A Gluten Free Thanksgiving (And Thoughts On Being Grateful)

This time of year is all about eating, which is one of the reasons this time of year can be pretty incredible.  Unless you have Celiac disease.  Or you are cooking dinner for someone with Celiac disease.  People with this particular autoimmune affliction cannot eat gluten which is in pretty much everything processed--even some spices that might be put on a turkey or broths.   And all those rolls?  Forget about it, nothing but gluten.

My son JT has Celiac disease (click here to read more about his story) and that is the only reason I know anything about gluten and what has it and what doesn't.  We have been a gluten free household for almost three years and even though I know so much more than I ever thought I would know about what's in our food, I still don't know everywhere gluten hides.  

That sneaky gluten is why I'm up at the elementary school more than ever before (which still isn't that much by some PTA mom standards, god love those moms).  Any class party that involves eating, which don't they all, I am there.  No, I'm usually not helping with the games or passing out the treats (and that could be why the other moms don't always love me).  I'm there to check labels, make sure there is no cross-contamination (even a crumb of gluten can make my son sick) and provide replacement snacks for class treats like cupcakes and cookies.  

I know I won't always be there for him and that he needs to manage all of this himself, but he's only 6 years old and in the first grade.  I am teaching him to manage this by being there.  Last Thanksgiving I wasn't.  JT got tempted and took one small bite of a cookie at the class party.  He immediately had stomach pains, threw up and was sick for two days after that. 

This year's party was different.  Well, except for the fact that I didn't help out and those moms still don't love me.  

I showed up with baby Wade clinging to my ankles and causing trouble. I reminded JT what was okay to eat and what wasn't.  I got to see him sing the "grateful song."  And see him sitting with his classmates like a normal kid without anything "different" about him.

Even though I may sound like I know a lot about gluten free foods, the truth is that it is still all very confusing to me.  Especially when there are so many brands and so many weird things with gluten.  For example, regular Doritos have gluten, but Cool Ranch Doritos do not. It's crazy confusing. 

For a recent holiday grocery shopping trip I took along a trusty guide to help with all my gluten questions--Triumph Dining's The Essential Gluten-Free Grocery Guide, 5th Edition.

The book was so helpful, easy to read and well-organized.  You may be thinking "why doesn't she use her smart phone, what a dummy."  Well, I have found that sometimes my phone takes too long or the connection doesn't work in the middle of the grocery store. (Funny how it always seems to work when my crazy mother calls.)  A good old-fashioned book is easier for me to flip through, dog ear pages and such.

Thanksgiving class party can be checked off the list as a gluten free success.  I plan on bringing the grocery guide to my mother's house for Thanksgiving dinner, just in case my phone's WiFi gets all wonky.  At least with the guide on hand, the gluten free success rate of Thanksgiving dinner should be higher.  Now what kind of guide will get me through the rest of the holiday?  Is there a guide for crazy mothers?

Check out my real feelings on Thanksgiving (in this short video) and how I became a more grateful person.  ***Warning: I am a little bit of a holiday Grinch so don't be offended.  And don't worry, my heart grows three sizes at the end.***

38 Special

It was my birthday yesterday.

I've never been really particularly into my birthdays.  Or really any kind of attention that I didn't have to work hard to earn.  


I mean shocking people by being the first on an empty dance floor is fun attention.  Getting a story just right, making serious people laugh, yup that's good attention.  




Being born, eh, not so much.






But the older I get the more into birthdays I get.  

I am now 38 years old.

Holy shit, I am 38 years old.  

Maybe it's because I'm not on as many dance floors as I used to be.  Maybe it's because some of those serious people just look annoyed with my stories. Whatever the reason, birthdays and honoring the special-ness are becoming more important.


I don't need extravagant parties or out of this world gifts.
Yesterday, I got all kinds of crazy by ordering a venti soy latte at Starbucks and watching the finale of Mad Men in the middle of the day.  The crazy celebration continued with homemade M&M blizzards and fun family time with Tim and the kids.  


Social media has made birthdays even more fun.  
I mean Facebook (FB) is just awesome.  You don't have to tell people it's your birthday, FB does it for you.  You get messages from an old coworker, a friend from middle school and your neighbor?  Amazing.

Birthdays on Twitter? Equally awesome. One of the best parts of my day was this:

 @Dallas_TNT wished me a happy birthday! What? That's right.  I mean the only thing that could be better is if JR or Sue Ellen themselves tweeted me a happy birthday.  Maybe next year.  

Some things however never change.  My dad called me to tell me he was going to China in the morning, and to have a happy birthday.  I asked him to keep a journal about his travels and post his pics to his Flickr account.  Later that afternoon I talked to my mother and ended up hanging up on her.  I wish that story was different with her, but it just isn't.  Quite frankly, the birthday when I don't hear about a wonderful adventure my father is going on or have a creepy conversation with my mother who is stuck in the past will be strange.


Getting older, putting up with all the old and navigating all the new, that's what makes birthdays special.  I feel more grateful than ever for the good and more ready to let go of the bad.


Thirty eight is going to be special.

The good.

The new (doctor's orders).  But really? I'm 38, not 78.  C'mon!

As if the Metamucil wasn't enough, just to make me feel older, I found out I share a birthday with the opening of the movie E.T.  And that movie opened 30 years ago yesterday.  That's not bad or good, that's just crazy that E.T. was 30 years ago. Elliot is 40 years old people.

Just because...a post called 38 Special is begging for this lame video from 38 Special.

There Is Light

This past Saturday night I was a dancing fool.  No joke.  

