Hannah's Heartstrings

On November 9, 2017, I began writing this post, tears streaming down my face as I typed. It has taken me a while to be able to come back and finish it. 

***

I've been awake for hours. I'll blame it on pregnancy, even though this sort of thing just seems to happen every now and then. Its ok, honestly, because even though it leaves me incredibly tired, it usually means I get to spend a little time with my husband before he goes to work for the next twelve hours, or I get some "alone time" to reflect in the quiet before Titus wakes up. Both of which have happened this morning.

There have been lots of thoughts swirling in my mind in these early hours. I'm looking forward to Fellows Family Thanksgiving this weekend, and getting to see our Canadians. There's food prep to think about. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I'm quite grateful that I figured out how to transition Titus into sleeping through the night.

But everything pales in comparison to the two overriding themes currently presiding over our family.

There is a new baby growing in my belly.

And our Grandma is dying.

There is such a dichotomy of happy and sad in our hearts right now. We are rejoicing in the home going of a dear 94-year-old saint, a woman who has brightened every life she's touched, all while mourning the end of her beautiful life and dealing with the heartbreak of seeing her mortal body suffer through its decline.

We are also completely thrilled at the new life joining us next year, but sad that he or she will never get to know this amazing person nearly everyone simply called Grandma.

Watching someone go through the end of their life while beginning someone else's life inside me is such a humbling experience. To be this close to both the beginning and the end of creation...it's something quite holy.

We keep saying it won't be long.

It won't be long before I have this precious baby in my arms. It won't be long before I get to go through birth again and Titus gets to be a big brother.

It won't be long before Grandma is home in glory, seeing the husband she hasn't seen in thirty years, her family and friends who've gone before her, and most of all, the Savior she has loved for nearly a century.

There are tears. Lots of tears. And comfort food and comfort pants, thanks to my indescribably amazing sister-in-law, Amy. We are all rallying to support and love each other. Its deep. Its meaningful. Titus brings joy with his infectious toddler energy, and I recount the most recent wonders  of how my miraculous baby is growing to the size of a blueberry this week.

One of the most incredible things to watch during this time has been my mother-in-law taking care of her mother-in-law. I watch her in complete awe sometimes. What love it is that compels a person to take care of someone else so tenderly and intimately! Her tireless attention, generous spirit, and deep, deep kindness makes me hope that I can be even half the woman she is. There are few things in this world that I have seen more admirable than this.

***

Now, two months later...

Life and death surely have collided, but not in the way we were expecting.

Based on what I wrote earlier in this post, Grandma should be in Heaven, and I should be close to 17 weeks pregnant.

But she isn't. And I'm not.

Grandma has somehow hung on to her threads of life for two more months, rising and falling from week to week, and surprising us greatly with her longevity. She has even managed to outlive a friend who was nearly 15 years younger.

And I lost my sweet, tiny baby. I've never experienced a miscarriage before, and hope with all my heart I never have to again. I was 12 weeks along, but the baby was no bigger than 6-8 weeks, so very well may have been gone already when I began began this post, or shortly after.

I miscarried a week before Christmas. Nothing could have prepared me for the process, the grief, the pain, and the confusion of such an ordeal. I am so grateful for the love and support that has carried me through this last month, some of which has come from places I never expected.

This is not going to be a post about how God's ways are higher than our ways, or how He always has a plan. I don't believe that's how God works with us today. I don't believe He micromanages our lives in ways we cannot understand (and I don't want to have any doctrinal debates with anyone over this, so please don't even start).

What I am here to say is that sometimes, life is horrible. We live in a fallen world, where beautiful souls linger in bedridden old age far longer than they want to, and where babies die before they get to live a life. Its horrible. It hurts. It is unexplainable and unfair. The answer to our agonized question of "Why?" is simply that life happens in the worst ways sometimes.

But we do not sorrow as those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). We are grateful that this world is not our home, and we look forward to better days in Glory. We know that we have peace no matter what happens, and that God comforts our hearts and gives us the strength we need to get through the worst things life throws at us. He doesn't leave us unprotected. He builds us up in our hearts through His word, giving us wisdom and courage to persevere even when we don't want to.

