Lavender Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Muffins

There's a contest going on over at So Delicious and Go Dairy Free, looking for the best dairy free Snackable recipes around. That got me surfing through old recipe posts of mine, and I came across my oatmeal muffin recipe, which has, over the years, become a standard snack of choice around here.

I've made alterations to the original recipe over time, to get the best crowd-pleasing flavour. Remember too, these are dairy free, so that's a bonus for us lactose intolerant folk.

DAIRY-FREE LAVENDER CHOCOLATE CHIP OATMEAL MUFFINS 

Muffins are a comfort food for me, and chocolate is a key component. Over the last few years I have perfected and finessed my muffin making, and have developed this crowd-pleasing favourite.

I adapted and evolved this recipe over the years from one provided to me by my nutritionist, Jodi Turner, who is an amazing food miracle worker. She turned my life around with her understanding of sensitive guts. Now it's a Jordan special creation. 

YOU WILL NEED:
Whole wheat flour: 2 cups
Rolled Oats: 2 cups
Cinnamon: 1 tbsp
Baking Soda: 1 tsp
Baking powder: 1tsp
Eggs: 2
Sunflower oil: 1/2 cup
Honey or maple syrup: 1/2 cup
Vanilla: 1 tsp
So Delicious unsweetened Coconut milk dairy beverage: 2 cups
Vinegar: 1 tbsp
Dairy free chocolate chips: 1-2 cups (as needed)
Edible lavender buds: a few tablespoons

Makes about 12 large muffins
Preheat oven 325’
Prep a muffin tin with muffin cups or lightly grease with your dairy-free margarine.

In a large bowl, mix together…

2 cups whole wheat flour
2 cup of rolled oats
1 Tbsp cinnamon
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp baking powder

In another bowl, beat together…

2 eggs
½ cup sunflower oil
½ cup honey or maple syrup
1 tsp pure vanilla extract
2 cups buttermilk alternative: you make this by adding a spoonful of vinegar to your 2 cups of dairy alternative milk, stir, then use.

Slowly stir the wet ingredients into the dry and stir together only
until incorporated. Do not over mix.
If the batter isn't moist enough, add little touches of water.
Add a cup (or more, at your discretion) of dairy-free chocolate chips, and a good amount of edible lavender buds (at your discretion, but probably a couple tablespoons).
Scoop into muffin tin and bake 20-25 minutes. Cool and enjoy!

The lavender buds really make these special. They have a sort of minty-rosemary flavour and kind of make the muffins more 'grown up'. Plus they're pretty and people are always impressed. And they go with chocolate. And I feel like I live in Jane Austen times, which is always a bonus!

Confessions of a Skinny Chick. Who Once Was Not. And Now Isn't Sure.

When I was 27 years old, I weighed somewhere around 165lbs. I was occasionally distressed by this, but after I’d had my much-needed breast reduction around age 25, I actually didn’t care that much about the rest of me. That breast reduction made my life so much better, and I had a really amazing supportive (female, feminist) partner, and I liked my hair and my leather jacket and mostly, other than occasionally—catastrophically—comparing myself to Jennifer Aniston, I was fine.

Then, at 28, I went through a major breakup, a major life change, and a major stress period, and I lost around 30lbs very rapidly. People were worried. I was too stressed about my life stuff to care, and it took me over a year to really even realize the weight loss; I’d still go into changerooms with a size 12, only to slowly ask for smaller and smaller sizes ‘til I hit my new ‘normal’.

I kept the weight off through a couple of means: first, I started roller derby and actually overdid it. I remember almost fainting on the track one day and finally talking to a dietician, who informed me that a smoothie and toast wasn’t enough food for an endurance athlete. Secondly, after so many stressed-out months where I literally couldn’t stomach food, my body now rejected anything greasy or fatty or super sugary. So it was nigh impossible to gain the weight back.

Nearly six years has passed, and during that time I lost even more weight. It wasn’t on purpose, just a by-product of my new love of athletics, plus the loving work of my nutritionist who had retaught me how to eat. Knowing my proclivity for freaking out about weight (in my early twenties I’d gone down some dark paths), I never weighed myself except for at my yearly check-up…but I know my smallest was a size 5. This was somewhere down about ten pounds lower than my doctor was okay with. But for a lifelong ‘hefty’ girl, this was a novel and kind of exciting experience. I could always find clothes at the stores I liked; I could make anything look like the catalogues did; I sometimes couldn’t find clothes that were small enough.

THE WORLD FOR A SKINNY CHICK 

I learned how different life is for a skinny chick in this culture: more attention from strangers, more kindness from salespeople, more times I could woo someone into helping me out with something like a parking ticket or a good deal on home repairs. I know it’s wrong to revel in the fact that you’ve just found yourself amongst a privileged population. I know the ‘pretty person bubble’ is a real and insidious reality of our culture, and I know it’s wrong that I participated. But after years of fitting into a role more akin to Natalie on Facts of Life, I was honestly just soaking it in.

Occasionally I’d see a picture of myself and feel a tickle of hot fear run up my spine. Who was this waif with the spiky hair? I found myself a little turned off by my own thinned features, and then confounded when some people continued to tell me how good I was looking. I'd tell people I was getting a bit worried, and I'd hear, "Oh, you don't look sick." But the thing is, we don't have an accurate measure anymore for what's 'too thin'. No one's opinion could be trusted.

THE GAME CHANGES

Then this year, after a lot of work with a naturopath whose been helping me with some internal health challenges, I gained a little weight back. Just one size up, really. About 8lbs extra. Eight pounds. My roller skates probably weigh less. Yet it killed me.

I asked my naturopath what was going on. “Too skinny,” he said in his usual clipped fashion. “You needed to gain weight. Way too skinny.” I couldn’t argue. I knew what I’d looked like at my lowest. You could see that I’d crossed over into a place my body didn’t want to be.

So why did I still die a little inside when he said that?

