Easy Homemade Granola

Here is the old post from my old blog, republished by request, and so I can find it more easily.


THE BEST HOMEMADE GRANOLA

Preheat oven to 350.

(note:  in many recipes, you are told to whisk the wet ingredients before mixing with the dry, but I never do that, and it always works fine)

Throw all of this together into a bowl and then mix with your clean hands until everything is well coated:
4 cups rolled oats
2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp salt
1 cup honey (or half cup honey, half cup brown sugar)
6 tablespoons vegetable oil (I used melted butter once in a pinch and that worked too)
2 tsp vanilla
1 cup sliced almonds
2 cups dried fruit mix (whatever you like)

For the dried fruit, I buy this mix at my grocery store that has everything I love:  dates, pineapple, coconut, papaya and banana chips.

All mixed together...

Spread it out on a cookie sheet (lined with parchment for easy clean up and even cooking), and bake at 350 degrees for about 12ish minutes.  When the top gets golden brown, take it out and stir it up, and then put it back in for another 5-6 minutes.  Let cool.  Package in an air-tight container.

I've tested it out, and the granola gets along very well with vanilla greek yogurt.  Enjoy!

A Year in the Life: one second a day

Here is my 2nd (non-consecutive) completed project of shooting one-second-a-day of video for a year.  It has become my favorite way to document our family and how we grow and change.

Frequently Asked Questions:

Q- What app do you use to do this?
A- Just the camera on my phone and then iMovie on my laptop.

Q- Did you really get a separate video from every day?
A- I probably missed between 10-20 days throughout the year.  And I think three times in the video there are two different seconds from the same day.  I also had a little mishap and deleted about a week's worth of the videos from the winter.

Q-What do you like about doing this?
A- I like finding the moment in the day that best represents what's going on. And of course I love having the finished video as a little time capsule of our lives.

Q- What is hard about it?
A- Always having my phone handy/ being that mom that always has her camera in everyone's face.

Q- Is this video really representative of your life?
A- Pretty much.  Add in a lot of footage of me passionately reminding kids to brush teeth and clean rooms, and it's actually accurate.

In conclusion, the kids are growing so fast, our lives are so full, and there is so much joy in every day.

Enjoy!

Extremely Emotional and Headache Free: Part Two of my Anxiety Story

It has been so long since I've been on here that I forgot how to log into this website. Hi! Are you still out there?

The last substantial post I wrote was my "coming out" story about having anxiety. That felt like a big one, and both the writing of it and the response from people was really healing. My feelings on the subject of anxiety have changed quite dramatically, in a direction that feels both healthy and miraculous, and that blog post is partly responsible for the shift.  Anxiety was an ever-inflating and tightening balloon under my breast bone for so many years.  It was my deep dark secret. And when I finally started talking about it and then writing about it, anxiety lost a lot of its power. It deflated. Now I toss it into casual conversation; I just accept it as a part of who I am. I can even sell you on the benefits of having anxiety, on the ways it makes me see the world from a more nuanced, sharper, and more empathetic place. I don't have to take a deep breath before I share my story with anyone.  It is what it is.  My new mantra is:  Anxiety, it's no big thing.

As you may remember, I started a daily medication for anxiety two years ago. I needed it. My doctor recognized I was ready for it, after having tried and failed to get it under control on my own. I was starting to say no to social activities and turning more inward which felt like a very dark turn for me.  So, I started taking Zoloft and after about 3-4 weeks, I felt improvement, and gradually, relief. I stopped getting panicky over situations that had no business making me panicky. And a few months in, I remember saying to Tim:  "I'm just going to stay on this forever because this is such a relief."  I believed that Zoloft fixed me.

Fast forward until this winter, when I started getting more confident and feeling that I was ready to try life without Zoloft. I still have anxiety from time to time, but in situations that make sense, like during a hectic travel day, or when I'm heading into a meeting where I'm expected to speak to a group of people.  I wondered if I should try weaning off of it and living medication-free. I spoke with my doctor and came up with a plan for cutting the dose in half, then going every other day, and then if that felt okay, stopping altogether. The weaning did feel okay, so I took my last Zoloft on my 45th birthday this past February.