God did not take my baby so that I could learn some valuable lesson, and He is not leaving Grandma here in pain and confusion for some unknown purpose. But He is loving us, comforting us, and teaching us how to live through tragedy so that we may help others going through the same thing. He does not bring about the pain so that He may teach us, but rather can use it to help us learn when it happens.

This new year is looking different than I thought it would. Right now, instead of looking forward to the halfway point of my pregnancy, I'm healing my body from a traumatic experience, managing deep anxiety, and hoping in the near future to try again for a new baby. And we are still waiting to celebrate Grandma's home going.

Life is crazy, and amazing, and unexpected. And we look to the future with hope and a joy in our hearts that cannot be quenched.


(It doesn't matter to me if you agree or not, and I'll reiterate that my Biblical beliefs are not up for debate. If you have found comfort in some other belief, then good for you. I've spent enough time arguing and studying to know where I stand and right now, I don't need to hash it out again with someone just looking for a fight. Thanks but no thanks.)

The one thing that struck me deeply when I began taking my brand new baby Titus out into the world was just how stressed out it made me to have to deal with the expectations of others and their potential offense of the way I chose to do things, particularly with breastfeeding.

I am a very modest person. I'm pretty conservative by some standards, less by others. I generally prefer my knees and shoulders covered, wear camis under low cut shirts, but am also totally comfortable in a pair of skinny jeans, so I'm kind of in the middle ground. The catch is that I am very well-endowded in the breast category, so most often, keeping the girls covered is quite the battle.

Throw in a very big, heavy baby boy that loves to pull on my shirt and unlatches multiple times during a feed, a really plentiful milk supply that leaves my big, flailing boy sputtering milk everywhere during a letdown...and modesty becomes harder than an Ultimate Ninja Warrior course.

I was so overly concerned with not offending anyone with the feeding of my child, that I often became wrapped up in an incredible amount of anxiety over who was seeing me breastfeed. Would they be offended if I nursed in front of them? Will my baby make too loud of suckling noises and bother them? And horror of horrors...what if my cover slips off for a moment and someone sees.my.boob?

No wonder I came down with mastitis four times in the first two months of Titus's life.

I made a valiant effort to use a nursing cover, but it only worked when he was brand new. After he was about three months old, it just became more trouble than it was worth. Titus was hot. I was sweating. He hated having something over his face. But I tried because using a cover is what all the best modest moms do, right?

I tried cloistering myself in a room to nurse my baby when I was around people I was told might have a problem with it. Once. I ended up spending several hours hiding in my church's nursery during a fellowship dinner with my one-month-old baby who suddenly wanted to cluster feed. By the time he was satisfied enough to join the dinner, there was hardly any food left, and I was beyond hungry. I scraped together what was left of the salad I brought, and hesitantly let a couple people hold Titus, who ended up with a terrible rash on his sensitive face (probably from their perfume or laundry detergent). Not to mention I was so sad and lonely and felt like no one cared. I went home, cried, and told my husband that I would never again put myself in such a position.

I am not trying to complain. I am not a part of the "free the nipple" crowd. I promise I won't scandalize your husband by flopping my engorged, leaking, sagging breast out over my shirt.

But I'm doing my best.

Really.

Do you think it is my ultimate goal to expose my breasts in public? Do you think I look forward to the moments when I am going to have let my little baby suckle on them while a crowd of people seemingly waits with baited breath to give me their latest bit of parenting advice? Do you think I enjoy the idea that someone might possibly catch a glimpse of one of my most private of body parts, no matter how hard I work to keep it covered?

Yet this is part of the job I signed up for, and I am doing the best I can.

So is every other breastfeeding mom in the world.

Those of us that value modesty and take great pains in our clothing choices are faced with such a challenge when it comes to pulling out one of the parts we strive so hard to cover so that our little ones can have a snack. Its such a natural part of our mothering journeys but such an unnatural part of the standards that we have engrained in ourselves. So with that in mind, is it too much to ask for just a little grace?