WHAT I'VE GOT TO SAY

I have spent a few months now, obsessing over this change. Eight pounds of flesh have taken up more space in my mind at some points than my job, my dog, my love life…it has kept me up at night and startled me awake in the morning. And all this thinking has brought to light a handful of truths I can no longer deny:

1. I will never be skinny enough. If you play the weight=beauty, or weight=self worth game, I’m telling you it’ll just spiral out of control. No one who worries about weight ever thinks they’re skinny enough. I watched my mother’s generation obsess over diet fads; I’m watching my generation obsess over magic foods/paleo diets/gluten avoidance/raw food theories, under the guise of health but with the understanding that ‘healthy’ is supposed to look like a Victoria’s Secret model.

2. It is true, but ridiculous, that the size of my jeans affects whether I feel ready to be part of the world that day. That’s all I have to say about that.

3. I will never have a flat belly. I have endometriosis. This means I’ll be forever round-bellied. Oh, and genetics—I’m already one of the thinnest women in two generations of women. Genetics and disease mean that I will never look like I have a twelve year old’s abdomen. And that kills me and I have no idea how to actually mean it when I say “It doesn’t matter.” How do I own and accept something that I’m told, daily and hourly, is unacceptably repugnant? I have no answer here.

4. I am unintentionally hypocritical. I was part of the marketing team for a movie called Muffin Top a year or so ago—a movie that heavily promotes body acceptance and self love. I remember getting ready for a meeting one day and having a total meltdown about my body shape. I remember thinking, How can I be working on this movie and thinking like this at the same time? How can I be both part of the problem and the solution?

  

This post isn’t groundbreaking. There’s nothing in here that hasn’t been said a hundred times by a hundred women (and men). I don’t know why I wanted to write it so badly. Maybe so I’ll hear myself and hold myself accountable and maybe someone else out there will read this, relate to it, and feel a little less shame for being so hopelessly incapable of embodying her own feminist ideals, like me right now.

My first step is going to be jean shopping. Long ago I heard a Fat Activist say that when your jeans don’t fit anymore, it’s time to get new jeans. That may seem like a small step towards upholding my feminist ideals, but it’s a giant step for this girl right here. 

Live Laugh Learn? Puke puke puke.

I’m really sick of hearing that stupid phrase (and variants thereof), “Live, Laugh, Love”. And “Live, Laugh, Learn”. Why are we so obsessed with this? It’s not really some sort of wise philosophical statement. It’s three (or four) L words that are really just basic tenements of being a live bipedial simian. Are we just fanatics for alliteration? If so, then the next time I buy a set of inspiration votives, I want them to read, “Puppies, Popsicles, Pudding”. Or maybe “Videogames, Vibrators, Vin Diesel”. Those are way better personal philosophies. A person with either of those sets of values is someone I can really get behind. 

I should be a campaign writer for these upcoming elections.  

EDITED TO ADD: For those of you who agree with my much better philosophies, these here are for you to share and post. You're welcome.

Dating After Divorce: It's like riding a bike.

You know what’s funny about being divorced? Okay, follow along here:

Imagine having a relationship was like learning to ride a bike. And let’s say you were going out for a few years but then you broke up, or ‘fell off your bike’. People would say, “Aw, no big deal! Dust yourself off! Get back on a bike! Try again! You’ll get it this time! Tour de France guys fall all the time and they break records! Go for it!”

But if you get married and divorced, it’s like people saw that fall and then if you go to climb on the bike again, they’re like, “Whoooaaa there, honey. You sure you wanna do that? Where’s your helmet? Shouldn’t you get elbow pads? You should really get some knee pads. And wrist guards. You know what, maybe just put some training wheels back on. Have you considered switching to a tricycle? What’s your plan for dealing with another fall? Maybe you should take another form of transport. Here is a shopping cart. Let someone else push you. No, just keep the helmet on for now.”

Well, enough is enough. Falling off a bike doesn’t make you permanently bike-tarded, people. If anything, it means you’ve learned the limits of a bike—its angles, curves, brakes, and speeds—and in some ways now you’re better prepared than ever to ride a bike. Because you also know what it feels like to fall off of one. And you survived. Some people are so afraid of falling off their bike, they stay on the wrong one for years. So no, I’m not going to be afraid of riding a bike. But I’m definitely wiser now about choosing a bike. With every fall I’ve taken, I’ve narrowed down my bike needs and I have actually reached a place where I’m now grateful for my falls, because they’ve taught me so much.

So yeah, I’ll pass up the ride in the shopping cart, thanks. I’ve got a handle on this bike thing. 

The Long Protective Retreat

Well, I closed my computer in January, took a long deep breath, and got busy livin’. Yep, just walked away from blogging and writing in general. I actually closed up shop in a lot of different ways: I retreated from excessive social gatherings, avoided unnecessary stresses, and just spent time working on my shtuff. Some of that was the house—the house I bought three years ago this month, the house that has been both my nest and the bane of my existence. I worked on my career and my business. I worked on my health, even quitting smoking last month. And maybe most importantly, I immersed myself in the cultivation of a new blossoming relationship. I retreated from the ‘mind clutter’ that can come from having too many cooks in the kitchen: too many opinions, whether real or perceived. Too much oversharing, as we are so fond of doing these days. I wanted to do some deep rescue and recovery on myself. And good things came when I did.

But I missed writing. So here I am.

My Melting Bathroom and the Home Reno Show

My bathroom is leaking again. You’d have to be a long-time reader here to know what this means, so for those who aren’t caught up: my G.D. Mother-frakkin’ bathroom is the bane of my existence and consistently makes me fantasize about burning down my house. 

The only one who really uses the tub.

Two and a half years ago, I purchased this house with my then-husband. There was a leak in the bathroom that was slowly seeping into the ceiling of the dining room below, so my husband and my dad decided to fix it themselves. When they went to do that, though, they ended up finding that the bathroom walls were made of the wrong kind of drywall, and that someone had stuffed newspaper into the walls instead of insulation. So what was meant to be a minor plumbing repair turned into a full bathroom reno.

