A Completely Materialistic and Shallow Reflection on the Holidays

I love Christmas.  Mostly I love the gifts.  I love giving gifts, but I also love, love, LOVE getting gifts.  Does that make me shallow?  Possibly.  If it does, I don't care, because I'm busy admiring my reflection in whatever surface is handy.

Each year Sven and I do the ritual dance known as "I Don't Know What To Get You For Christmas, Soul Mate."  Seriously, we have been together almost nineteen years (almost half my life!) and he acts as though I am some unknowable mystery when it comes to gifts.

In truth, I'm pretty easy.  I have a lot of things I like, and many of them are things I believe of which one cannot have too many.  (That was exhausting.  I'm going to eat a chocolate bar now.)  Herewith, then, is my list of THINGS FOR WHICH I HAVE AN INFINITE APPETITE:

1. Jewelry.  I love jewelry.  Tacky, tasteful, real, imaginary, costume, subtle, sparkly, vintage, brand-new... I love it all.  Give me jewelry and you will see a happy Deb.

2. Shoes.  I own a lot of shoes but generally only wear one or two pairs 99% of the time.  The others are for me to put on my feet and admire as I wobble from one end of the closet to the other, remembering why I don't wear cute shoes all the time.

3. Makeup.  Namely lipstick, eye shadow, and nail color.  I really don't think you can ever have enough. Sven disagrees, particularly about the nail color; he recently calculated that I have over 50 different nail polishes in my vintage plastic straw purse.

4. Purses.  I love bags.  Totes, clutches, hobo, cross-body, satchels, handbags...  Keep 'em coming.  I also love wallets and organizers.

5. Clothes.  Pretty clothes?  Forget about it.  Enough said.  Pajamas, socks, unmentionables...  I love it.

6.  Blankets & bedding.

7. Anything I have "Seen On TV."  I'll try it all.

8. Anything made by Apple.

9. Books, TV shows, and movies about vampires.  I'll take it all, from the laughably bad to the artistically implausible.

10. Money.  You can never be too rich or too thin.

Not that I would know.

If You Can't Blame The Dog...

Since my recent intestinal adventure, I have become fearful-to-the-point of phobic of constipation.

I blame the well-meaning X-Ray tech (a former student of my father, thank you very much!) who earnestly explained to me about a possible complication of barium ingestion:

"You drunk about a half a gallon of barium, right?" she pointed out.  I nodded.  "Sometimes the body does strange things.  It can happen that your intestine will suck out all of the water, and just leave the barium itself behind, like a little plug of radioactive concrete in your colon.  So just drink plenty of water for a while, okay?  And if your poop is white, that's good.  It means it's the barium coming out safely."

Visualizing a plug of white, radioactive concrete in my colon did not make me happy.  Even imagining the superpowers that might result from such a situation did not ease my mind.  I dutifully drank tons of water and watched for any resulting whiteness, but alas, it did not appear.  Even the knowledge that, by now, all of the barium must be gone, does not ease (ha!) my mind.

So I have been consuming a staggering amount of fiber.  I think I'm up to around 30 grams of fiber a day, thanks to Splenda With Fiber (3 grams of fiber per yummy teaspoon!) and steel-cut oatmeal.  A few fiber gummies, a FiberOne Brownie or two... I'm good.  This amount of fiber, however, means that my organs are always giving a recital, so to speak.  This recital is often only heard by me, but it is, alas, "appreciated" by all.

This is not so much an issue at home as it is at school, since even the most well mannered thirteen-year-old can often not resist a comment like, "Who did that?  Or did something die in your room this morning?"

My tactic, since I have no dog to blame: keep moving and hope they blame each other.  So far, it works.

"Miss, they need to stop making those quesadillas (pronounced phonetically as "kwe-sa-dill-ohs") for breakfast!" one girl earnestly proclaimed.  "'Cause it is stinky after a while!"

"Oh, dear!" I say without a trace of irony as I float gently from one side of the room to another.  The moving teacher farts, and having farted, moves on, is my new motto.  Perhaps not worthy of a sampler, but it works for me.

(The above post is dedicated to my friend Laura, who posted her desire for a new blog post on my Facebook wall.  I hope you are happy.  The rest of you now know who to blame.)

Happy holidays!

