My day was packed, but sadly, not my suitcase. I still have 9 hours. That’s a lifetime.

The hardest part of packing is making a list.

I’m so anal meticulous I think that if I made a mistake I would have gotten out the White Out. They have places for people like me. You will note that there’s no “white jacket” on that list, though. But if there were, it would be in the “Layers” category of the “Me” subsection.

I tend to overpack and ended up paying an extra forty clams for a “big boned” bag on the way home from Hawaii, so I’m trying to be choosy in what I’m packing and what I’m not.

I AM packing generic Nyquil.

The hard stuff because I’m fighting a cold. Generic because I’m cheap.

I am NOT packing my running shoes.

The average Disneyland-goer walks between 8 and 12 miles per day. I do not plan on walking those miles in Shape Ups either. I don’t care how firm they’ll make my backside, they are hideous.

I AM packing super comfortable, slightly mature sandals. Born and Aerosoles, just like Grandma always wore.

It’s the lesser of two evils.

I am NOT packing the leftover cupcakes.

Those must be eaten immediately, along with a 1/2 a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough. I also have 8 1/2 hours to polish off a head of romaine, a zucchini, and some broccoli florets, so in my book they cancel each other out.

Speaking of my book, I AM packing my latest round of edits.

I don’t anticipate having a lot of free time, but “It’s a Small World” is a long ride. It’s a long…long…ride.

I AM packing a Real Simple “Clip and Save” To Go Workout.

It will make an awesome bookmark for the Chelsea Handler book I’m also bringing.

I AM packing a lot of food.

I simply have to make sure I have all the necessary accouterments for the Priciest Produce on Earth.

I have a feeling all our cash will be blown on giant pickles. I have nothing else to say about that.

I am NOT packing the Pillow Pets.

This may become a problem upon our departure at 7:30 a.m.

I am NOT packing any other pet, for that matter.

I anticipate she will puke on the carpet at 7:32 a.m.

I AM packing the most elaborate Princess dresses I’ve ever seen.

They make my wedding dress look like it was made of cheesecloth and Elmer’s glue.

I would show you full-length shots, but trust me, you will see more pictures of Gigi Tiana and Lulu Sleeping Beauty than you will ever want in the next six days. And those dresses make all the other piles of skirts, blouses, sundresses and even Princess nighties I have packed totally irrelevant.

I want to place big red check marks next to all of these things on my list, but that would be a little too messy. I think I’ll just run down the list out loud with Pea Daddy and say “check” after each one. He can hardly wait.

Oh, and one more thing I AM taking with me…

YOU.

Check!

See you in the Hap-PEA-est Place on Earth!

(source)

That’s a little frightening.

I stayed true to my word and kept the celebrations to a minimum, but I was determined to find some time this weekend to bake Lu some birthday cupcakes.  Finding time proved harder than it seemed.

I’m told Lulu appreciated her birthday post as Pea Daddy read it to her the next morning.  I had gotten up when it was still dark outside and was busy rooting on my absolutely amazing friend Melissa as she ran her half-marathon in Wine Country.

I went for a quick run myself while Melissa was tearing up her 13.1 miles in a new PR.  I figured as long as I worked up a decent sweat I’d be entitled to a free bagel and a glass of Pinot.  Maybe I’d even talk my way into a medal.

No such luck on any of those counts.  But I had a beautiful, hand-crafted “medal” waiting for me at home.

“Moderation” is not in any of the Peas’ vocabulary.

My kitchen floor looked like a cross between an Adam Lambert video and a strip club for the rest of the weekend.  I’ll be selling these beauties in an Etsy store for $89.95 next week.

By the end of this post, you’ll want one too.

Between glitter cleanup and the “medal ceremony,” I didn’t get a chance to make cupcakes, but we did make it to the carousel.

And we let Lulu choose anywhere she wanted to go out to dinner.  Did she choose a trendy vegan cafe in an upscale Portland neighborhood? Nah.  But she didn’t choose Chuck E. Cheese’s either.

She, of course, chose a salad bar buffet known as Sweet Tomatoes.  There was obviously no shortage of cheese, though.  What’s “moderation” mean again?

Gift opening at Mimi and Poppy’s was also reminiscent of Chuck E. Cheese.

Whac-a-Mole!  They’ve had a display version of the game out at Target for the last few weeks, and when I asked Lulu what she wanted to do on her birthday, she said, “Go to Target and play Whac-a-Mole!” Thankfully Mimi and Poppy hooked her up, or I might still be on the toy aisle watching my toddler giggle and scream while she simulates animal cruelty.