Trouble is, plumbing is a tricky business, and despite their best amateur efforts, the leaking continued. Months later, when I was single again and on my own, I hired a contractor and a plumber to fix things, and it really did seem as if they had.

That is, until my best friend/housemate MJ went to step into the shower this week, and found her foot sunk deep into the vinyl floor beside the bathtub.

MJ told me the news in the best way possible: she found the problem, then immediately called her contractor father, and had a list of steps and solutions for me. Unfortunately, there was no way to stop the tears of frustration that came to my eyes. This stupid bathroom felt like a metaphor for my entire life: repair after repair, and nowhere nearer solid ground. (Quite literally, as I pushed on the floor and found the subfloor had turned into a fibrous pudding.)

So it’s good timing that The Home Renovations Show is coming up here in Ottawa at the EY Centre on Jan 23-25. I’m holding out hope that they’ll have a booth for a business called something like, “Reliable Rentable Handy-Spouses” there, where I can hire myself a temporary husband or wife with contractor skills who can make this bathroom reno the real LAST one I ever do here.

And lucky for me and you, the organizers are sweethearts and sent me free tickets. If you’d like a pair, I’ve got two to give away. Just comment on this post with some details about what you’re looking to reno, and I’ll pick a winner by January 20^th. You can also go to this site and use promo code OHR15PC to get a discount on your own tickets, if you don’t want to gamble on the free pairs.

Godspeed to you and your renos. And if you see me at the show, feel free to offer me tequila shots. Or the loan of your handy-spouse.

Sharks in Pools: Who's Crazy Now?

Okay okay okay. So I had to share this with you all. Because us anxiety disorder sufferers spend so much of our time feeling like nutbars, and yes we can be...but sometimes we're not.

Last month I wrote a post here about how my brain tries to convince me there's going to be a shark in the swimming pool when I go to the gym. I wrote about telling myself how insane that was, and trying to get over the fear. And then yesterday, THIS popped up on my facebook newsfeed:

It's like the time I saw a psychologist for a while to talk about my phobias, and I told her at the start of the sessions that I was pretty sure spiders are literally out to get me and she told me I was being irrational...but then, in our last session, after hearing all about my encounters with them, she said (I kid you not): "You know, Jordan, you may actually be right that these spiders are out to get you." She wasn't even kidding.

Sometimes we're crazies, yes; but sometimes we're just way ahead of the curve.

This Christmas Isn't Even About the Giving.

Usually for me, I think Christmas is all about the gift-giving, because I love giving gifts.

Not this year. This year, it's all about what I've received.

Christmas stands as a marker of the passage of time. It's like a cairn in the great journey, and it reorients me to where I am--both in time and space. Each Christmas season I reflect on the twelve months that have passed, and this year, I'm overwhelmed by the people.

There are the rotten ones, the ones that I've weeded out. I found a quote last January that read, "Let go of what doesn't grow", and I spent this year trying to do just that. That means I let go of some people, gently and with great care. At the time I often felt miserable about these partings, but now I see what's managed to grow in the spaces these people were previously occupying...and strangely, I now feel gratitude for those who were weeded out. Thank you for saving that space for the next thing; thank you for going away when it was time.

There are the wonderful people in much greater numbers, though. Old friends who I've reconnected with, and old friends who I've barely seen, but who I love to have as friends even at a distance. New friends who have become permanent fixtures in my life, bringing with them fresh new joys never before experienced. And new loves, bringing with them all the heartrending treats and tribulations, the sweet stinging pain of human affection.

I have been gifted this year with support at home from my best friend, MJ. I count myself blessed to have someone I love so much be so close at hand.

My work has been made more rewarding by the friendship and mentorship of my business partner, someone I so much enjoy working with--but probably even more enjoy making laugh.

My dog trainer, who has become a cherished friend and has quickly become one of the first people I think of when I need to ask myself, "What would someone wiser than me do in this situation?"

My CapitalGeekGirls.com co-editor, Pepper, who has no earthly idea how much I appreciate her for her skill and her patience.

My boss at the school where I teach, who has helped me realize my dream of teaching and who is so marvelously supportive and encouraging.

There are so many more, some of whom have touched my life in such personal ways that I can't bring myself to explain them here.

This year Christmas isn't about the gift-giving for me, because there is absolutely no way I can possibly express my admiration, adoration, and gratitude to my people. It's overwhelming. I've faced some serious trials of late, but all these wondrous people have softened the blows and sweetened the victories. I cannot possibly say 'thank you' with little things wrapped in paper. There is nothing on earth I can give them that would equate to the gifts they give me. I am in awe.

I feel like I got to open new presents every day this year, all of them on two legs. Oh, and sometimes four...can't forget the pup.

Best of: Crafty Geeky Christmas on Girl, Crafted. Stockings!

I love making stuff by hand for Christmas, especially when people have very particular tastes that cannot be satisfied by store-bought, mass-produced things. A couple Christmases ago, I shared this DIY geeky stocking tutorial when I made three stockings for three special friends. I thought you should know that I, too, go back and revisit my old posts, use the tutorials, follow the recipes, etc. So this year for a new friend who also didn't have a stocking (poor deprived children!), I made a very special archery-themed one.


This is much less sparkly and colourful than my personal taste. It's quiet understated for a holiday decoration. BUT, it is perfect for the recipient, and indeed when I asked him if I could add just a little glitter, he gave me an emphatic 'NO'. So he can keep his understated stocking as-is, which is still pretty great quite frankly.


If you'd like to try your hand at a stocking, here's the original tutorial. Once you've got the basic jist, you can make any type of stocking you might want. And these actually make great Christmas gifts, because you can personalize them so much and they'll be using them year after year.

Fifteen days 'til Christmas...keep calm and craft on!

Be Broken. Be Open. Be Okay with Chaos.

I read two really great articles recently that spoke to me, and I think they may speak to you.