Blurry picture because I seriously would not stop dancing.

My friend Steph likes to be the one that starts the clap, at any event.  Seriously, any event, even in church.  She's not afraid, she'll start a clap.  And once it get's going she turns to me and says "look what I did, I started that."


I like to be the one that starts the dancing.  Weddings, charity events, disco tecs, okay not a disco tec because what the heck is that?  Anyway, I like to fill a dance floor and turn to whoever is with me (and it's usually my pal Steph) and say "look what I did, I started that."


If you have read this blog for more than a minute, you know that I love to dance.  Dancing is therapy.  Dancing is joy.  Dancing is escape.  Dancing is love.  Dancing is exercise.  Dancing is celebration.


This past Saturday I was at an event to raise money for a friend's charity.  A charity that was created after her daughter died.  


Here's a short video I made describing Charlotte's Wings, my friend Jo's charity.

The story of Jo and her family has always moved me deeply.  She and her husband donated hundreds of books to area hospitals in their daughter's honor after she died.  A gesture of gratitude and love, truly inspiring.


Jo has a group of girlfriends that rallied around her when she lost her daughter Charlotte to a rare brain disease.  These women, in true Steel Magnolias fashion bonded and banded together.  Their compassion was fierce.  Their empathy was boundless.  Their energy and drive was tireless.  Inspired by Jo and her family's book donation, they formed Charlotte's Wings, a nonprofit organization that provides books to area hospitals and hospices.  To date, they have donated nearly 15,000 books.


The generosity of spirit is overwhelming.  My chest hurts with admiration for these women, these families.  My eyes tear up with emotion.  My heart fills with love.  


Jo tells the story of how books helped her whole family feel comfort through the letting go process.  A process my heart and mind can't quite wrap themselves around.


Losing a child.  A baby.  Every mother no matter what your political, social, economic-al state of mind may be, you understand.  You feel for that mother.  You feel for that family.  


As I was dancing Saturday night with a zest for life and appreciation for my health and my family's heath.  Dancing as a celebration of the true beauty of friendship and love.  I got a text message from my father.

My cousin passed away.  My cousin that was a week older than me.  My cousin Bill.


We called him "Little Bill" when we were young because his dad was also named Bill.


He would have been 38 this coming June.  


We never lived near each other but we saw each other every couple years our whole lives.


Bill and I were polar opposites--me-loud and full of nervous energy, him-quiet and always calm; me-always talking about television, him-always talking about (or reading) books.  But he never made me feel stupid, which let's face it, he totally could have.


He was smart.  Really smart.  Like so smart when I held my own playing Trivial Pursuit against him I felt like I should get a degree.  Sure, I was kicking ass in the Entertainment category, but it was all I had.


Bill loved music.  I have vivid music memories with him throughout the years.  Listening to our parents and aunts and uncles listen to John Cougar Mellencamp in the early eighties, before he dropped the Cougar.; B-52s in the early nineties; and revisiting classic John Denver in the early 00s.


When I got that text from my father and I thought about how Bill had battled so hard against the beast that is Leukemia, my chest hurt.  


And then I thought of my aunt Minerva and uncle Bill, his parents.  Losing a child at any age is unimaginable.  My heart hurt.  My head was foggy.  My sorrow was big.


But there is light.  There is light in the strength of the human spirit.  If my friend Jo has taught me anything it is this.  Good things can come from grief.  Good things can come from loss.


So, I danced.  I danced in celebration of life, in celebration of fighting and loving and living.  In celebration of Charlotte and Bill.


Click here to learn about how to become a marrow donor and help save a life and fight blood cancers.


Click here to learn more about Charlotte's Wings and how you can donate or get involved.

Even though I honestly am not sure if Bill liked, loved or hated Coldplay and Beastie Boys, I believe he would like that I included a pop culture/musical tribute here.

This I know Bill would love.  He appreciated nature; he was a guide at Yellowstone National Park when he was in college and I once got the chance to have him give all his insights at the park.  

Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue...

It's National Poetry Month.
I know this fact, not because I am poetry hipster.  No, I know this fact because my second-and fourth-graders are studying poetry in honor of it being National Poetry Month.


Anytime my kids are doing something at school that actually interests me (I just don't care about math at all, sorry) I get very excited.  Excited to contribute, excited to share something with them.  Excited to rediscover an old love with/through my children.


I've always loved writing, storytelling, poetry, words.  Sigh.  Many times it is the only way I can express myself.  I have boxes full of journals that date back to fourth grade and many filled with ridiculous attempts at writing poetry. No worries, I'll spare you the dark, and what I used to think were so deep, poems about lost loves.

Lucy reading a beautiful poem for the family during dinner, while a shirtless Wade was slurping up noodles.
We are very civilized.

Spoken word poetry, slam poetry, def poetry jam.  Oh my, it is a dream to attend a live poetry slam someday.  Until then, thank god for YouTube.  Here's a woman that I love and she gave a speech (including this amazing poem) at TedTalks.  When I watch Tedtalks, much like listening to NPR, I always feel smarter.  Watch this.  Be inspired. Feel happier.  I promise.

I've mentioned my wall of words in my bathroom before, but here is the only poem on the wall.  It is cut from the original ditto I got in a college lit class a million years ago when people used words like "ditto." Great poem, great motto. 

Click here for ways to celebrate National Poetry Month.

Even if you don't read a poem, but listen to a little Jay Z, you will still be celebrating National Poetry Month.  Yeah, "Big Pimpin" is poetry.  Believe it.