Personally, I don't think so.

We are trying here. We are striving hard to not offend you with the feeding of our children. We would totally understand if you got your panties in a wad because we showed no care or respect when we nursed. But that isn't the case.

The fact that we try to hide in rooms alone and forgotten, miss out on fellowship, go hungry, and be covered in sweat and overheating our babies in an effort to use the cover you value so highly should speak loudly of our concern over the modesty issue in our breastfeeding experience.

But we need your help here.

We are doing our part and more. We are going out of our way and being uncomfortable to make sure that you aren't. But no mom should feel as if her friends and family have abandoned her simply because she needs to nurse her baby.

If you have to insist that she leave the room to nurse, can you at least get her a freaking plate of food? How about sit and talk with her so she doesn't feel completely alone?

If you have to insist she use a cover, can you please set up a fan close by so the poor girl doesn't sweat to death?

Or how about just exercise all that Christian love and grace you preach so loudly and try to understand that this little mama is doing her best? Her goal is not to seduce anyone. Her goal is not to be obnoxious. She's sore, sleep-deprived, and already so nervous. Give her a break.

In May, I attended one of my favorite Bible conferences. I had a lot of anxiety leading up to it, because I knew my three month old was going be a handful and want to nurse a lot. The first night, I attempted to sit in the back and nurse him with my cover, and ended up so overheated that Titus projectile vomited so many times that I worried he would get dehydrated. I tried finding other places to nurse, but nothing worked and I just managed to get so distraught because I was missing every message. Talk about discouraging. Finally, I sat myself down on the floor outside the conference room. Close enough that I could hear the speaker, yet far enough away that no one would be bothered by us.

And I nursed. And I listened. And I was filled up.

But you know what the nicest thing was? The amount of people, mostly guys, that offered to get me a chair or a bottle of water. Several asked every time they walked by if I needed anything. A couple people came and sat with me between services. And I finally felt like all that grace and love we believe in so strongly was finally being shown in a real life situation.

I know that grace is not a license to get away with whatever you want. That's not what I'm getting at. I am simply saying that when someone is working so very hard to be modest in a frightfully awkward situation, the very least you can do for her is not pile your personal expectations and standards on her already stressed out shoulders. Show her the same grace you expect, and more. If you've been in her shoes, you should understand. If you haven't, you should mind your own beeswax.

Thank you, and nurse on, sweet mamas!

It has been just over a week since I brought this little person into the world. One amazing, nerve wrecking, magical week of learning about each other and figuring out our little trio.

Birth was, by far, the most incredible thing I have ever experienced. I did not know my body was capable of such intense power. To be able to watch my body perform the way it did, and to work with it to bring my baby out was something I honestly can't wait to experience again. And being able to do it all within the comfort of my home, with the most fabulous, loving birth team over, was a dream come true.

It started on Thursday morning at 2am. My water started breaking, though not as I had anticipated. I expected it to come out like a fire hose but instead it was just small gushes. Still, I was thrilled. Kyle got up, we changed the sheets, I texted my midwife Nicole, and attempted to sleep some more.

I had a few small contractions here and there, but nothing significant happened until Friday at around 7 pm. Those hours of waiting for my body to kick in were long, disappointing, and not at all what I expected. I figured it would be like all the stories I'd heard...your water breaks, you go into labor, you have a baby. Bam. Done. But no. My body had other plans. Apparently I needed a full 40+ hours for my hormones to build up enough to set my labor into action. I kept Nicole aware of what was going on, and we were prepared to start having me take some herbs and stuff and set things in motion if something didn't happen soon. Thankfully, those real, purposeful contractions started coming around 7pm on Friday night.