The first one was called “Why Lying Broken In a Pile On Your Bedroom Floor is a Good Idea” by JC Peters. The second was a piece called “Time To Get Honest About Being Disabled”, published in Disabled Magazine and written by a man named David A Grant who’s a traumatic brain injury survivor.

These two articles on their own are amazing and powerful, but reading them both in one week has sort of blown my mind.

THE GODDESS WHO'S ALWAYS BROKEN

Julie Peters explains in her article that there’s a goddess named Akhilanda, whose name basically means “Never Not Broken”. Peters (and Akhi herself) sort of suggest the idea that being broken is part of growth, part of change; so instead of looking at ourselves and saying, “Whyyyy am I so broken? I suck because I’m broken,” we can say, “I am broken because I am growing.”

I am broken because that’s how things grow. So being broken (physically or mentally, whatever you’re dealing with) isn’t weakness, and it’s not the endgame; it’s the start of the new you. And if you’re like me and you crave constant growth, then you’ve got to expect—and embrace—constant breakage. I come undone because I am always undone. I am never finished. I am an agent of change.

THE WASTEFUL PURSUIT OF PERCEIVED PERFECTION

This obviously paired really beautifully with Grant’s article, which talked about how much time we all spend trying to appear ‘normal’ or ‘healthy’. God, we expend a lot of energy trying to pretend we’re OK. And for what? Grant points out that those of us with invisible ‘broken parts’ can become isolated by our own perfect acting. Instead of burning ourselves out pretending we’re fine, why can’t we just accept ourselves as imperfect creatures? If we all did this, unabashedly and with a sense of pride for our individualized strengths, wouldn’t we find out that normal isn’t the norm at all?

CHAOS IS A FRIEND OF MINE

I read these two articles the same week that I saw Bob, my psycho-spiritual mechanic (my counsellor, in layman’s terms) and he suggested that I need to start working on better embracing chaos when it hits. I’m not a chaos fan. I like things to fit neatly into little boxes, to start when they’re supposed to start and end when they’re supposed to end. I like things quiet unless it’s an orderly noise. I like it when the dog stops shedding for the season. I like it when my house is clean.

This week I stopped trying to keep away the chaos. I started by giving up on my house cleaning. I never really get on top of it anyway, what with teaching and running a start-up company; why stress about what I can’t currently control anyway? That drove me a bit batty, but I managed and I figured that would be what I told Bob I did this week—yay, me. Instead, the goddess Akhilanda decided I needed to be pushed a little further. So on Wednesday morning my car wouldn’t start, and after four days of driving around a loaner while we diagnosed the problem, the loaner blew a tire, leaving me stranded in a Chapters parking lot.

LEARNING GAINS MOMENTUM 

It’s a funny thing, personal growth. When you decide to start down a road of self-discovery and self-acceptance, momentum can start to pick up. One learning opportunity after another will start to happen, sometimes faster and faster until you can’t tell where one ends and the next begins. As I stood beside my loaner car waiting for help, I called MJ and laughed with all my heart at the ridiculous chaos of my life. I didn’t freak out. I just laughed, bought myself a banana loaf inside, and waited for help.

So I guess, if I package up all my learning this week for you to also benefit from, I’d have to say this to you:

Be forever broken.

Embrace it, inside and out.

And don’t fear the chaos, because it’s part of the eternal breaking/mending cycle.

Two days later, my car is fixed, I’ve scored some major victories in my work, and I’m sitting in my chair now, listening to MJ sing as she bakes while Corben sheds relentlessly all over my feet and my unwashed hardwood floors. And I’m pretty content, actually.

Some Tuesdays are Mondays.

Tuesday went like this.

I got up at 5:30am.

I fought with the doors on my car that had frozen shut, then drove past the school I teach at as I forgot where I was going; pulled a U-turn down the street and actually drove to the school instead of past it this time.

Ran with my dog Corben to the building as his feet started burning from salt, and I realized I can't carry him now that he's 53lbs. Taught class. Got call from MJ back at the house: she's ill.

I drove home on class break, made her tea, checked temperature, and gathered crackers. Drove back to school, taught another class with angry students this time (long story). 

Drove to a client's for a troubleshooting thing, then to the grocery store for sick MJ food. Drove home, made MJ sweet potato slices in the oven (a compromise, as she wanted tater tots DESPITE STOMACH FLU).

Found that dog had dragged the mug we use to scoop sidewalk sand into the house and onto my bed, where the snow it contained had melted.

I put dog outside for a pee, then brought him in even though he brought a big rock into the house to chew on. Took rock away from dog, discovered rock was actually his own frozen poop. Cleaned hands, floor, etc.

Took dog to THREE PET STORES looking for boots, found nothing his size. Came home, sat down for the first time in 14 hours.

Ate leftovers, stared blankly at my to-do list until bedtime while watching MJ scroll through thinkgeek.com. Eventually dragged yoga mat into her room so I could try stretching out my screaming sore back.

So yeah, pretty normal day.

Only Good Girls Keep Diaries

I haven't been blogging. There's a couple reasons for this.

ONE: I'M SO STRESSED I'M SEEING SHARKS.

One: I'm so overworked that I can barely remember how to put on pants. I'm not joking. The other morning I went out for a smoke and instead stuck my pen in my mouth, and it took me several minutes to realize it wasn't a cigarette.

credit: morguefile

When I get stressed, I sleep poorly, and when I sleep poorly, my nerves get shot, and then my imagination takes off, and then I'm doomed. I went for a swim last week and midway through, I had the pool to myself. This should have been nice but instead my imagination said, "Hey...what if there's a shark in here?" This is something my head used to whisper to me when I was a kid at the lake, and it boggles my mind that it still whispers this today when I'm an adult--an adult swimming in a pool. Yes, it's a saltwater pool; no, I don't think it can sustain marine life. I asked my head, Why are you doing this? How the hell do you think a shark would get in here? And my head said, Someone brought it in.