Deb's "Dy-no-mite" Pumpkin Bars

I love, love, love pumpkin, so this is a happy time of year for me.  This is a recipe I have honed over several iterations.  It began as a nearly fat-free, almost vegan recipe for pumpkin cookies, but I have altered it to fit my nutritional needs.  It is delicious, but very, very heavy and filling.  I will note where you might want to alter the recipe, depending on what you need:

Preheat oven to 350.  Line a 9X13 baking pan with parchment paper (or grease it, I don't care what you do.  You never call me anymore.).

In a large bowl, combine the following dry ingredients:

3 cups rolled oats
1+1/3 cup whole wheat flour
2/3 cup vanilla whey protein powder (note: I put this in to add protein.  The recipe will work just fine without it, but you will want to increase the whole wheat flour to around 1 + 3/4 - 2 cups, or maybe put in about 1/2 cup all-purpose flour.  It's a journey.)

Thoroughly mix the dry ingredients until they are completely blended and there are no lumps.  Using a sifter is helpful.  Once the dry ingredients are ready, add:

1/3 cup brown sugar
2/3 cup Splenda with Fiber  (Note: I put this in to make this bar more fiber-rich.  Plain Splenda or white sugar works fine, or you can do 1/2 cup brown and 1/2 cup white.)
1 teaspoon each cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and cloves.  (Or a couple of teaspoons pumpkin pie spice)

Blend the sugars and spices into the dry ingredients.  Once the mixture is even and fine, add

1 enormous (29 oz) can pumpkin (or two small cans, or two cups pumpkin puree)  (Note: do not use pumpkin pie filling, get the 100% pure pumpkin puree)
2 eggs (note: to make this recipe fat-free, use 1/3 cup applesauce, but I need the extra protein and fat from the eggs)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
dash orange extract (optional, but I like the little citrus note there.  It will totally overpower if too much is used, though)

Mix everything up until it is smooth.  Add a bag of white chocolate chips and, if you like, a bag of craisins or a cup of raisins.  Pour mixture (which will be very thick) into your lined pan and bake at 350 for about 45 minutes to an hour.  Start testing it; when the toothpick comes out cleanly it is done.

Allow it to cool and then slice into very small bars.  I recommend at least 36 servings per pan.  Here's what they look like:

I suggest freezing half for later consumption; a little goes a long, long way.

Enjoy!

Thankful for Memes

It's November again, which means two things:

1. National Novel Writer's Month

2. "Month of Thankfulness" Facebook posts.

Of all of the Facebook memes, the "Month of Thankfulness" has to be the least annoying.  (93% of people will not agree with me.  Will you be one of the courageous 7% who do?)  Unlike other memes, this one actually serves the purpose it claims to: remind people that they have lots of things to be thankful for.  Unlike "raising awareness" for breast cancer by posting hideously annoying, vague allusions to pregnancy and/or major life alterations, this one is straightforward, simple, and sincere.

Unfortunately, due to other commitments in my life both major (National Novel Writer's Month, a new Twilight movie, fiber consumption) and minor (marriage, children, career), I do not have the stamina to commit to a 30-day Facebook meme.  Therefore, I am posting my month of thankfulness here, on my blog, all at once.

Day 1: I am thankful for National Novel Writer's Month, which gives me a focused outlet for my creativity.

Day 2: I am thankful for my health, so recently recovered.

Day 3: I am thankful for Splenda with fiber, for transforming my morning bowl of oatmeal into a seismic event.

Day 4: I am thankful for Fresca.

Day 5: I am thankful for a daughter who knows the difference between fiction and non-fiction, who instructs me on the way the Plains Indians used every part of the buffalo, who insists on "doing demonstrations" to show me the proper way to do things, but who still can't put on her own socks.

Day 6: I am thankful that my son is toilet trained.

Day 7: I am thankful that my son is learning how to aim.

Day 8: I am thankful for Clorox wipes.

Day 9: I am thankful for my homemade pumpkin-protein-fiber bars with white chocolate chips.  Though I cannot eat them in the presence of fellow humans, they are delicious.

Day 10: I am thankful for overly informative bumper stickers.  It is helpful to know that the abysmal driver in front of me is an idiot in other ways.

Day 11: I am thankful for my stalwart, long-suffering husband, Sven, who puts up with many people in our life now calling him Sven because of this blog.

Day 12: I am thankful to the Victoria's Secret Panty Raid sale.  Good times.