She gets so into it that she uses two mallets.  Go hard or go home.  PETA is waiting outside my door with a can of red paint and a megaphone.

The Whac-a-Mole tourney went late into the night.  I’m beginning to think Mimi and Poppy had ulterior motives in buying the game.

Once we finally weaseled the game out of Mimi and Poppy’s white-knuckled clutches and made it home, it was too late to bake cupcakes.  But no one ever said you can’t have cupcakes for breakfast.

Except for that one time I did.  Oh well, some rules are meant to be broken…in moderation.

Chocolate Covered Strawberry Cupcakes

Makes 12 cupcakes

• 2 c. whole wheat pastry flour
• 1 c. organic sugar
• 1/2 c. cocoa powder
• 1 t. baking soda
• 1/2 t. salt
• 1/3 c. canola oil
• 1 t. vanilla
• 1 t. white vinegar
• 1 c. non-dairy or organic milk
• 1/3 c. strawberry preserves
• thinly sliced strawberries and organic powdered sugar for garnish

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Combine flour, sugar, cocoa, baking soda and salt in a large bowl.

In a measuring cup, combine oil, vanilla, vinegar and milk.  Add wet ingredients to dry and stir until combined.

Fill prepared muffin cups with batter until 2/3rds of the way full.

Bake cupcakes for 20-25 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of a cupcake comes out clean.  Allow cupcakes to cool.

Insert the end of the knife into the center of each cooled cupcake and turn to make a small hole.  Place strawberry preserves into a pastry bag with a medium wide tip.

Place the tip of the bag in the center of the cupcake and pipe the preservers into the hole.

Top each cupcake with a thin strawberry slice.

Dust cupcakes with powdered sugar.

I think they were worth the wait.

Cupcakes for breakfast?  At-home arcade games?  A trip to Disneyland?

Happy Birthday, indeed.

Let’s just hope for Mickey’s sake those mallets don’t work their way into the suitcase.  You know I won’t leave home without my medal, though.

.

You were completely worth it.

I gaze at you with such wonder and adoration–that all eight pounds of glorious and PERFECT you could have come from me.

I didn’t think I could love you more.

And someone else held you in the highest of regard as well.

Okay, two “someone else”s.

The funny thing is, the more you became YOU, the more I loved.

Big blue eyes,

and goofy grins.

You always make me feel happier, and like life’s burdens aren’t quite as heavy as I make them out to be.

No challenge is too big…

or too hard…

and when life throws a punch,

you aren’t afraid to take whatever it has to dish.

You are one of my best friends,

and I hope you know that no matter what you do,

I’ll be right there, loving you, supporting you, and being so proud of the little person you are.

And wishing you were still in my lap, dozing off (as I try to micromanage the little lives going on around me).

I’m still completely sure that having you was one of the top three decisions I’ve ever made.

Happy Birthday, Lu.  I love you more than you’ll ever know.

The older you get, the harder I’ll squeeze.

I completely underestimated the amount of thoughtful feedback and support I would receive, via your comments and emails.  I really cannot express to you how much it means to pour your heart into writing something that you feel so passionately about and to have others, even others with completely different views, respond with such positivity.  I have such respect and high regard for you all, and it makes me more willing to share even more of my experiences and thoughts that I feel might benefit others in some way.  And trust me, there are more of those experiences and thoughts than I would like.  But that’s enough heaviness for now.

Let’s reward ourselves for having delved into the tough issues.

How about a nice scalp massage?

And a warm rinse.

A confidence boosting trim.

A blow out.

And a style.

Followed by a self-admiring head tilt.

When did I outgrow that?  We all could use some more self-admiring head tilts.

And some more cookies.

A reader requested that I makeover the Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pie Cookies.  Don’t pretend you don’t know what they are.

Remember when the treats you chose were based not on nutrition but based on the sheer quantities of goods you could purchase with your allowance/babysitting money/pop can returns?  The quantity rule is always why I chose Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Twix.  You got two!  And anything Little Debbie, you could get ten individually wrapped treats for a dollar, making them oh so attractive.

But I honestly had never even seen a Little Debbie treat until I started working at a pretty sketchy grocery store in high school and college.  SKETCH-E.  By contrast, a  few weeks ago some unkind commenter said that they found me to be “out of touch” and “spoiled” (please disregard the princess salon visits above).  Just know that my job checking groceries put me “in touch” enough to last me the rest of my life.