By early Saturday morning, it was very clear that I was in labor. My doula, Kimby, and her helper, Meredith, came over at 7am and we began our day together. Early labor was actually quite fun. We joked and talked around contractions, and Kimby made me feel like I was in a spa. She diffused essential oils, massaged my back and feet, and just made me feel so loved and calm. We did a few different things to help with the baby's position, since she was concerned he might have a hand up. Between that and massaging the labor pressure points on my ankles, but the afternoon, I was kicking into high gear.

I was so thankful to be able to do a lot of laboring in the birthing pool. It was so comforting and really took a lot of pressure off my belly. We did the pool all the way up until I was ready to push. I had hoped to give birth in the pool, but since we knew my baby was large and had a big head, Nicole felt it would be best to birth in a different position.

I was not paying very good attention to the clock, so my remembrance of the time of events is a little sketchy. I think it was about 7ish when Nicole arrived and I was in hard labor. I began to feel like pushing so they brought me out of the tub and onto the couch. She had me lay on my back to give baby enough space to get under my pubic bone. With his big head and my small pelvis, this proved to be rather hard. His progress was very slow and I was getting very tired.

I pushed for nearly three hours. The whole time, Nicole massaged my vaginal opening and perineum  with olive oil, stretching me in preparation for my baby's head to come through. This was a lifesaver. I cannot begin to express how thankful I am that she did this! Also after coming out of the pool, my legs were incredibly sore from kneeling so long and supporting myself during contractions, so the girls massaged me with arnica oil. Oh so amazing!

The pushing got really intense and his head rocked back and forth for quite a while. All of a sudden his heart rate dipped and Nicole told me to stop pushing and just breathe. I was focusing so hard on the pushing that I wasn't getting enough oxygen to him. So they worked hard with me to get me to focus on taking long deep breaths and not be so intense with pushing. That was the hardest part! My body took over several times and pushed completely on its own. But the breathing turned out be just was we needed. His heart rate came back up and we kept going.

Nicole ran outside to get her oxygen tank and to call another midwife to come assist, since it was looking like my baby was stuck and they were going to have to reposition me. His head was so big and taking so long to come down that they were getting concerned. But just then, his head started crowning! Kimby told Meredith to run outside and get Nicole as fast as she could. He was coming out!!

The most incredible thing to me was that I did not even feel him come out. My eyes were closed most of the time due to being quite exhausted. I opened them just at the moment his head came out, and saw the explosion of water hit everyone. They told me to push hard and keep pushing. I gave it every last ounce of energy I had and out he came! The next moment I opened my eyes, Nicole was wrangling my slippery baby up onto my belly.

And so, Titus Howard Fellows was born at 11:40pm on Saturday, February 13, 2016.

He took just a few moments to breathe, so we kept rubbing him and talking to him, and soon he was howling his head off. Those first moments of holding him were utterly miraculous.

He turned out to be a pretty big baby, just like Nicole had predicted. He weighed 9 pounds, 4 ounces, was 22 inches long, and his head (drum roll please) was 15 inches in circumference! But thanks to Nicole's perineal massaging and stretching, I only got one tiny little tear that didn't even warrant a stitch. Yay!

There are a few things I'd like to talk about that I have found truly fascinating concerning my home birth experience.

My birth team was amazing. Seriously. Their support and love throughout the whole ordeal was incomparable. I have never felt more cared for in my whole life. I was not just another patient in a bed. I wasn't just another birth. I was important to them. They poured themselves out into me with their loving touch, encouraging words, and strengthening prayers. I could not have done it without them.

My husband was amazing. My sweet, calm spirited, low key, loving man was such a huge help during the hardest part of my labor. He helped massage me, held my hands through the hardest contractions, and encouraged me through every push. When I was so tired, he told me again and again to open my eyes and smile at him. He kept me grounded.