After a moment of stunned silence, I said, Are you seriously suggesting that some nutjob somehow,
a. Acquired a live shark large enough to eat a human,
b. Figured out a way to safely transport this six-foot fanged monster to the gym,
c. Slipped the shark past security,
d. Somehow grabbed the shark around its middle, heaved the thousand-pound, toothy beast along the pool deck, then slipped it into the water, where it has managed to hide, somehow camouflaged into the light-blue paint, waiting for ME to get into the water so it could eat me?

My head seemed to ponder the mental image I had created, then said, I'm not suggesting, exactly. I'm just wondering.

My swim was completely ruined. Other people fear monsters in the basement. My imagination eschews the dark and silent spaces, and instead injects nightmares into brightly-lit public pools where pop music blares over the speakers.

TWO: PRIVACY MATTERS.

My second reason for not blogging lately is that some things are developing. My love life, for one. I've surmised that I'm loathe to share this with the great invisible public because sharing such intimate details in the past has been hard. When my first blog, the wedding blog, went viral, it was weird for me. Well, beyond weird. Being recognized on the street can be cool but also uncomfortable. When my marriage ended, I faced not only the usual judgement that all failing couples deal with from friends and family, but also the judgement of anonymous strangers from all corners of the world. There are literally message boards discussing my divorce. After my boyfriend Alan and I broke up, I tried to keep that really quiet, but I felt critical eyes on me again, made more painful because I now had had two breakups from two different relationships that I'd felt confident were 'the one'(s).

I know, internally, that these things happen. It takes time to find a permanent mate, and maybe some of us never do. I also know that if you follow any thirty-something bloggess for 5+ years (as you may have done with me), relationship starts and stops will be part of the narrative. But for a short time here, I have been silent on my blog because I needed a break. I needed some time for this new relationship to grow some roots and take hold. And I needed that relationship to be made up of just two people, not two people + the peanut gallery. I also know, though, that being a writer means writing from the heart. It's a double-edged sword, this burning compulsion to narrate life.

THE REST OF MY REASONS: 

Oh, and reasons 3, 4, 5 for not blogging lately:
-My career is going through a growth-spurt that has me up at 5:30am and in bed at midnight;
-My dog training is in its final stages and requires a great deal of time and energy;
-I've been out living life rather than writing about it.

There's a quote: "Only good girls keep diaries. Bad girls don't have the time." That's basically me right now, except not so much 'Sex & the City' and more, 'Liz Lemon in 30 Rock'.

Pumpkin Tutorial: Mini Pumpkin Vampires

PUMPKIN VAMPIRES--NOT THE SPARKLE-IN-THE-DAYLIGHT KIND

We went a little nuts this season and bought a half-dozen giant orange pumpkins, which are sitting on my doorstep and generally crowding out anyone trying to get into my house. But aside from that, we also found a bag of tiny white pumpkins, and I wanted to do something special with them. So here's my tutorial, so that you, too, can have some dashing pumpkin vampires outside your home this Hallowe'en. And remember: size matters not. If you have enough felt, you can make these fellas out of big pumpkins, too.

WHAT YOU'LL NEED:
White pumpkins (small or medium likely best)
Small silver pins
Sewing pins with heads
Beads
Embroidery floss
Felt (black used here)
Hot glue gun
Carrots, other accessories as desired

WHAT YOU'LL DO:

1. STACK AND MAKE A HAT.
Loosely stack your pumpkins so you know which one will be on top, then make a hat out of felt. It's easy: cut a circle for the base. Then cut a long rectangle to make a cylinder. Glue the cyclinder shut, then glue the cyclinder to the base, which is now the brim. Glue another small square on the top to close up the hat, then trim off the excess so it's round on top, too.

2. PUT ON EYES.
I used some beads, which I poked into place with those sewing pins with heads on them. You could try another method but I'm cautious with adhesives on something that is going to get wet and slimy and frosty.

3. NOSE AND A SMILE.
I chose to make my nose out of a carrot, which I know is a bit like a snowman, but originally I'd WANTED snowmen, and anyway they're cute. I cut down some baby carrots and held them in place with more of the tiny silver pins.

The smile, I did with hot glue and a piece of embroidery thread. You can improvise here, as well. Little silver felt teeth were added; you can make teeth of whatever you have around. Maybe candy corn pinned into place?

4. PIN YOUR PUMPKIN TOGETHER.
This is a frustrating step. I didn't want to use glue in case the temperature changes outside made it break apart, so I used sewing pins of various types to stab the pumpkins into each other. You could use nails or screws with bigger pumpkins. I did six or more pins around each pumpkin connection point.

5. MAKE A CAPE.
I actually ran out of felt, so I had to cut up an old fine-knit sweater for our capes. But it would have been easier with felt. If you're using fabric, the top stand-up part of the cape (the tall 'lapels', if you will) will need to be backed with someone stiff to make them stand up. I used scraps of felt, and glue gunned them into place.

The capes are basically a triangle but instead of getting pointy at the top, they widen out again into another rectangle shape, depending on how you think about it.

That's the top part of the cape: the rectangle will create the tall lapels
and the felt piece there will keep it stiff.

At this point I took another piece of embroidery thread and tied the cape around the pumpkin dude's neck.

Then I added a bit of glue to the cape around the head area to keep it in place.

YOU'RE DONE. ENJOY.

Your pumpkin vampires are now ready for a night on the town! They're cute and also creepy, which is a bonus.
Remember to be creative. You can add and take away as you please!
If you make your own, share it on my facebook page or tweet me on twitter! I wanna see!

Mental Health Advice: Not for the rookies.

FIVE WAYS TO TAKE YOUR MENTAL HEALTH TO THE NEXT LEVEL

It's Mental Health Awareness Week. You're likely going to see lots of posts talking about things you can do to take care of yourself, and for those of you who were already practicing a lot of this stuff, these advice articles will feel redundant or much too basic. Let me give some suggestions for the 'advanced' class out there. Here are some things you can do, after you've done the usual bubble bath and annual physical, that may really make a positive impact on your mental health.