The store I worked at was in the absolute worst part of town, otherwise known as “Felony Flats.”  That is also the name of  a shoe line that Paris Hilton will be releasing this winter.  I knew that I was dealing with some unsavory clientele when the majority of customers, after being asked for their ID upon purchasing their carton of  Camels or their Icehouse Tallboy, handed me their SID card.  In other words, their prison ID.

The amazing thing is, to this day checking groceries in “Felony Flats” is one of the best jobs I ever had.  I learned so much about how to relate to people from all walks of life, how to not judge others by their appearance (or criminal record), how a smile and a kind word can really make someone’s day.  I also learned to always wear rubber gloves when counting bottles because you never know when you are going to find a syringe.  And yes, I learned that people like their Little Debbie treats.  Unfortunately most of the time, quantity really does win out over quality.

Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pie Cookies are not quality.  You see, they contain:

Corn Syrup, Enriched Bleached Flour (Wheat Flour, Niacin, Reduced Iron, Thiamine Mononitrate [Vitamin B1] Riboflavin [Vitamin B2] Folic Acid) Partially Hydrogenated Soybean and Cottonseed Oil with TBHQ to Preserve Flavor, Dextrose, Water, Oats, Sugar, Molasses, Raisins, Leavening (Baking Soda, Sodium Aluminum Phosphate, Ammonium Bicarbonate) Whey [Milk] Emulsifiers (Soy Lecithin, Mono and Diglycerides, Sorbitan Monostearate, Polysorbate 60) Salt, Cornstarch, Natural and Artificial Flavors, Eggs, Interesterfied Palm and Palm Kernel Oils, Soybean Oil, Sorbic Acid (To Retain Freshness), Cocoa, Colors (Caramel Color, Titanium Dioxide, Red 40, Beta Carotene, Turmeric, Annatto Extract, Yellow 5), Egg Whites, Citric Acid, Pectin, Sodium Citrate, Coconut (Sulfite Treated to Preserve Color), Evaporated Apples (Sulfite Treated to Preserve Color), Nonfat Dry Milk, Carrageenan, Spices, Rice Flour.

But mine don’t.

Oatmeal Cream Pie Cookies

Makes 10 cookie sandwiches

Cookies:

• 1 c. old fashioned oats
• 1 c. whole wheat pastry flour
• 2 t. baking powder
• 1 t. cinnamon
• 1/2 t. salt
• 1/2 c. organic brown sugar
• 1/2 c. vegan margarine (i.e. Earth Balance), softened
• 1 T. molasses
• 1 t. vanilla
• 2 T. non-dairy or organic milk

Filling:

• 1/2 c. vegan margarine (i.e. Earth Balance)
• 1 c. vegan marshmallow cream (i.e. Suzanne’s Ricemellow Creme)
• 1/2 t. vanilla
• 1/3 c. organic powdered sugar
• 1/4 t. salt

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

In a large bowl, combine oats, flour, baking powder, cinnamon, salt and brown sugar.

In a stand or electric mixer, beat together sugar, margarine, molasses and vanilla.

Gradually add dry ingredients to the mixer.

Add milk and mix until the dough comes together.

Spoon dough by the tablespoonful onto an ungreased cookie sheet.  There should be 20 cookies.

Flatten cookies by hand into a round cookie shape (the cookies will not spread much while baking).

Bake for 10-12 minutes until edges are browned and cookies are firm.  Transfer to a cooling rack and cool completely.

For the filling, beat together all ingredients until fully combined.

Refrigerate filling for at least 30 minutes before using.  It will stiffen up significantly the longer it chills.

Fill fully cooled cookies with 1-2 tablespoons of filling,

and top with another cookie.

Chill cookies before eating and refrigerate any leftovers.

Indulge.

Okay, I admit.

We are totally spoiled.

There’s no question that this Oscar-winning film is important, emotional and informative.  These facts exposed in the movie just cannot be disputed:

• Annually and estimated 23,000+ dolphins and porpoises are killed each year in Japan as a part of their whaling industry;
• These animals are killed as a direct result of the “goldmine” of capturing a handful of these animals for sale to marine parks and aquariums.  While the animals sold to the parks can earn their “hunters” between $100,000-12,0000 worldwide, the remaining animals are then slaughtered and sold for their meat which is consumed, despite it having dangerous levels of mercury making it unsafe for consumption;
• Every time you visit a marine park or aquarium you are not only supporting the industry, thereby condoning the annual slaughter, but also encouraging parks like these to continue to keep these animals in captivity;
• Despite what you may think, dolphins and sea mammals do not enjoy being in “abusement parks.”  Wild dolphins swim between 40 and 100 miles per day, make use of their echolocation, hunt for fish, play in the surf, and have a life expectancy of 45 years.  In captivity, the majority suffer from capture shock, ulcers and other stress-related illnesses and have a life expectancy of 5 years.  Those “smiles” you see are not real.