For the first week, I would walk around checking in with myself:  "Are you okay?"  And the answer was always yes.  I did feel a little vulnerable, like riding a bike without a helmet, or driving without a seatbelt, and kept wondering if I would have a relapse. Maybe a month had passed when I realized I wasn't thinking about anxiety constantly, or about medication, or not being on a medication.  And I have waited this long to say it out-loud for fear of jinxing myself, but I'm doing just fine without the Zoloft.* And that tells me that the medication was part of my healing process, but not the only single thing responsible for me getting a handle on anxiety. 

Since I've been medication free, I have lived my life as normal, including the following things that would have previously made me extremely uncomfortable:  I flew from Maine to Utah, drove from there to Las Vegas, (LAS VEGAS, people.  I went to Las Vegas without anxiety meds), flew back to Maine, have gone to lots of meetings, and I even drove Reed to the Emergency Room at 4 am when he had a scary respiratory infection, and I have lived to tell about it all.  I truly believe that my biggest antidote to anxiety, and the reason I'm doing so well, is that I talk about it. I have no qualms about sharing this journey and I certainly wish that others had done the same for me years ago. I talk to my own kids about it all the time, and my students whenever it makes sense. It's normal.  It's okay. Anxiety, it ain't no big thing.

with Reed and my sister Liesel in the city of sin.

So yes, it feels good to not be dependent on medication right now, but it is nice to know that it is there if I ever need to go back on it. Why I had such a hard time with anxiety at this stage in my life, when everything is in relative order and I am happy and stable, is still beyond me.  But here I am on the other side of it.

There have been two surprisingly awesome benefits to being off Zoloft.  The first one is that after about a week off the medicine, I was driving home and blasting the soundtrack to Dear Evan Hanson and singing along, as we have been doing a lot lately, and all of a sudden, I started to cry. Just a really good cry, not sad or happy necessarily, just the kind of cry where you appreciate that life is big and beautiful and good and hard, and I was feeling it, all of it. I hadn't even been conscious of it, but I hadn't cried for the whole 2 years that I had been on Zoloft.

I have had some really good cries in the past two months:  watching Skyler sing in her show choir performance, watching any episode of "On the Road" with Steve Hartman, overhearing a man in a coffee shop who had the same German accent as my dad, finishing a 20-mile run, talking with Tim about a student whom I was worried about.  Crying feels so good, and I was deprived of that normal emotional experience while medicated. I am enjoying being reacquainted with all the feelings, highs and lows and all the in-betweens.

And I saved maybe the best of all for last: Since I stopped taking Zoloft, I haven't had one headache.  That means that the headaches I had every day for 2 years (TWO YEARS.  EVERY SINGLE DAY.) were caused by the medication that was also helping me to live my life.  The reason my doctor and I didn't figure this out earlier, is that the headaches started a few months after I had started Zoloft and that is very unusual, so the symptom was not attributed to the drug.  But the headaches are gone now, so I don't want to second-guess or overthink why I didn't make the connection sooner.  I just feel like celebrating my headache-free, beautiful, extremely emotional life.  Come on over.  Let's watch Titanic and ugly cry together.  Bring extra tissues.



* I know people who have felt better after bouts of depression or anxiety, weaned themselves off of meds, or abruptly stopped taking them, and were met with terrible withdrawal and worse symptoms.  Just because I am no longer medicated doesn't mean that you shouldn't be, or that you shouldn't talk to your doctor about medication options if you are struggling.  I am BY NO MEANS anti-medication because of my experience.  I am all in favor of everyone with mental health issues doing whatever they need to do to get help and relief.  

Life and food and books: Some updates and current obsessions

I've had a major case of blank-page syndrome all summer. I've been here thinking and living and writing sentences in my head all this time, and then not getting my butt in the chair to actually pull my thoughts together and write. As someone who likes to chronically document my life, I've felt a strong pull to get some words on the page about this last stretch of time, so I'm making myself sit down and gather my thoughts.

First, because there are so many of you who are kind and good and have checked in with me one way or another inquiring about my health and my family, here are some updates.

Health:  The Great Brain Scare is over and done and behind me. My vision mostly corrected itself but I swear it took 2 years to get back to normal. I rarely notice any blurriness anymore, so whatever was going on with my optic nerve two summers ago has settled down. I still have chronic headaches that cause me a good bit of trouble but it doesn't appear to be anything serious other than tension, and I have a bag of tricks to help me manage them. The 3-month period of time I spent waiting to find out if I had an aggressive brain tumor certainly stayed with me. It's not something I think directly about every day, but I am just basically more grateful and appreciative of my life and my health and ability to see through clear eyes. Everyday is a gift. Amen.