1. START A NEW RELATIONSHIP WITH A NEW COUNSELLOR.
Haven't seen a counsellor in a while? Or maybe you've been seeing the same one for a long time, and you find yourself wondering what else is out there? Go find out. Having a counsellor is a type of relationship, and sometimes relationships finish serving their purpose. You've grown, after all; your boyfriend from grade nine wouldn't suit you when you're thirty and likewise, your needs may no longer be met by your original counsellor. Go ahead, take a leap, and try someone new. The best part about counsellors: no messy break-up, just a quick cancellation and you're done. You can just keep moving on to new ones 'til you find one that fits your needs.

2. QUIT YOUR JOB.
Yes, I know; jobs are hard to find and you may be looking at a pay cut here. This isn't something to treat lightly, but likewise, neither is your mental health. I've had loved ones take pay cuts to preserve their wellbeing and none of them have regretted it. That being said, maybe a job change for some of you would actually mean a pay increase; maybe it's time to put your name in for that manager job, or it's finally the right time to start your own business. You could easily move into a job with more responsibilities, risk, or hardship, yet still feel better at the end of each day. It's so important to remember, either way, that your job doesn't define you--but it does occupy a huge amount of your time on earth. Go bigger, or go smaller, but don't stagnate in a job that's ruining your mental health. Take a leap.

3. START SUBTRACTING.
Get rid of shtuff. If you look around your home, chances are there's at least a half-dozen things that you've got on display that are strictly obligation objects: things that were given to you on some occasion that you don't really love. Put them in a box and post them for free on the internet. Now go through your closet and do the same for every piece of clothing that doesn't make you feel like a rock star. Now, junk any jewellery given to you by exes who you don't really like. I'm also adding: there may be people you need to get rid of, too. That's ok, and that can be equally as cathartic.


4. REALIZE THAT YOU DESERVE GOOD THINGS.
This should be a beginner's step, but it's harder than it sounds: you must learn to accept the fact that you deserve good things. Chant it to yourself throughout the day. It is your new mantra. "I deserve good things." Use your mantra as a shield against people trying to dole out crap to you. Use your mantra as a shining star to guide your relationship choices. Use it as your backbone when you need to confront a boss or coworker on jerky behaviour.

5. GO TO BED AND GET OUT OF BED.
There's a particular method to this, and it's meant for those of you who may be going through a rough, stressful, or otherwise difficult time:

a. Go to bed when you don't want to.
Stress will keep you up; likewise being over-booked for things that may even seem to be good for you. The next time you go to sign up for that late-evening spin class, or are trying to finish reading that last textbook chapter, stop yourself and go to bed. You need not just down time, but 'flatline' time, too. Hell, it could be something you do midday: instead of vacuuming while you eat lunch standing up, go lie down on the couch with a blanket, eat your sammie, then close your eyes for twenty minutes.

b. Get out of bed when you don't want to.
When things are really sucking, there will come points where you can practically hear the couch or the bed calling to you. It'd be so much easier, they whisper, just to sleep all afternoon than to deal with that family problem/personal problem/general malaise/frustrating thing. I have had so many of my great successes at times where, five minutes earlier, I had almost given in to the siren call of my pillow. Push yourself just a little bit, to put that depression/sadness/stress behind you, and try for just five minutes more. You may be really surprised by what happens when you do.


I wish you all a wonderful Mental Health Awareness Week. Be kind to one another, and for the love of heaven, be kind to yourself.

DIY Bunting: Make your own string of pennants

DIY TUTORIAL: MAKE YOUR OWN BUNTING

Have you heard of bunting? I can almost guarantee you've seen it, whether or not you knew what it was called.

Bunting is often thought of as a kid's thing, but I've made it a couple times now for adults and it's always well-received. You can do it up so it matches your decor, or fits in a cubicle, or specific to a holiday theme. When a friend of mine was sick this summer and needed a spirit boost, I did up this bunting for her; I just kept wishing I had enough time to also make myself one!

HERE'S HOW TO MAKE YOUR OWN:

YOU WILL NEED:

Fabric (any kind that doesn't fray a lot, if you're going to be doing it the lazy way like I do.)

Felt (enough to back the triangles)

Ribbon 

Sewing machine with needles/thread (or fabric glue for the super lazy way)

Scissors

Felt or another fabric for the letters

STEPS:

1. Cut out your triangles of felt.

I made a template out of cardstock, and traced it onto the felt. 

2. Sew the felt to the fabric.

I do this so that I don't really have to worry about matching up edges or a lot of fraying.

3. Cut out the felt triangles, now attached to the fabric.

This gives you one side felt (for added weight and durability) and one side fabric (for the pretty side!)

4. Sew the whole thing into the ribbon.

Leave lots at the ends for tying up somewhere or for pinning to a wall. Space the triangles out evenly.

5. Cut and sew (or glue) your letters.

My bestie MJ actually did the lettering for this bunting. She cut out stencils by printing a cool font onto paper, then tracing and cutting. We glued the letters down because sewing around letters makes me crazy.

6. Hang and enjoy!

You'll find you have your best success if you keep the letters to 8 or less. Otherwise it can get a little large and unwieldy. 

Choosing coordinating colours can be tricky but it's worth the time to look for the right stuff. For small amounts of fabric (eg for the letters) consider using those squares (sometimes called 'fat squares') meant for quilting.

Have fun with it! There's no point in making crafts that make you miserable while you make them. Especially if it's a gift: gifts should come from a place of happiness and love. So don't stress about it too much, and just enjoy the process! Throw on some tunes or a Gilmore Girls rerun, and zen out with glue and scissors.

Wocky Is Coming

So Wocky is coming today and I had this idea, so I hobbled together an image with an app and some photoshop and I'm pretty freakin' pleased with this:

If you're unfamiliar with Wocky, you have missed one of my best posts of all time, so go read it here.
If you think this is awesome and I should make shirts you can buy to announce the coming of your own monthly Wocky, send me an email (jordandangerwrites@gmail.com) with words of encouragement ("Do it now!!!") or comment on this post.