I must have turned to Pea Daddy ten times during the film and said, “I’m so glad we did not take the girls to ‘swim with the dolphins’ when we went to Hawaii.” I’m only sorry we even ate lunch at the resort that housed them.

No Mango Mojito is worth supporting that.

More than just learning about the dolphin cause, though, the film reaffirmed my beliefs of about our lifestyle.  A lot of readers have asked periodically about the path that led me to choosing not to eat animals.  There are so many different components that have fed into that decision, some related to health, some related to spirituality and some related to just basic food safety.  At some point, I may delve into those other reasons a little more deeply, but today, I really just want to talk to you about the one major factor that led me to believe that consuming animals and animal products was just something that I didn’t want to do anymore. 

I MADE THE CONNECTION.

It was a silly thing that allowed me to make the connection and it is also the reason I will forever be grateful to Sarah Palin. I simply saw this news clip of her pardoning a turkey for Thanksgiving and in the background, farmers were slaughtering other turkeys.  It was the first time I had ever watched an animal die.  Just so somebody could have a sandwich.  The connection deepened for me as I read the books Skinny Bitch and Diet for a New America, and then when I saw Food, Inc.  And I haven’t been able to disconnect since.

There is a point in The Cove when a Japanese fisherman says, and I’m paraphrasing here, “What is so different between what we are doing and what you do to cows, chickens and pigs every day?”

And my response is: NOTHING.

While I was of course horrified by the violent spearing of the dolphins in the film, the echos of their shrieks and the bloody, red water, I really feel it is only a small scale version of the abuse, the torture and the killing that goes on every single day in factory farms across our country.

I know reading this may be uncomfortable for some of you, and talking about it is somewhat out of character for me.  I sincerely hope it does not deter you from coming back and making my oatmeal cream pie cookies, from reading about how I’m desperately trying to talk Gigi out of buying the iCarly backpack for kindergarten or Lulu’s inexplicable new obsession with my bras.

Sorry, Kid.  You are already about two cup sizes too big for that one.

But think of how different this world would be if we didn’t confront and challenge ourselves with things that make us uncomfortable.  Religious persecution might still be widespread.  There might not be an African American president in the White House.  My daughters might not be able to get an education, share their viewpoints or wear tutus in public.

The tragedy.

So, I challenge each of you, just for a moment, to open yourself up to making the connection.

• You can read more about The Cove, the plight of dolphins and what you can do to help here;
• You can watch the trailer for the documentary Earthlings, a film that exposes the suffering of animals for food, fashion, pets, entertainment and medical research here, or you can even watch the entire film here;
• You can visit the Humane Society’s website and learn more about how and why we should put an end to factory farming here;
• Or, if it is all a little too emotionally and politically charged for you, you can visit my recipe page and simply choose to make a meatless meal tonight.  You might be surprised at not only how delicious it can be, but what a difference eating a meatless meal can make.

I have The Cove to thank for one more thing.  Pea Daddy turned to me stone-faced at one point during the discussion of dolphin suffering in captivity and said, “You’re going to use this as an excuse to release Pea Kitty into the wild, aren’t you?”

A ha!  That’s one connection I hadn’t made yet.  But I really can’t turn a blind eye any longer.

One of my first requests came from reader/blogger Mandy A. who said:

I’d love to see a cereal bar of some kind. Not the granola type bar… but like the strawberry in the chewy center type bars? I can buy the Kashi ones, of course… but would still love to be able to feel better about giving them to my daughter if they were home made – AND taste good, since she’s so darn picky

And of course, I thought of these:

I haven’t had a lot of Nutrigrain bars in my life.  My mom shunned any breakfast items with more than 5 grams of sugar.  Except Trix (her favorite) and the occasional Dunkin’ Donut.  That’s the fun part about being the mom, you can simultaneously make up the rules and the exceptions.  For example, “no yelling”…unless you catch Lulu putting your tube of cherry Chapstick on her toes and licking it off.

I was familiar, however, with the TV ad claiming that eating a Nutrigrain bar for breakfast can help you make “healthier” decisions all day.

Hmm.  Apparently the key to solving our county’s obesity epidemic, preventing dehydration, ending sleep deprivation and ultimately finding inner peace is really just found in a cereal bar.  This will change my life.  Look for my new memoir called Eat Nutrigrain Bars, Pray, Love.

