"Age isn't a number; it's a perspective"

Despite all the mantras, this milestone is not easy.

you're only as old as you feel

you look so young!

think of all that you've accomplished

forty is the new thirty

Forty.

There, I said it.

I've been calling it the "tenth anniversary of my thirtieth birthday" for a while now. That seemed to take some of the sting out. But finally, in the last few weeks, I just decided to embrace it -- not because I am necessarily ready to admit that I'm middle-aged (and I'm pretty sure that's what 40 is, although running around after a four year old and a six year old doesn't really seem like a "middle-aged" thing to do) -- but because I have made peace with the fact that the number is largely irrelevant.

It's like the scale in my bathroom, whose numbers I discovered one summer only told half the story. That was the summer that I met a boy who taught me how to rock climb, and I went climbing two or three times a week for a few months. I gained five pounds and lost a whole clothing size. Apparently that thing the nutritionists tell you about muscle weighing more than fat is actually true. Ever since, I've treated the number on the scale with a certain healthy skepticism.

Today, I'm ready to do the same with my brand new age.

I remember the year I turned ten. TEN! 10. It was so exciting to have an age that took two whole numbers to write. I just knew my world was going to change. Endless possibilities were going to open up. There were going to be Things I Could Do, Things I was finally old enough to try. I don't remember whether any of those Things magically happened the day I turned ten, though I doubt that they did. I do remember, though, that sense of anticipation and excitement about getting older, the thrill of reaching a milestone.

And that is something I don't want to lose. Most of the major milestones society tells us to aim for--getting a degree (or several), getting married, having children--are ones that I've already reached. And yet, I still have half of lifetime (or more, I hope) to live. I think the reason turning 40 is hard is that it's not clear what milestone it marks: the 20s were all about graduate school, the 30s were all about starting a family and buying a house, the 40s are...

What are they?

It's too easy to get morose and think, well, the 40s are about admitting that you aren't young any more. That your knees hurt if you run too far, that you can no longer pull an all-nighter, even if you really really want to.

But I've decided that I'd rather focus on the other things.

The 40s are when my first book is going to be published (yes, it's true, it comes out this summer; it's an academic book, not one you'd probably want to read, but it's a for-real book with an honest-to-goodness university press publishing it and everything). The 40s are when I am finally going to learn to play tennis. When I am going to start sleeping again, now that the children aren't babies. When I'm going to introduce my kids to new foods, and watch them learn to read, and cheer them on in soccer games. When I'm going to carve out more time for cooking and writing and gardening. When I'm going to do my darndest to ensure that my children get bitten by the travel bug.

The 40s are when I'm going to keep myself young by more purposefully looking at the world through the wondering eyes of youth.

It feels good to make myself that promise.

50 Ideas for a Healthier Lunchbox

I have a kid who doesn't love a traditional sandwich at lunch (where "doesn't love" = will hardly touch, let alone eat). So for a while, I was reading every article I could find about creative lunch box packing. They all said basically the same (not very helpful) things about how you could cut sandwiches into triangles to make them more exciting! or you could include a side of dip with baby carrots! or you could put chicken noodle soup! into a thermos!!

Not that these are bad ideas. Just that I think I already knew that.

So I've spend this Kindergarten year trying to get more creative than baby carrots with dip -- especially since I couldn't bear the thought of sending him with $$ for the awful school-provided food. After this Mouthy Housewives post about getting past packing the same-old same-old for lunches, I thought I'd make a list of the things that work for us in case anyone else is simultaneously turned off by the corn dogs on the school menu and bored of pb&j.

As an aside: my best tip for making healthy and interesting lunches (apart from getting the kids involved in the shopping and lunchbox packing) is to use the containers you bought back when the kids were toddlers. All those little snack cups with lids, sippy cups with valves, and divided containers for carrying pre-measured formula powder are the perfect size to repurpose. And there is something about the fun-sized bowls and cups that has inspired us to create lunches that contain a real mix of interesting foods. Fresh strawberries, glugs of drink, a fun trio of crunchy tidbits...the divided ones even allow for putting a side of dressing with fresh salad. And -- added bonus -- I spend $0 each month on throw-away baggies to hold food.

