our bodies created these tiny little humans. And after our bodies actually formed them into the perfect little mess makers that they are, they exited our bodies in a way that was both beautiful and damaging. You know what I am talking about. And then, even after we formed them and birthed them, we kept (keep!) them alive with the fiber of our very being. From breastmilk to middle-of-the-night bottle feedings to acting like a short-order cook in the kitchens, our bodies literally serve and nourish our beautiful little creations. And don't even get me started on those mothers whose bodies waited and waited in utter agony for that call from the adoption agency. And when that call came, those bodies did a most amazing thing: in an extraordinary act of fusion, they made theirs what was once not, in the fiercest, loveliest way possible.
Let me put it another way: our mothering bodies are effing amazing and beautiful. Just as they are.
But once these small little bundles enter our worlds, it's as if we completely forget the miraculous work of our flesh. Its beauty too. We pledge some unsaid vow to deny ourselves and our bodies any real self-care. We strap on the guise of martyrdom because we feel it is what mothers do. We forego the right to make ourselves a priority because it feels unnatural now. We have so much love for our babes that we think any tangible showing of love to ourselves would be selfish. That it would slight them.
And then the years pass.
  And then it's been a year since I've had a haircut.
    Ages since I sat down for a meal that wasn't leftover pb & j crust.
     I realize I only wear real clothes when I have to and rarely when I want to.
The funniest thing about it all (not funny "haha" but funny "punch me in the face") is that I thought I was taking care of myself. My attempts at self-care were so disordered, though. A glass (or two) of wine when I was stressed (I need this). A candy bar on-the-go (I deserve this). Lack of exercise (I need rest). Binge-watching my fave shows at any free moment (this is totally going to recharge me).
Granted, those things are often amazing and necessary but let's not let them masquerade as self-care. For one, if they turn into habits, they can lead you to a pretty gnarly pre-makeover situation. And I don't care one bit if you are a size 2 or 24, if you don't feel good or feel like yourself, that is a problem that needs a solution.
This whole "deny thyself" aspect of motherhood isn't something we've inflicted on ourselves without help. From lack of decent paid maternity leave to the absence of healthy conversation surrounding PPD, our mothering bodies are being asked (expected?) to roll over and make way for some greater good.
Herein lies the problem. How are we supposed to keep these tiny humans alive on a daily basis, do our jobs and be at least an average friend/partner/employee without a little energy spent on ourselves? We have to make ourselves a priority.
Making ourselves a priority is like swimming upstream. We have to ask for it, demand it and fight for it. It's really hard. And don't even get me started on the guilt that comes with it.
But let me let you in on a little secret (that you probably know already but just humor me and pretend I am BLOWING YOUR MIND):

A few months ago, I started taking better care of myself (you can read more about that here if you like). It was an adjustment for the whole family. More time, more energy and even a little more money was being spent on this mama. But, I have to say, I am happier now. The benefits outweighed the costs. My efforts to take care of myself have had a tangibly positive effect on the people around me. My kids benefit from having a more patient mother. My husband benefits from having a wife who isn't at the end of her rope. My employer benefits from the extra time I spend creating rather than being tapped.
I heard this amazing quote the other day. You are allowed to be both a masterpiece and a work of progress simultaneously.
How freeing. I am amazing just as I am but I am also allowed to be someone who needs care (who deserves care).
Want to be a better mom? Take care of yourself. Want to be a better employee? Take care of yourself. Want to be a better partner? You guessed it. Take care of yourself.
If we operate from a place of deficit then we are unable to be the generous, kind, hard-working people that we are. If we fill our cups? Well, there's no stopping us.




    

Why Doesn't the World Stop When We Lose Someone We Love?

It's a Saturday morning and it's quiet in my house. My husband has taken our 3 year-old to swim lessons and my 1 year-old is pretending to nap upstairs. Snow is falling outside and there is something particularly quiet about snow falling. Like it knows it's so beautiful that it wants to sneak up on you so that when you look outside, you are wonderstruck.
Life appears to be normal. But the thing is, it's not. Earlier this week, my beautiful cousin took her own life. After struggling with addiction and more, she made a choice that has left us all in pieces. We break for her that we could not have done more. We break for her parents who are dealing with the unfathomable: the loss of a child. We break for her brothers and sister, her friends and for all those grappling with the same kind of pain she must have felt.
What strikes me this Saturday morning is that the world is continuing on. That even though this horrific thing has happened - this abrupt ending - it's business as usual for Mother Nature and all her friends. Why doesn't the world stop when we lose someone we love? Our lived experience in times like these is that everything halts: the dirty dishes remain in the sink, the work gets put on hold, the trips cut short. But that's just one tiny little corner of one tiny little block of this very big world. The truth is, everything continues on. And it feels cruel.
Jonathan Larson, in his musical Rent, writes about this in the song, "Without You":

Without you

The ground thaws

The rain falls

The grass grows

Without you

The seeds root

The flowers bloom

The children play

The stars gleam

The poets dream

The eagles fly

Without you

The earth turns

The sun burns

But I die without you

When something as horrible as this happens, it feels like the world should stop. Because a beautiful soul was lost and a family wounded beyond repair. Why doesn't the world around us recognize this? Why doesn't it feel the loss as its own and, at the very least, pause in acknowledgement.