One minor detail, though.  Here is the ingredient list for a blueberry Nutrigrain bar:

Ingredients
CRUST: WHOLE GRAIN ROLLED OATS, ENRICHED FLOUR (WHEAT FLOUR, NIACIN, REDUCED IRON, THIAMIN MONONITRATE [VITAMIN B1], RIBOFLAVIN [VITAMIN B2], FOLIC ACID), WHOLE WHEAT FLOUR, SUNFLOWER AND/OR SOYBEAN OIL WITH TBHQ FOR FRESHNESS, HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP, SUGAR, HONEY, DEXTROSE, CALCIUM CARBONATE, SOLUBLE CORN FIBER, NONFAT DRY MILK, WHEAT BRAN, SALT, CELLULOSE, POTASSIUM BICARBONATE (LEAVENING), NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL FLAVOR, MONO- AND DIGLYCERIDES, PROPYLENE GLYCOL ESTERS OF FATTY ACIDS, SOY LECITHIN, WHEAT GLUTEN, NIACINAMIDE, SODIUM STEAROYL LACTYLATE, VITAMIN A PALMITATE, CARRAGEENAN, ZINC OXIDE, REDUCED IRON, GUAR GUM, PYRIDOXINE HYDROCHLORIDE (VITAMIN B6), THIAMIN HYDROCHLORIDE (VITAMIN B1), RIBOFLAVIN (VITAMIN B2), FOLIC ACID. FILLING: HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP, CORN SYRUP, BLUEBERRY PUREE CONCENTRATE, GLYCERIN, SUGAR, WATER, SODIUM ALGINATE, MODIFIED CORN STARCH, NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL FLAVOR, CITRIC ACID, METHYLCELLULOSE, CALCIUM PHOSPHATE, MALIC ACID, RED #40, BLUE #1.

I’m pretty sure if I, or my girls, started out the day with a Nutrigrain bar, one BAD decision would lead to another.  Much like if I allowed the girls to have an after-lunch piece of pinata candy.

No chapstick or drawerful of pajamas would be safe.

She was looking for her princess nighty in the middle of the afternoon.  She found it.

Oh, did she find it.

So Mandy A., I feel your pain.  And I answered your call.

Better Berry Nutrigrain Bars

Makes 12-16 bars

• 1 1/2 c. whole wheat pastry flour
• 2 1/2 c. oats
• 2 t. baking powder
• 1/2 t. salt
• 1/4 c. organic sugar
• 1/2 c. unsweetened applesauce
• 1/4 c. vegan margarine (i.e. Earth Balance), melted
• One 10 0z. jar 100% fruit blueberry preserves, or your choice of flavor

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

In a large bowl, combine dry ingredients.

In a smaller bowl, combine melted margarine and applesauce (I used a naturally flavored berry unsweetened applesauce).

Add the wet ingredients to the dry and stir until fully moistened.

Press 1/2 of mixture into the bottom of an 8×8 pan that has been sprayed with cooking spray.

Top the layer with the entire jar of berry preserves.

Place the remaining crust mixture on top of the preserves and press down to form the top bar crust.

Bake for 20-25 minutes, until crust is golden brown.  Allow bars to cool completely before cutting.

Strikingly similar, but with eight ingredients instead of forty-eight.  I was tempted to add that propylene glycol esters of fatty acids, but darn if we weren’t out.

I’m optimistic that  if we start out the day with one of these better bars in the morning, maybe, just maybe, tomorrow my lips will taste like berries instead of toddler feet.

Pucker up, Pea Daddy.

There are just some things you have to experience firsthand.

A high school friend of mine got caught drinking and her parents took the unheard of approach of letting her get as sloshed as possible…only to cook her plenty of runny eggs and sausages for breakfast the next morning.  That friend was “Becky Connor” and it was an episode of Roseanne.  I never looked at breakfast sausage the same way again.

I didn’t set out for the birthday party this afternoon with such a lesson in mind.  Far be it from me to take parenting advice from television housewives that aren’t from New York, Orange County or Washington D.C.  But once I saw the party spread this afternoon, I thought, why not?  And some valuable wisdom was gained.

For example, Capri Suns, along with being devoid of any nutritional value, remain a complete b*&$% Roseanne Barr to open.  Why is it so impossible to punch a flimsy, angled straw through that tiny hole above the “I?”  I wasn’t helping the girls out with this one either.  If they want their HFCS water, they are going to work for it or die trying.