If you ARE familiar with Wocky, be very very careful around me today.

Quick Pre-School Update

School starts tomorrow. I mean, not for me as a student, but as a teacher. I teach at a college. It's fun. No, it's amazing. I love it. But I'm super nervous because it's the first day of school. My coordinator told me that when you stop being nervous before the first day of school, it's time to stop teaching. So I must be a KICK ASS teacher.

Anyway, when I'm this worked up, my head doesn't operate at the normal rate. It does this thing that reminds me of my dad channel-flipping after dinner before the days of 'menu' buttons: 2.5 seconds on each channel, just enough time to hear a few words and see a few images before going on to the next thing which may be entirely different than the last thing. Observe:

WHAT MY BRAIN IS FLIPPING THROUGH RIGHT NOW

I keep doing a load of laundry but then forgetting to move it to the dryer. When will they invent a washer/dryer combo?

I want to play Call of Duty. How can I get enough work done today to play--no. Not happening.

Oooh, I have vegan cheesey popcorn. It's all the way across the room. K, nevermind, focus.

I am SO TIRED of watching Happy Endings repeats but I refuse to let myself watch something actually new or interesting 'til I'm totally ready for class tomorrow. This may be a permanent state of purgatory.

I have someone on my mind a lot lately. Someone cool I met. I keep doing stupid things, like shaving only one leg in the shower, or missing my highway exit. I tried to write out my thoughts on this person in my journal; while I'm usually a colourful and insightful writer, that page reads like a sixteen year-old's diary. I definitely used the words 'hot' and 'cool' way too many times and never as they were originally defined.

I really need new glasses.

I want a peanut butter and banana sandwich.

Ohhhhh my GAWD, I'm tired of these Happy Endings reruns.

What do I wear to school tomorrow? How do you straddle the line between casual and professional so the students feel you're approachable but also don't mistake you for a fellow student? Also, how do you get yourself to care about this when your first class is at 8 in the morning?

Nevermind. The phone has rung. It's that person. Yep. All thought stops here. :)

Random Update: My Week In Snippets

I have been really busy this week, because I launched my own business (yep, I grab life by the balls, people), and I've been doing miserable things like getting cavities filled (though most of my time was spent sitting and waiting for the freezing to work while my hygienist and I discussed online dating forums), and in the middle I've been trying to actually get out of the house a little. So I haven't had time to formulate some big clever post this week, nor have I had time to post some awesome recipes and DIY stuff I've been doing. It'll come, don't worry. In the meantime, here's a very short summary of what has been happening.

LAUNCHING MY BUSINESS: 

I took a big leap and started my own marketing firm. I was already working freelance, but I wanted to take things to the next level and really brand it. It's freakin' scary, but I love what I do and I prefer to do it on my own terms. This way I never end up marketing Nesquik or Axe body spray or anything else that makes me feel dirty. I celebrated the launch of my business by promptly losing my day planner, which is still MIA as it flew off the roof of my car. I spent the next two days curled up in a ball while I tried to remember all my appointments and notes. I recommend you, too, reach for the stars and go for that dream career that you've always wanted, no matter how scared you are...but I recommend you find a different way to mark the occasion.

MJ MOVED IN:
My best friend MJ moved in with me a couple months ago. I didn't really mention that yet, because I wasn't sure what to say other than, "YAYYYYYYY". Not every pair of friends should live together, but MJ and I have a history and lived together for four years previously, so now, in our 11th year of knowing each other, we felt pretty confident in our decision to be roomies. I don't know exactly how she's feeling about it, but I can tell you that *I* am thrilled. For one thing, I feel less likely to develop a brain tumor from holding the phone to my head for 2+ hours a day while talking to her. Also, we can do little chats throughout the day rather than one long one...it's like Stadtler and Waldorf shorts on The Muppet Show, in their balcony, laughing at their own jokes. But today especially felt like a day where I could say, "Yeah, I'm living with the right person," because she left me this note in the morning:

Only a best friend would know exactly how to make me laugh first thing in the morning like that.

CORBEN TAKES THE TRAIN, AND A BUS: 

Corben's training continues and is getting more interesting as his age/brain increases. Last week we took him on a steam train at the museum to teach him about trains. Not, like, to teach him about trains, because I'm telling you, this dog has no interest in book learning, despite my repeated attempts to make him watch shark documentaries with me. Anyway, he had to learn how to cope with train travel and this was a great way to do it. Despite hundreds of screaming children and a wasp that flew in the train car, he handled it like a pro. So the next step is a public bus, and we went through the rigmarole of getting him recognized by the bus service, and now--no joke--Corben has his own photo ID for the bus. Yes, I'm in it, but I think I'm pretty much just there to hold him up to the camera.

ONLINE DATING SUCKS, MOSTLY:
I've been doing the online dating thing for a few months now. I started out, not to actually talk to anyone, but because I'm an A-type organization freak. So while I was lying there in bed one day, pitying myself because I was pretty sure I'm never going to find someone I want to date again, I decided to see if that was empirically accurate. Dating sites allow you to screen people based on their gender, age, financial bracket, education level, desire for children, etc etc etc. So as cold-hearted-Vulcan as it makes me sound, I went on and selected all my best case scenario choices for a mate, I found that yes, there are still some eligible mates in the world. The rest of the screening is left up to the individual, of course. If you're considering trying it out, may I suggest the following additional screening methods:

1. If they message you with, "Hey Baby/Cutie/Sexy", don't bother messaging them back.
2. If they have pictures of themselves shirtless, when not on a beach, don't bother messaging them back.
3. If they don't have a picture of their face, and you're not interested in participating in a round of infidelity, don't message them back.
4. If they fail to use punctuation or spell check, don't bother messaging them back. Unless you're one of those people, too. In that case, I'm glad you found each other.

I may do a longer post on this topic at some point.