Nicole saved me from a myriad of medical complications. I will never be able to thank her enough for what she did for me. By helping me work with my body to bring my baby out, I was spared a birthing horror story. Had I gone to a hospital, I would have been subjected to a multitude of medical procedures. Because my labor was so long in coming, a hospital would have induced me. Because he was so big, they would have most likely done a c-section, or at the very least, an episiotomy. If I had by some chance been allowed to birth without any of those things, I would have tore far worse, because no doctor or nurse would have taken the time to massage and stretch me like Nicole did.
Don't get me wrong...I am glad that the medical community is there for emergencies, and if something had taken a turn for the worst, Nicole would not have hesitated to get me to the nearest hospital. But working with Nicole allowed me to treat my birth as the most natural experience of my life and to bring my baby calmly and lovingly into this world.

Diet and water intake are really important. My diet has gone through many changes over the years, but it has always remained the healthiest possible. I was vegan through the first half of my pregnancy but after that, felt like I was lacking in nutrients, so I added meat and grains back into my life. I remained sugar free and gluten free, and have been loving it.
As a step to help my seizure issues, I increased my water intake last March and began drinking at least 80-120 ounces of water a day. This made a huge difference in my existing issues, and then when I got pregnant in May, the benefits were phenomenal.
I attribute a great portion of my birthing success to my diet and water intake. Avoiding sugar especially helped, since sugar heightens your pain sensitivities...even fruit in excess can be a problem! A good, healthy, balanced food lifestyle with plenty of good clean water is the best thing you can do do for your body and your baby.


Home birth may not be for everyone, but I praise God every day that I was able to have this beautiful experience! And I could not be more thrilled to have this tiny little person in my arms at last.

I recently ready this article, and it hit home for me in a unique way. Perhaps not like the author intended, but it created thoughts in my little head that I was eager to share.

The author told how she went through various body changes throughout her life, going back and forth from "bombshell skinny" to "mom of five kids fat" and back again. She told of how, when she strived for that skinny body, she wasn't happy. No one in her family was happy. She was obsessed with losing those pounds. But when she stopped worrying about her body, and just lived and ate as she pleased...life was happy and good again.

While I understand the point she was making, my mind buzzed as I noticed how she fell right into a mindset that is gaining popularity by the minute, and damaging lives just as fast.

It doesn't matter what you look like. You are beautiful just the way you are. So stop worrying about your body image and just be happy. Eat what makes you happy. Do what makes you happy. Because being happy is all that matters.

But wait...isn't that true? Don't we want women to be happy in their bodies, no matter what they look like?

Of course.

However...

That isn't the way to go about it.

Striving for that perfect beach body isn't going to make you happy.
Striving to love your curves and rolls despite the media telling you to lose weight isn't going to make you happy.
No physical body image is going to make you happy.
No amount of eating what you love will make you happy.

Skinny. Fat. Somewhere in the middle. It doesn't matter.

What matters, and what will actually make you happy is being healthy.

Our culture is so caught up in physical appearance in both directions that it forgets to pay attention to what's going on inside. The only way your skinny body or your fat body can possibly be truly happy, at peace, and balanced is to maintain a healthy food life. You should not be happy with your body unless you are feeding it what it needs to perform properly!


Being happy in your body can't be about eating whatever you think makes you happy. I know ice cream and pizza makes me happy, but it surely would not make my body happy. Therefore, I haven't touched the stuff in 3-4 years. I feed my body what I know will keep it bright, balanced, and clean. I feed it lots of pure vegetables, fruit, nuts, and beans that have been unaltered by sugar, gluten, or harmful chemicals. I consume spoonfuls of coconut oil that I know will nourish my brain, and sprinkle nutritional yeast on almost everything because its packed with vitamins and minerals. Everything I eat has a purpose in my body, and for that, my body is happy.

There is one other thing that makes my body happy, and it has nothing to do with food or pounds. I am sure many people have found a thousand different ways to achieve levels of happiness. But none shall ever compare to what I have found in my faith in God. I am nothing in life without Him, and regardless of what I do or eat or strive for in life, if it is not to His glory, then it is in vain.

It is my faith in Him that helps me get through every tough day. Every time my body refuses to work properly, despite my best efforts, it is His strength that gets me through and reminds me to never give up. Even when I am so incredibly frustrated over the failings of my body, it is His peace that runs through my soul and says "It's ok. Try again tomorrow."