I myself learned that Cheetos pose the Sophie’s Choice-caliber dilemma to Lulu, who is obsessed with both clean hands and all things cheesy.  Choose the salty, cheesy, crunchy goodness or  choose the clean, orange powder-free fingers.  I tried not to visibly cringe as child after child licked their coated fingers and then dipped their hands back into the communal bowl.  After a brief experience with a few Cheetos and their accompanying residue, Lulu announced, “I’ll just eat grapes.”

Unfortunately, grapes can’t compete with cake and ice cream.  And you certainly can’t put grapes in a pinata.

While I made sure the girls steered clear of making “Tornados” out of “Roseanne” and “Dan’s” liquor cabinet, I gave them a little more freedom than usual in making their own choices.  The post-party result?

Bleh.

I took advantage of the girls’ requests for Saltines and ginger ale for dinner and fixed something a little more culturally adventurous for Pea Daddy and I.

Green Tofu Curry

• 1 pkg. extra firm tofu, drained and pressed
• 2 T. soy sauce
• 1 T. lime juice
• 1 packet of stevia or sugar equivalent
• 1 1/2 c. cilantro leaves, coarsely chopped
• 1 1/2 c. fresh mint leaves, coarsely chopped
• 1/2 c. onion, chopped
• 3 t. minced garlic
• 1 1/2-inch piece ginger, peeled and coarsely chopped
• salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 1/4 c. water
• 1 t. lime juice
• 2 t. ground cumin
• 1 t.  ground coriander
• 1/2 t. garam masala
• 1/2 t. ground turmeric
• 1/4 c. coconut milk
• Cooked brown rice, for serving

Growing up, sports were something I always felt like I should do, but never really something I wanted to do.  I was perfectly happy to sit in an empty refrigerator box and read stories about babysitting clubs, blond twins from Sweet Valley and a red-haired orphan’s adventures on Prince Edward Island.  I’d plow through books faster than my mom could buy or borrow them and as a result, I’d read the same stories over and over again.  Or else I’d write my own, hunting and pecking away at my grandma’s electric typewriter.

Even though my parents always cultivated my love of reading and writing, I was also encouraged to try something a little more physical.  Anything.  “Just get out and get some color on those cheeks!”  I was lazy.  I was clumsy.  I was slow. I wished someone would assassinate the president if it meant we’d get out of his stupid fitness tests with that torturous arm hang.  And the jog-a-thon, the school fundraiser wherein we’d hit up our neighbors and relatives for money per lap we’d run in an hour, was a nightmare.  My hard sell was, “Listen, Grams, we know I’m not going to be setting any records here.  Why don’t you just give me a flat $5 and call it good?”

I’m sure my lack of athleticism was only magnified by my brother’s ability to turn even a race to the mailbox into a gold-medal winning event.  They didn’t call him “Fast Eddie” for nothing.  He even went to the Junior National Olympics in the sixth grade, and medaled on his 4×400 relay team.  I stayed home and read in my box.  And though I was well-read and becoming a skilled writer, it didn’t earn me medals, accolades or popularity.  It simply made me different and introverted.

I pretty much stayed in my box until the summer when I was thirteen and I grew a foot.  Then, instead of being encouraged to run, I was constantly told, “You should play basketball!”  Yes, Shorty, and you should play miniature golf.  But I quit fighting it and got out in the driveway with my brother, who quit running long enough to show me how to shoot and dribble.  And through a lot of hours, shoveling snowy driveways, spending summers at camps, sprained ankles and jammed fingers, I actually became pretty good.  Good enough to earn a little money to play in college.  I felt accomplished and proud.

Not so proud of the red lipstick and Aqua Net bangs.  Yeesh.

My sports story could have ended there.  Sometimes I wish it had.  But something in me wanted to prove that I wasn’t that awkward little girl struggling around the grade school track during the Mile Run.  I wanted to not be the outcast trying to catch the “mean girls” that I tried to befriend as they’d walk around the track at recess, only to have them take off running when I’d get within about 15 feet of them.  I wanted to catch them and prove that I was good enough.

And so I started running.  I didn’t love it.  It wasn’t a passion.  But I felt redemption when I finished my first and second half-marathons.  I had turned myself into a runner, surprising everyone:  my family, my friends and mostly myself.  I felt accomplished and proud.

The problem is, I just wasn’t meant to be a runner.  Not everyone is.  Some people don’t have the joints, the lung capacity, the right arches in their feet or even the right spine structure, for goodness sake.  And I promise, it doesn’t make you any less of an athlete, it doesn’t make you lazy and it doesn’t mean you don’t have ambition.  It just means you aren’t a runner, and that is that.  I’m just sorry it took a ruptured disc and some surgery for me to realize that.