Day 13: I am thankful for my job, which provides me with new challenges every day.

Day 14: I am thankful that I am a mere 22 years away from retirement.

Day 15: I am thankful for my mother, who has surpassed me in cool technology.  She has a smart phone and a Kindle.  My Nokia flip phone has a rotary dial.

Day 16: I am thankful for the iPad 2 for giving me yet another unattainable dream.

Day 17: I am thankful for my enormous Rainforest Cafe mug, which has provided me with an identity.  ("Look, it's the cup lady!")

Day 18: I am thankful for my church calling, because it is the only time during the week that I don't have to deal with children.

Day 19: I am thankful for the children, whom I believe to be the future.

Day 20: I am thankful for Whitney Houston, who shows us all the money, talent, and fame in the world won't stop someone thoroughly determined to make an ass of herself from doing so publicly.

Day 21: I am thankful for gravity, which prevents me from drifting into space.

Day 22: I am thankful for wonderful, supportive friends, both those I know in real life and those I know online.

Day 23: I am thankful for internet drama, which proves that even the silliest, least consequential thing in the world can become a giant hairy mess of emotion under the right circumstances.

Day 24: I am thankful for Kim Kardashian, who makes me feel much better about myself.

Day 25: I am grateful for vague clearance sale mark-downs, like "Take 65% of the lowest ticketed price (reduction taken at the register)" and there are eleven crossed out prices but when you get it to the register they actually pay you to take it away.  (Not really, but I got an $80 sweater today for $11.90 at Macy's.)

Day 26: I am grateful for modern medicine and all the advantages it has brought us.

Day 27: I am grateful for Methodist Hospital payment plans.  It should only take me a few decades to pay off my most recent adventure!

Day 28: I am grateful for my younger friends, who are having babies left and right so I don't have to.

Day 29: I am grateful for digital cable.

Day 30: I am grateful for the opportunity I have to be snarky, snide, sarcastic, and snipey on this blog.  And Olestra.

Happy Thanksgiving!

So here's what happened...

Last Wednesday I woke up about 30 minutes before my alarm went off, as is my frequent wont.  (My alarm goes off around 5:00 a.m., which makes no sense since I don't have to be at work until 8:00, but there you go.)  I didn't feel "right," somehow, so I decided to get up and take a hot bath.

That's as far as I got.  The next thing I knew, I was on the floor.  I couldn't move.  I yelled for Sven to get me a protein shake, thinking that perhaps I had low blood sugar or something, but that didn't help.  I got into the bath, but that didn't revive me.  As the time passed I felt worse and worse.  I thought, "I can get to work, maybe I'll go home early if I don't feel better."  Then I thought, "I'll just make it until Sven takes the kids to school and I'll go to the urgent care when it opens."

Without going into much gory detail, in the next few minutes it became clear that something was seriously wrong with me.  I alerted Sven, who got the kids dressed and took them to their daycare (which opens very early, thank goodness).  By the time he got back, I was in a bad way.  I couldn't walk.  I crawled to the top of the stairs and passed out there.  I don't remember what I saw when I passed out, but it was something, and I remember being very afraid when I woke up.  I crawled down the stairs, Sven carried me to his car (seriously hurting his back in the process), and we went to the emergency room.

I told them my name and that was all they let me say; I was rushed to the back and they got my vital signs.  My blood pressure was 69/40.  They got IV's going in both arms and pretty soon I was getting a blood transfusion.  I felt better after that, so I asked, "When will I be able to go home?"

Answer: four days later.  They admitted me to ICU, which doesn't allow children, so I couldn't see the kids at all that day.  I had a bleeding scan in nuclear medicine (take out my blood, inject it with radioactive stuff, then put it back in me and track it for a few hours).  When I was in tears the next morning, they moved me to IMCU so my kids could come see me.  After that, I had an endoscopy on my esophagus and stomach.  (After that they let me eat clear liquids; beef broth and jello have never tasted so good!)  The next day I had a colonoscopy.  (The less said about that, the better.)  After all of that, the verdict was this: we know you were bleeding in your small intestines, but we don't know exactly where or why.  Go home.