WISDOM FOR THE WEEK:
In dating, business, or life in general: if you are unsure if you're good enough, smart enough, or cool enough, just fake it 'til you make it. You'll get there. Here, a song for us self-effacing fake-it-til-we-make-its:

For Ottawa fans: help me find my planner, please!

Hey ya'll.

I have a little request for you guys. On Friday last week I lost my agenda book off the hood of my car. We were shopping at Bayshore Mall and when we left, I totally left my iPad and my planner on the roof. The iPad stuck to the roof until someone finally honked at us, but the planner was gone. Thing is, that planner has a lot of my recorded notes on things that are irrelevant to everyone else, but really crucial for me, like Corben's training practices. If you know anyone who might have seen it, or maybe if you have it and didn't know my contact info is in the front, PLEASE help.

Our travel path was: third floor of Bayshore parking lot, then out onto Bayshore Dr, then right onto Carling Ave past the Coliseum, then right again onto Pinecrest/Greenbank. We stopped to rescue the iPad at the corner of Carling and Richmond, so it fell off somewhere before there.

If you have any ideas ("I saw a man wearing a green planner as a rain hat", for example), please email me at jordandangerwrites (at) gmail (dot) com.

Thanks, friends.

Learning to Listen to Your Body: a rather candid story

My uterus is a badger. If you missed that post,
go read it. You won't regret it.

I started pelvic floor physio this week. You may be wondering, 'What the hell is pelvic floor physio?' and if you've ever been to a typical physiotherapy clinic, you're probably trying to picture what that would look like. Would there be people doing supervised kegels beside the guy with the bum knee who's stepping on and off that fake staircase? Women throwing medicine balls back and forth using nothing but their thighs and groin muscles? Well, maybe that's just my imagination. Nevermind.

It's nothing like that, of course. It's private, for one; a small, quiet exam room and a typical medical bed. There are a hundred reasons for pelvic floor physio for both men and women: tailbone pain, groin pain, injury or surgery recovery, post natal scary stuff, trauma healing...you name it. My reason is tied to my endometriosis, which I've talked about before, but in a nutshell I'll just say that my body has learned that life=pain, so my insides are in a constant charlie horse and we're teaching it to relax.

Naturally, the best way to teach your body to relax is to enter an exam room and take off your pants, right?

I'm sharing this rather personal story because this is a therapy that I've put off for years, figuring that it would be uncomfortable and awkward and possibly painful. Occasionally though, I like to share an anecdote in the hopes that it'll help other people to be brave. Well, this is for you would-be brave people.

THE BEGINNING

My therapist has pink hair and is about my age. She made me laugh almost right away, and more importantly, she laughed at all my jokes. This is the first step to making Jordan feel totally relaxed. I felt like this was someone who would totally 'get' my lady garden experience, unlike so many old men gynecologists who looked pale if I mentioned words like "labia" or "cervical mucus"; I swear, some doctors really seem more comfortable when women just use words like "down there" and "inside area".

THE QUESTIONS

She then asked me a bunch of medical questions, which I usually find stressful. But the cool thing was that a lot of these questions were ones I'd never been asked before; they were relevant to me and my symptoms. Some of these symptoms were things that other doctors had shrugged off long ago. For instance, did you know that if your insides are really really cramped up, you can experience nerve-like tingling in your thighs? Well, I know that now--and consequently, my odd tingling thighs are no longer a medical mystery. Unless you've experienced enigmatic medical symptoms, I don't think you can fully appreciate the overwhelming joy that comes from hearing someone tell you they understand why you feel that symptom, and how it works. The reassurance this gave me served to relax me further as I felt like I'd finally found somewhere that could help me.

THE PART WHERE THEY TOUCH YOU

The next step was an exam, and this meant taking off my lower-half clothing and exposing my lady parts. Male and female readers alike are probably used to exams by doctors that typically take about nine seconds: the doctor comes in, puts on a glove, pokes at an orifice, then pirouettes away from you like they're about to sneeze. I always thought the wham-bam-thank you-ma'am approach was best; I certainly have never desired to have any of my doctors lingering around down there. No, not even the cute ones, because no one looks good in flourescent lights and that includes my underparts, god love her.

Well, there's no zipping in and out in this physio exam. My therapist had me lay back on the table and asked me if I was anxious. I was. She said, "Okay, no problem. We'll just sit here 'til you get bored." And she did. She just sat calmly between my knees, quietly waiting. I felt like my therapist and my vajayjay were silently communing with one another. Vajayjay, meet Therapist. Therapist, meet Vajayjay. I pictured them both just staring at each other. I, myself, felt like an awkward third wheel: a bystander who is keenly aware of a nonverbal exchange happening between two other people. I almost started whistling tunelessly and staring at the ceiling.

Even Wonderwoman isn't on pointe
every minute of every day.

The approach worked, though. My therapist stopped and quietly waited anytime my body got tense. What takes most gynos a brisk ten seconds took us about twenty minutes. It was unnerving and wonderful at the same time. Instead of being more uncomfortable, this extended exam was the least painful thing I've ever experienced at a doctor's office. I've had more discomfort from a tongue depressor while checking for strep throat.

THE AMAZING THING ABOUT TAKING YOUR TIME

The whole thing reminded me that we all need to have patience with our bodies. We're not all Nike commercial athletes, with muscles that spring into perfect coordinated action with the shot of a starter pistol. Hell, even the Nike athletes' bodies aren't like that all the time. Our bodies aren't always up for stress, or sex, or running, or gardening, or handling that meatlover's pizza. Our bodies, inside and out, need to be listened to, and given patience. It reminded me most especially that sometimes I push my body way too hard, on way too little TLC. And what was amazing was that, here in this little room with a pink-haired stranger calmly waiting for my body to make up its own mind, it may have been the first occasion where I ever gave my body time to be itself in its own time.

It was a surreal way to be taught a lesson in mindfulness. Proof that one never knows where one's next revelation will stem from--even making a new acquaintance for your cootch could be a moment of epiphany. At least, in my world it can be.