Upstairs, my daughter is beginning to wake (did she even sleep?). She lets me know this by jumping in her crib and squealing for joy. She'll need to be changed and fed. And soon, my toddler will return home from swim with lots of stories to tell. And so I will change and feed, greet and listen. Because the world keeps going on without you. And I'm so sorry and so sad it's going on without you, Marigene. It was better with you in it. We love you and we miss you. And we wish there was something we could have done to have kept you here with us. 

The snow continues to fall and the roads are getting messy. The plows will come soon and my husband will need to shovel the driveway. I'll be inside, hoping and praying that returning to the goings on of this world will eventually heal us. I'm certain some answers lie in my daughters, whose goings ons are the work of my day. For that I am grateful.

An Open Heart

I went to the dentist today to get a filling (which, by the way, is the WORST). My dentist lets us listen to music to drown out the drilling and also wear sunglasses so the exam light doesn't blind us. She's quite thoughtful, really. I put on a playlist I had made for a yoga intensive and on that playlist was "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten. It's a powerful song she wrote about taking back her life and getting back to who she is, amidst a lot of hardship. So, I'm sitting in the dentist chair, mouth pried open with some kind of torture device, getting my teeth drilled by an actual torture device, completely numb and drooling, trying not to audibly sob while I think about my powerful friend who absolutely embodies this song right now. Thank goodness for the sunglasses. I mean, what is WRONG with me? Who gets choked up in the dentist's chair?

A good friend recently gave me a children's Christmas book by Nancy Tillman. We have a number of her books but not The Spirit of Christmas so I was thrilled to receive it. But let me tell you about Nancy Tillman: lady makes me UGLY CRY. Like, openly weep. Oh, that's so sweet, you say. Yeah, not when it freaks out your children who haven't quite figured out what a sentimental sap you are and instead are wondering Did you get an owie, Mama?

From Tillman's My Love Will Find You

I was not always this way!

While my talent for choking up is genetic, I wasn't always so susceptible (a.k.a. I didn't always need sunglasses in the dentist's chair). I don't particularly enjoy wearing my heart on my sleeve but two things have happened to me in my life that have ripped my heart wide and opened the floodgates: I had my heart broken and then I had children.

Having someone you love hurt you is devastating. Whether they break-up with you, leave you or pass away, it is debilitating. The heart, while a muscle, breaks like a bone. It can shatter into a million pieces. To say this hurts is an understatement. But out of this shattered matter fuses a heart stronger than the one before.

The second thing, having children, made my heart burst. The levies that surrounded my heart gave way. There was not a powerful enough border to contain what transpired (and transpires) in my heart due to these little monsters running around my house. The love was (and is) overwhelming. Yet just like my heartbreak from years prior left me disassembled, so this bursting left me in pieces. Pieces that were glued together in a makeshift way, as if the cause of the burst (my children) were doing the repair themselves.



One could argue that a reassembled heart is weaker and more vulnerable to re-breaking. I suppose that's true. At least, it's true if we accept society's definition of strength as having a hard, unbreakable shell. I'm thinking I reject that definition and I'll tell you why.

A heart with cracks can let more OUT, too. A heart that knows it's been broken and survived has the ability to be braver because it knows where it's been. It has been to the depths and lived to tell the tale. All the seams present from the repairs are not scars but rather passageways through which love can pass.

I think of a piece of ceramic pottery that has been repeatedly repaired and forged back together after years of wear and tear. Against the odds, it maintains its structure but it also leaks. This is my heart. It is a leaky, glued together albeit strong, piece of pottery. It allows light and love in more easily than it used to, and releases them with more generosity.

It is precisely in the leaking (in the gaps) that my strength lies.

Five years ago, my dad had a quintuple bypass. The day he had surgery, I was far away in San Francisco where I lived at the time. Picturing him lying on an operating table with his chest open - his heart open - scared me tremendously. My sentimental, generous, hard-working, loving and amazing father was in the most vulnerable position ever: lying on a table with his heart completely open. I was so worried that he would never be the same.

A lot of things have changed since my dad had surgery. For one, he now has six grandchildren for whom his love flows out of his leaky heart like a river. Thankfully he is in good health now and ready and willing to audibly sob at any feel-good movie or children's book (he can't get through a Tillman, either). His heart has been reassembled stronger than ever, thanks to its scars and cracks. I'd argue that his heart and capacity to love is stronger now than it has ever been. He knows where he's been and what he's survived and rather than being unwilling to re-open that scarred heart of his, his commitment to love through the cracks is unyielding.