Bread alternatives
for when you're sick of sandwiches (read labels to avoid high fructose corn syrup and modified corn starch, and to ensure whole grains and good fiber content where possible)

1. mini-bagels
2. mini pita bread
3. whole grain crackers
   
4. pretzel nuggets (Snyder's brand has no HFCS or other junk)
5. homemade muffins (low sugar, whole grains, chunks of apple or berries)
6. goldfish crackers
7. rice cakes
8. homemade zucchini bread
9. tortillas or other sandwich wraps
   

Protein alternatives
for when cold-cuts or peanut butter just don't cut it any more

1. cheese sticks/chunks
2. yogurts (try Stoneyfield Farm, Brown Cow or some store brands to avoid HFCS)
3. edamame (include a tiny salt packet for eating time)
   
4. summer sausage
   
5. cream cheese
6. soy or sunflower butter (no peanuts allowed in our school; this makes great faux pb&j)
7. black bean or miso soup in thermos
8. dinner leftovers in thermos (heat very hot, as they will cool)
9. homemade smoothie with yogurt, silken tofu, berries, milk (make ahead, freeze in toddler cups with lids; it will be thawed but thick and very cold by lunchtime)
10. hummus
11. marinated tofu (buy in the refrigerator section)
    

Fruit/veg ideas
in case "an apple a day..." is tiresome

1. grape tomatoes
2. cucumber chunks with a few drops of vinagrette
   
3. craisins, dried apple rings or dried apricots
   
4. clementines (peel but don't divide segments so they don't get slimey)
5. seasonal berries
6. steamed broccoli with ranch
   
7. grapefruit segments
8. applesauce (Mott's makes "Healthy Harvest" in great flavor combinations like apple-peach, all with no added sugar)
9. steamed green beans or sugar snap peas
   
10. tomato soup (we love Trader Joe's organic tomato & roasted red pepper)
11. homemade pumpkin muffins (reduce sugar)
12. homemade spinach bread (add extra spinach)

Drink alternatives
for when you want to ditch the fruit punch

1. milk boxes
2. juice boxes (look for no added sugar kinds)
3. kefir (like those yogurt drinks that come in tiny bottles, except without all the HFCS and artificial colors; kefir comes in a quart-sized bottle; decant into small containers)
4. water
5. lemonade
   

Potato chip alternatives
because, let's face it, kids love crunchy things

1. Snap-Pea Crisps (dehydrated, salty sugar snap peas; my kids eat them like there's no tomorrow; Trader Joe's has 'em)
2. sourdough pretzels (again, Snyders brand to avoid HFCS)
   
3. flavored mini rice-cakes (the cheesy ones taste a lot like cheetos but without all the greasy gross)
4. popcorn
   

Sweet treat alternatives
satisfying a sweet tooth with a little nutritional value

1. berry flavored mini rice cakes (often shelved with "natural foods" rather than snack foods)
2. apple-cinnamon flavored chips (often shelved with "natural foods")
3. Welch's fruit snacks (like gummy bears, but no HFCS, with 100% daily vitamin C)
4. chocolate milk (double the sugars of regular milk, but all the same protein/calcium)
5. homemade mini-muffins (low sugar, whole grains) studded with a few chocolate chips
6. dried fruit (pineapple, mango and papaya are particularly sweet)
7. fruit and grain bars (Nurti-grain and many other brands are high in HFCS; the Trader Joe's brand has none of that and is made with whole grains)
   

Food combination ideas
just add a fruit and drink to any of these for a complete meal

1. homemade corn and black bean salsa with crunchy pita chips
2. tiny crackers made into sandwiches with soy butter
3. tomato soup in a thermos with mini pita breads
4. cream cheese and jelly sandwich on mini whole-grain bagel
5. hummus with mini pita and baby carrots for dipping
6. miso broth with carrot slices and long noodles in a thermos
   
7. sliced turkey and hummus in a whole-grain/spinach wrap

These lunches may not have the coolness factor of purchasing a tray full of starchy goodness, but they do have the advantage of being full of vitamins and interesting flavors.

What are your lunch box staples? Anything we could add into the rotation would be much appreciated.

Thunderstorm: Full Circle

1975.
Sometime past midnight.

The five-year-old awakes to the sharp, repeated cracks that follow almost instantly upon the glaring flashes of light. Looming branches of trees, tossing wildly in the wind, cast fiercely dancing shadows over her walls.

Her parents and sisters sleep upstairs. She imagines they are all comforted by that togetherness (despite the fact that the four of them are distributed amongst three rooms).