This, my friends, is what we should be striving for. Not skinny or fat or whatever pleases you, but a healthy, balanced body that is as peace with God.

This is where true happiness comes from.

So let's get one thing straight here. When I say 'diet restrictions', I'm not talking about A DIET. Not your oh-crap-bikini-season-is-coming-I-need-to-get-skinny, forty-day-cleanse, man-this-time-I'm-serious dieting. What I mean is LIFESTYLE. Healthy living, give-it-all-you've-got, no-turning-back-ever, all-out Lifestyle Change. Whether its controlling a health issue through what you put in your mouth, the desire to become a Food Hippie, or needing to loose a few inches off your waistline, this is not about a temporary eating habit that gets ditched with the first Starbucks craving. This is real, long-term, serious life foodiness. Yes, I just made that word up.

The thing is, most of us who have made the leap are dragging behind us friends and family who have not. Its not likely you are going to be able to convert everyone, so you will end up needing to cook meals that you choose not to eat. Which is fine, as long as you practice some serious self-control. But add not being able to taste the food you need to feed your family to trying to reign in your own food cravings, and things can get irritating.

So in the past few years, I've learned some important things about feeding people food that I can't eat. The most important thing is simply...

People still need to eat!
And I still need to feed them. And most people just aren't into roasted lentils and coconut milk smoothies the way I am. So they need food. My husband likes chicken, tacos, pizza, and grilled cheese and turkey sandwiches. And he's always checking the freezer for ice cream. Regardless of the fact that a lot of his favorite foods aren't on my list, my husband enjoys them and he still needs to eat filling man-food. Now, since I am the cook of the house (muhaha), I will make choices about what type of food I feed him. I will get him good, organic ice cream when I can, and strive to make homemade bread that is free of random chemicals and nonsense. I pack his lunch with a nice sandwich, an apple and some yogurt. I offer him better food and he is a happier man for it.

My point is simply that, while I encourage my friends and family to take control of their food lives, I cannot be a Food Snob. Sometimes, I'm gonna have to serve those sugar-laden desserts and crappy pasta dishes. I can edit them and make them healthier, but I still have to feed people.


Follow Recipes!
Recpies are my best friend. They tell me exactly what to do and how to get something to turn out right. Now, I'm pretty good at guessing, throwing together something and having it taste decent. But nothing beats a good recipe with all the right measurements and everything.

Yummly is one of my favorite places to find the recipe I want quickly. Pinterest is helpful too. I'm slightly amused by the fact that I just recently created a board devoted to beans and rice.

Use your Sniffer!
Once you've cooked enough, you will know what certain things are supposed to smell like, regardless of whether you can taste it or not. Memorize how your favorite chili recipe smells, how that awesome spaghetti sauce smells, and what your chocolate chip cookie dough is suppose to smell like. Learn how to utilize that smell memory of yours!

Be Confident!
I highly doubt this is your first rodeo. You know how to do this! You know how to cook, right? So cook, feed it to your minions, make your own meal, and move on. Sure you're going to have some flops. At the moment of writing this, I'm trying to make some chocolate butterscotch chip cookies for church fellowship tonight...and they are flat. Ridiculously flat. I have no idea what happened, but they flopped. So now I am experimenting with baking them in my muffin tin and pie pans, so the dough will hold its shape and not become a pancake. But that's life. You live and learn.

What you are doing for your food life is important, and its going to benefit you in ways you could never imagine. What you get by tailoring your menu and giving yourself a healthier lifestyle gives you leaps and bounds in your health above others that choose not to. You are doing the right thing. Keep doing it!

Let them in Your World!
People can surprise you. And you can surprise people. They might be wary of your foodie habits, but letting them try some of your odd snacks might be the best thing in their day! And they might really like your stuff! So don't be afraid to cook a healthy meal for someone. They just might surprise you and really enjoy it!