And now, as a mom, I see Gigi’s sports story beginning.  She’s seen me run.  She knows I played basketball.  And she has the added benefit of looking to other women for inspiration.

I’m proud that my daughters are alive at a time when they can see women’s college soccer be celebrated.

A time when men will take their shirts off for the women.

You can take yours off too, Pea Daddy.  I won’t complain.

It’s exciting that women’s sports warrant a mascot, as creepy as he may be.

I’m glad my girls can be a cheerleader,

and concessions-tester,

or they can participate themselves,

if they so choose.  But if they want to write, sing, paint or cook, I hope that with our encouragement and support, it will give them just as much pride and confidence as scoring a goal or winning a race.

As for my own sports story, even though I’ll never run a marathon, or even another half-marathon for that matter, I know there’s got to be a new ending for me.  I’m ready to find a new challenge, be it on foot, on bike or in the water.  Or maybe I’ll just be on the sidelines, happy to coach, cheer and peck away on my keyboard.

I have a feeling I’ll still feel accomplished and very, very proud.

The girls were pretty proud of their certificates and Tootsie Pops.  I’ve decided to issue my own Swim Lessons Participation Award to myself, for:

• Having bladders emptied pre-swimming so no one peed in the pool (that I know of);

• Ensuring that Lulu’s blonde locks did not turn green;

• Dealing with the rapid removal of wet swimsuits during bathroom emergencies;
• Not making fun of my own children for wearing hideous and pointless eyewear.

I thought I’d be getting a bit of my life back now that swim lessons are over.  I thought wrong.

You see, today was the Open House at a local ballet academy we’ve talked about enrolling Gigi into.  She wasn’t excited or anything.

The school offered a free introductory class to all prospective students.  And I do mean ALL prospective students.

Mid-tantrum for not having worn a tutu.  I had a tantrum on the way there for not having worn under-eye concealer.  Poor, poor Pea Daddy.

You didn’t see this one coming.

So now, in addition to kindergarten, soccer practice, soccer games and Sunday school, we now have not one, but TWO ballet classes to work into our weekly schedule.

I told Pea Daddy I was worried about the girls being overscheduled at such a young age.  He said, “Why?  They love it!”  I retorted, “Not for them…for me!” I know the girls come alive in their tutus, they love working with teammates on the soccer field, they enjoy learning songs and doing crafts at church.  Problem is, I’m selfish.

I like taking showers.  I miss having clean hair.  I’m tired of having to stick little bits of wet toilet paper on my legs to stop blood loss after gashing myself with Pea Daddy’s my razor when furiously shaving my legs on the counter with water and hair conditioner (the first, and perhaps only beauty tip you will get from this blog).  Plus it’s unnerving to do all my plucking at stoplights.  The high school boys in the car next to me kept staring.  I think it’s because they were jealous that I could grow so much facial hair.

One of my biggest fears, though, is that we’ll be in such a hurry running from place to place that I won’t have as much time to be innovative in the kitchen.  I don’t want to rely on chick’n nuggets or frozen veggie burgers on those busy weeknights.  It doesn’t just rob my family of nutrition, it robs me of my “ballet.”   You see, the activity in which I “come alive” is cooking.  It’s creating.  It’s sharing my successes with you.

Zucchini Quinoa Lasagna

Serves 4-6

• 2 large zucchini, cut into 12 thin, 1/4 in. thick slices
• salt
• 1 c. quinoa, rinsed
• 2 c. vegetable broth
• 1/2 c. tomato sauce
• 1/4 c. minced onion
• 1 t. dried oregano
• 1/4 c. fresh basil, chopped
• 1/4 c. fresh parsley, chopped
• 2 T. organic or non-dairy cream cheese, i.e. Tofutti Better Than Cream Cheese (optional)
• salt and pepper to taste
• 1 jar organic marinara sauce
• 1/2 c. organic or non-dairy cheese, i.e. Daiya (optional)

Preheat oven to 400.

To prepare zucchini, cut a strip off of one side to make a flat base.

Then, thinly slice zucchini into “noodles.”  You’ll want 12 noodles in total.

Place noodles in a colander and sprinkle with salt, layering between paper towels.

Let this sit and absorb moisture while preparing the quinoa.

Combine quinoa, vegetable broth, tomato sauce, onion and oregano in a large saucepan and bring to a boil.

Cover and lower heat, simmering for 20 minutes.