She is alone in her downstairs bedroom, chased by monstrous shadows that are instantly distinct in the flares of lightening, then blurred around the edges again when the light passes.

It is intolerable, this being the only one awake in the house, only one downstairs at night, only one dogged by the fearsome noise and disorienting, blinding light and advancing line of shadow-trees. And so, she takes her pillow, creeps softly and swiftly out of her bed in between roaring blasts of thunder, hoping to make it up the stairs before another demon lightening catches her.

She fails! On the staircase, the brilliant white light of noon penetrates the foyer windows, thunder rattling her resolve. She leans her pillow on the wall for support, places her head on it as if she is sleeping, and creeps on up the stairs, comforted by the solidity of the wall, the process of climbing, the nearing to her goal.

Reaching her parents' room, she is both relieved and mortified: they will know she was afraid. And so she makes herself a nest in the discarded bedspread that lies in a heap on the floor at the foot of their bed, rolling herself in it burrito fashion, lying her head quietly on her own pillow, breathing deeply the scent of her parents.

Relaxed by the sounds of other people breathing, she sleeps until morning. The sun is shining, the birds chirp, and mercifully, no one asks her why she is sleeping on the floor.

2000.
Sometime past midnight.

The girl-woman, unwilling to buckle in her resolve to Be Firm and Let the Puppy Know Who is Master, on this, her second night of puppy parenting, nevertheless feels horribly guilty about the tiny, crying creature in the next room. Determined that the pup (who will one day grow to be an 80 pound dog) will not come to expect sleeping in the people bed, she knows that the game is over if she removes the little thing from the crate and cuddles it close.

But the crying! It is heart-rending. Perhaps this pup, born and bred in Texas, has never heard a thunderstorm. Certainly, she has never witnessed a Midwestern whopper of one. With every gash of lightening and volley of thunder, the pup's whining becomes more urgent.

The girl-woman takes up her pillow and a spare comforter, leaves her warm bed and sleeping boyfriend, and goes into their living room where she stretches out, rolls herself--burrito fashion--in the puffy down, lays her head on her pillow, and reaches her fingers into the puppy's crate. She murmurs softly as the pup licks her fingers. It seems there is gratitude in that small, papery tongue.

The thunder and lightening continue to startle, and the pup whimpers occasionally, whines sharply at one particularly loud blast directly overhead, shivers occasionally in the flashes of white light. But slowly, sensing that the girl-woman will not leave, she settles down. Pressed against the door of the crate, with the girl-woman's fingers stroking the velvety fur between her ears, the pup seems to sign with contentment.

They both fall asleep.

In the morning, no one asks her why she is sleeping on the floor.

2010.
Sometime past midnight.

The once-pup, now an aging dog with little mobility, is occasionally not willing to make the arduous trek up the stairs at night. On this night, she stubbornly stays downstairs, snug in her bed, until the thunder starts.

Then, as the light splits the sky and the thunder follows right on its heels, she drags herself to the bottom of the staircase and begins to cry. All of the other creatures in the house--all four of them--are comfortably together upstairs, sleeping through this cacophany. (Dogs cannot do math and calculate that the four of them are distributed amongst three separate bedrooms.) Why should she be alone downstairs to face the shadowy demons of light and sound alone?

The woman comes down to half-carry her up the stairs, since she can no longer manage them alone. Not content to be tucked into her dog bed alongside the human one, the once-pup cries with every crack of thunder, pawing at the bed for comfort. The woman reaches down, softly fondles the every-bit-as-velvety fur between the once-pup's ears, and murmurs to her. If she tries to remove her arm back into her own bed, the once-pup whines again into the storm. As long as there is contact, there is contentment.

Within moments, the barely-perceptible footfalls of nearly-four-year-old feet creep into the parents' bedroom. Carrying an array of stuffed "guys," the little one climbs into the high bed, insinuates herself between her mother and her father, and curls one hand protectively around the woman's neck. When the storm reverberates even more loudly, the little one adds a pillow over their ears.

No one sends her back to her room.

Slowly, the once-pup stops her periodic crying, the little one's restless nervousness subsides into slumber, and--all of them touching at least one other--the family rests.

In the morning, there is only the sweetness of waking up all together and snug.

The only one sleeping on the floor is the dog.