Never be afraid to talk about your food life either. Especially if they don't know you, they might not realize why you do what you do. When I start mentioning that I'm a vegan (plus all the other things), people generally automatically think "hippie, animal-rights-activist, anti-hunting guru". But then I have to be quick to clarify that its not cause I think eating animals is bad. I am totally pro-hunting! When I tell them I'm curing myself of epilepsy through food, their jaws drop. They would never have guessed and never thought such a thing was possible.

Share your story!

Be Steadfast!
I don't ever accept the excuse that you can't live a healthy lifestyle because your family won't eat that way, or because you just "can't" give up X-Y-Z foods. YOU CAN. The people around you do not dictate your eating habits, and there is no well-loved food more important than your health. Sure, its hard. But it is not impossible. Don't ever say you could never live with your caffeinated, sugary beverages, your chocolate treats, or your ice cream binges. Don't ever tell me you don't like water or vegetables. They are all just excuses, and bad ones at that. YOU CAN. Period.

You make a choice to take your health in your own hands. With that choice comes a responsibility to yourself. Don't let other peoples' actions dictate your behavior. Just because everyone else is eating it does not mean you have to. Its like the analogy that mom's love to use with their teenagers...if all your friends jump off a bridge, are you going to follow?

We have put a lot of social stigma on food. We have made it so that it is rude not to eat what everyone else is eating, and that requesting something different is considered snobbish. Food is comfort. Its what people do together, and while this may be true, it has caused the good intentions of health-foodies to go down the drain with one simple "Hey, let's go out for ice cream!" Food is important, but it is not the be-all-end-all of our social lives. You have to stick to your guns, tell your story, and say NO to the cupcakes! It isn't worth it.


Cooking your loved ones food that your can't eat is hard sometimes. But its not impossible. And its not impossible to live a food life that no one else around you does. Its kinda like being a Christian (now, just bear with me here). Those fiery darts are gonna come at your from all sides. But what do you do? You put on your whole armor of God and stand strong and courageous!

Well, maybe that's a rough analogy. But you get the idea.

Life is always interesting.

I ended up crashing with a cold that has been circulating Kyle's family since July. Took its good old time getting to me, but alas it caught up to me and thankfully I had the weekend off to fight the worst of it.

I do have a point to saying this, other than just complaining. I have noticed over the past few months that I have the tendency to bruise easily. Like, really easily. Doesn't take much of a bump to give me a nasty looking bruise. So I read up on that, and it turns out that one of the main causes of bruising easily is a lack of Vitamin C. Which explains a lot since, with my diet the way it is, I eat very little fruit. I try to drink lots of lemon water and eat plenty of carrots and other veggies, but I guess maybe its just hard to take the place of stuff like apples and oranges?

Well, over the weekend I started taking a powdered Vitamin C supplement. I really upped my intake of it to try to kill the bad sicky germ in me. It helped that cause, but I also noticed that within about 48 hours of upping my Vitamin C intake by supplement, two good sized bruises on my leg had completely disappeared.

So that proves that theory! Now the challenge will be how to get more Vitamin C in me without always taking a supplement. Hmm...

This weekend was made even more interesting by my husband breaking his collar bone on Sunday. Yep. snapped it clean in two. Makes my stomach turn every time I think about it. So after a quick trip to the ER, he will be spending the next six weeks in a back/shoulder sling and learning how to do almost everything with his left arm.

Being the health nut that I am, I instantly got him started him two homeopathic remedies, rubbed him with arnica gel and even got him to let put French Green Clay on the spot where its broken once so far to help with inflammation and to try to draw the bones back together. My mom reminded me that homeopathic remedies are the only natural medicines that do not interfere with conventional medication, since the doctor gave him some Motrin and Vicodin to help with the pain. I'm not sure yet if what I'm doing is helping any, but its neat to try and I'm thankful he's willing to let me experiment on him!

And now for the best part. I've reinvented Dandy Candy.

Dandy Candy originally came from the La Leche League's "Whole Foods for the Whole Family" cookbook. The old one. I don't believe its in the new one. But its one of the best, easiest treats and kids always love making it. It basically consists of peanut butter, powdered milk and honey, and then you could roll it into balls and add whatever sort of additions you liked. stick them in the fridge and BANG. Dessert. Or breakfast. Or lunch.