When quinoa has absorbed all the liquid, fold in cream cheese and herbs.

Add salt and pepper to taste, and try not to eat the whole pot.

Believe it or not, it gets better.

Pour enough of marinara in the bottom of an 8×8 baking dish to cover the bottom.  Using a clean dry towel, blot remaining moisture and salt from zucchini and layer 4 noodles across the sauce.

Put a layer of quinoa across the zucchini,

and cover with another 1/3 c. of marinara sauce.

Repeat with another layer of quinoa, sauce and zucchini.

Top the final layer of zucchini with remaining sauce and 1/2 c. of cheese, if using.

Bake lasagna for 30 minutes, until heated through and zucchini is tender.

I worried it would be too soupy.  I worried it wouldn’t hold together when I cut it.  I worried it wouldn’t be filling enough for a man, but pH balanced for a woman.

It was fabulous.

I worry too much.  Maybe on those hurried nights every dinner won’t be as successful.  But the other activity that makes me come alive is being a mom and a wife.  And even if it means I don’t get an award, even if it’s a test of my patience and more accurately, my hygiene, I insist on doing more than just showing up and being part of the process.  It’s making sure that I have happy, confident children who love life and all it has to show them.

You can keep your participation certificate.  I aim higher.

I’m sure I’ll fit right in.

A few little housekeeping things before today’s post:

• I’m working on bringing the reci”peas” page up-to-date with all of the recent recipe successes, so by the weekend expect a fully updated page;
• I’m so glad you have enjoyed the recent recipe makeovers, like the Cheese Stuffed Burgers and the Peas’ PB Cup Shakes.  If you have favorite recipes that you’d like made-over into healthier, vegan versions, please leave me a comment and I’ll do my best to tackle your requests and make my family suffer through the test batches;
• We are taking a summer vacation in a week and a half, which means that for a five-day stretch we will be hanging with Mickey and Minnie and celebrating a certain three year-old’s birthday.

I’m leaning towards not having guest posts but just doing short, photo-heavy Postcards from the Peas during this time.  If you’d prefer to have guest posts, though, let me know in the comments;

• For all of those readers/bloggers in the Anaheim/L.A area, some of you have expressed interest in a meetup while we are there.  If you are interested, please leave a comment and I’ll try to coordinate something at Downtown Disney between hiding from characters and riding in teacups.

And now on with our beast of a morning…

I was up at 6.  Frack.

Pea Daddy had to go into work early, which meant breakfast duties, cleanup, grooming and a workout was all done on my own.  No one suffered in any of those areas but me.  The girls were fed, cleaned up and braided, and as for my workout…  It’s a good thing I don’t pay money for a trainer.  It’d be hard to explain why I was stopping mid-bicep curl to mop up pee.  Not my own.  And I’d have loved to do a few more reps of skull crushers were it not for the Tofutti cream cheese face cream Lulu was testing and the big clump of strawberry jelly dangling off her fingers and threatening the carpet.

I grabbed about forty-five free seconds to brush my teeth, only to then spit out half the temporary crown that has been perched on the molar from hell.  Three root canals in that same tooth the past month.  I’m pretty sure my endodonist has a new car because of me.  And a new affection for healthy living blogs (love ya, Doc!).

A quick phone call was met with, “Can you get here in five minutes?”  I must say, there’s nothing that makes you feel more beautiful in the morning than losing part of a tooth, except for then going to get it fixed without makeup or a shower and in your “used” workout clothes.  I’d have said “sweaty” workout clothes, but then I’d be a liar.  A toothless liar.

An hour and a new temporary crown later, we were at swim lessons.

I didn’t care that all the working moms had on their professional outfits of pressed slacks and crisp blouses, or that the SAHMs had on their sundresses and wedges.  I didn’t care if my tank top had strawberry jelly smudges on it or that I might have slept in it last night too.  I had all my teeth.  And today that was enough.

Because today, I’m embracing my beauty.

I’m featured on a new site called Faces of Beauty, started by fellow blogger Heather.  The site allows women of all ages to celebrate their unique beauty.  The concept is to have a photograph of each woman with minimal to no make-up, and a description of what that woman defines as beautiful.  The hope is that by seeing real women stripped down to who they really are and embracing their natural beauty, it will inspire other women to see the beauty in themselves.

You can participate by simply visiting the site and viewing the inspiring photos and stories.  Or if you are feeling brave, you can submit a photo and story of your own.  Or maybe you are just curious and want to see me without makeup.  I might have on the jelly tanktop.

And my left rear molar?  It’s fake, and it’s spectacular.