I went home on Saturday, but more tests were to come before they would let me go back to work.  Wednesday I drank an enormous quantity of barium and had a series of x-rays taken from about 9:00 a.m. until about 3:30 p.m.  Apparently I passed some kind of endurance test, because they released me to go back to work on Thursday.  I feel pretty good now.  It was like a big reset button had been pushed on my life; I'm eating better, sleeping better, and I hope I'm managing my stress better.

So we still don't know what caused it, but hopefully we will soon.  For me, it almost doesn't matter; it was a big wake-up call that I needed to take better care of myself.  I intend to take it seriously.

Wisdom of Youth

I am the oldest choir director in our school district.  I'm awfully young to be in that position, but circumstances have led to most of our schools hiring new directors in the last few years, and many of them are quite young.  22-23-24 young.

I'm getting used to the walker, but my hearing aids are giving me trouble.

Anyway, the other "new" middle school director is one of these youngsters; I think she is 23.  I have experience, she has energy and enthusiasm and optimism, so we often fall into conversations comparing out issues and methods of solving them.

An issue we have in common is Dramatic Divas.  These are the girls (usually in varsity choir) who believe they can get away with anything because they are SO INCREDIBLY TALENTED.  They can sing, sometimes very well, which means the director will never punish them for any bad behavior.

I should say that this view is not unreasonable.  There are a lot of people out there, choir directors among them, who will excuse an astonishing about of rudeness, disrespect, and even blatant defiance if someone is talented enough.  Or pretty enough.  Or rich enough.

I am not one of those people.  I made up my mind a long time ago that I wouldn't allow my choir to be held hostage to the whims of one student.  If my choir would collapse at the loss of one member, any member, then I'm not doing my job.  No one, myself included, should be indispensable.  The show must go on, after all.

Well, Young Teacher agreed with me, and then she said something so profound that it took me a while to process it fully:

"You know," she said, "I can teach a bad singer to be a decent singer.  I'm not sure I can teach a bad person how to be a decent person."

Wow.  I have been thinking about that statement for a week now.  The thing is, I do a lot of things to teach my students to be better people.  I teach responsibility, commitment, teamwork, hard work, tolerance, respect, and self-motivation every day.  That being said, those are things the kids only learn if they want to.  A student who crosses her arms, rolls her eyes, and audibly sighs after every sentence I say will not learn how to be a better person from me.  She won't learn anything from me.  She's made up her mind that she won't, and nothing I can do, no amount of dog-and-pony show from me, can change that.

So, yes, I can teach a bad singer to be a decent singer.  And I can help teach good kids how to be good adults.

And I still ask myself how I can do more.

Identity

I was looking at some old pictures of myself, and I realized that the person I used to be no longer exists.

I look at those pictures, and intellectually I realize that is me, and I remember being there when the pictures were taken, but it's like looking at a picture of someone else.  That person doesn't exist anymore.

So where did she go?  And who am I?

I can't tell you how many times I've seen people I know well, people who I considered good friends, who have walked right past me, or treated me like a stranger because they didn't recognize me.  Then, if they realize it's me, I get this line:

"Oh, my goodness!  I didn't even recognize you!  You look FANTASTIC!"

I know they mean that nicely.  I know it's a compliment and none of these people would hurt me for the world.

But.

I don't think I'm unrecognizable.  I know I look different, but it's still my face, mostly.  So... did all of these people, whom I counted as good friends, only see my weight before?  Was that such a huge part of my identity that I am unrecognizable without it?

So where does that leave me?  I'm 36, almost 37... I've lived a lot of years now.  Am I starting over?  Does my life as a fat girl no longer count?  If my weight was my defining feature before, what is it now? Who am I?

I don't know either.

Drama. Ugh.

I forgot how much drama there is in middle school, especially middle school choir.

Choir teachers become a bit more emotionally involved than, say, a math teacher.  We get to know our students on a much more personal level.  99% of the time, that's awesome.  The other 1%... not so much.

My middle school choir program currently has 130 students.  115 of them love me.

The other 15... DRAMA.

"Miss, it's your fault we messed up at the concert," they say.  "You didn't direct us right."

"You should treat us the same as the other classes," they say.  "You say you hold us to a higher standard because we're the varsity group, but that isn't right."

"It's not fair," they say.  "We're the only ones who get in trouble."

They weren't in trouble.  They didn't mess up that badly.  And they're usually the ones demanding special treatment because they're the "varsity" group.  Sigh.

I'll win someday.  Maybe it will take a few years, but one day...

Sigh.