But lately I've been missing such delicacies. Since honey and powdered milk are out of the question, I decided to come up with something better. And boy, did I ever! I have created the best possible treat in the whole world.

100% vegan, gluten free, soy free, sugar free, grain free, non-chocolate, no caffeine, dairy or eggs. What more could you want?

“So…what DO you eat?”

Yes, I get that question quite often. Its one of those phrases I’ve become accustomed to hearing over and over. Like “Oh, you’re home schooled! So how does that work?” or “Wow, you look so young. I would have guessed you about 16.”

I don’t really get tired of hearing that question. I’ve got quite an incredible story, to be honest, and its good information, so I’m happy to share my food life with people. I don’t get tired of the other questions either. Yes, I loved home schooling. Yes, I know I look like a kid. But its alright.

The only thing I don’t like it the look on people’s faces when I tell them what I do eat. Fruit, veggies, nuts and beans. Very little grains. No wheat, sugar, corn, meat, dairy or potatoes of any sort.

Here comes the look of pure pity. Sorrow, too, as if they want to cry for me.

Oh, its well meant, of course. By loving friends that simply are amazed that anyone can eat like that and still be sane. It doesn’t annoy me or anything.

Its just…well…I am honestly not a person you should be feeling sorry for.

I’m not ill. I don’t have some terrible terminal disease that is going to cut me off in the prime of life. In truth, I will probably be one of the last people to get a life threatening illness due to the fact that my diet is so simple and clean.

I don’t deserve your pity.

Why should you be sad for me? Because I can’t indulge in the nearest cupcake or bucket of ice cream? Because I’ll never be able to share a bowl of popcorn at the movies with my boyfriend? Because I won’t be able to enjoy take-out pizza with my kids? Gee, when you put it that way…

But hang on.

You’re right. I’m missing out. I’m missing out on birthday cakes and summer ice cream cones, hot delivery pizza and road trip candy bars. I’m missing out on all the food normally associated with cook-outs and tea parties and baby showers.

But there’s something else I’m missing out on as well.

I’m missing out on missing out on life. Yeah you read that right. No, I didn’t repeat myself accidentally. Go ahead, read it over again. I typed it just the way I wanted it. Maybe it would be better said that I’m not missing out on life. There. That’s a little clearer.

If you’ve never had a seizure, then you can’t imagine what I’m talking about. The helplessness that washes over you when you know you’re going down. The feeling of defeat, of “Oh SNAP!” when you wake up and realize you’ve had one. The recuperation period that seems like an eternity squashed into a day or two. The feeling of fear when you can’t figure out why on earth this is happening, and never knowing when it is going to happen again. And then the total apprehension that comes with wanting to do anything in life…can I go on this trip? Can I have these people stay over? Should I get up this early? Can I drive today? Could I ever get married? What about having a baby? Am I going to be alright?

Talk about a reality check.

So guess what. There are exactly two things in the entire world that one can do with seizures.

One. Go to the doctor and get put on medication. Trust me, I’ve researched it.

Two. Change your diet. Change your life.

I picked number Two.

I’ve now spent the past two and half years trying to figure this out. Changing this. Trying that. Tweaking, fixing, experimenting, eliminating. Crying, fuming, starting all over again, and again, and again. Till finally…

I found something that works. Its called Simplicity.

Fruit, veggies, nuts and beans. Very little grains. No wheat, sugar, corn, meat, dairy or potatoes of any sort.

I’ve given up the all-American food life for a chance at a normal life. Comfort food in exchange for a clear mind and the ability to bounce out of bed at a moment’s notice. I’ve given up ice cream, pizza and popcorn, and gained the ability to go on long road trips, host incredible events, be a little bit stressed if I have to, not fear my menstrual cycle, and even fall in love.

Don’t pity me. Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m totally getting the better end of this deal.