Anxiety: Yep! Still coping with anxiety which I finally wrote honestly about here. I have had so many good conversations with people since I wrote that post, and I'm just reminding you that I'm still here if anyone ever needs to swap stories with someone who gets it. I am doing well currently, but I'm still on nodding terms with my very anxious self, constantly checking in to see if I'm okay.  Anxiety is very much like a wave that is just on the horizon, and it swells up every once in a while to show you it's still out there.  I haven't had the wave crash over me in a while, but I see it, feel its pull, understand that I'm never really out of harm's way completely. I feel good though, thankful, and mostly calm inside my head and heart.

My Family:  Well, what can I say.  The "littles" aren't little. They are both in middle school now and they are basically fully functioning humans who just delight us with their senses of humor and their big personalities, and their rooms are really messy but we love them so. Skyler still wants to save the world (and will) and the joke in our house is that Skyler could have a job or get her license or move to college next week and she would probably be just fine. She bakes some sort of triple-layer chocolate cake every week. Reed has his own style (shorts and high socks), is currently obsessed with Camp Jordan, learning to golf, water skiing, and knows every word to Hamilton (he's going in September with my mom). He could not wait to go back-to-school clothes shopping. He makes us laugh every day. He still likes hanging out with me, so I'm hanging on to that.

The older two are navigating their adult worlds in two different ways. Hillary is our city slicker, practically CEO of her company in Boston -or will be by next week- living in her hip North End apartment, and Ellis stayed in Maine, building houses from scratch and learning some new, cool skill every day. Ellis is living with us this summer which means we get him at the dinner table and for coffee in the mornings. I didn't think I could love Ellis any more than I already did when he moved in. I was wrong.

Red Sox game, August.

Ellis and Hillary: on the deck celebrating July birthdays

Skyler: 13 and in Paris

Reed: 11 and at football practice

Tim and I celebrated 4 years of marriage, and I swear it keeps getting better. I actually still wonder how I managed to pull off this life, and I am so very thankful.

Our Summer: The day after I got out of school for the summer, I ran a half marathon with Skyler in Portland and then flew that night to Italy where I met my mom, sister, and brother for a week in Milan and Verona and Lake Garda. The trip was my mom's gift to us for her 80th birthday, and it had been in the works for well over a year. I am so in love with Italy (cobble stone streets, pasta, cheese, gelato, croissants, cappuccinos, wine, sexy men, beautiful women.. should I keep going?) and having this time with my immediate family was all we hoped it would be.
 



Then I flew to Paris where I met Tim and Skyler and Reed at the airport and spent another 8 days exploring Paris and London. The kids were rugged travelers and were up for anything. I think 11 and 13 years old hit the sweet spot for this kind of trip.






I wrote more about Paris here, and made this video about our week. It was the trip of a lifetime.



The rest of the summer was spent at our house on the lake, and I had to try to find my balance between the two extremes:  it was either a houseful of visiting family, the kids and other kids sleeping over, dinners for 12, multiple trips to the grocery store a day, people sleeping on every mattress in the house, wet towels on the floor.




OR...
total silence.

Because the kids each went to camp this summer for two weeks, and spent a week in Michigan with their dad, I had some long stretches of days with no one home. The kids weren't there, Tim was working, and I was on my own. Sounds amazing, right? I know many of you think you'd give up a limb for a week on your own, but I am often surprised to find myself feeling sad and unmoored, unable to "relax and do nothing," as I think I should. I ended up obsessively cleaning the house, reorganizing closets, painting a bathroom, going for long runs, staining the front door, reading a pile of books, all just to keep myself sane. I wanted to get out of my own way and enjoy the quiet moments. What I did was miss my kids.


Running:  I am still running regularly and continue to reap so many rewards from it. It is my therapy and stress reliever and headache lifter. I still run slowly but steadily, and am honestly just happy to put the miles in. I thought I'd written off marathons forever, but found myself signed up again last winter and ran the Sugarloaf Marathon in May. Good grief, I used to write long race reports about every mile (and some of you faithfully read them!), but I honestly just don't have that much to say about it anymore. I have finished all six of my marathons in about the same time, and the only thing that has changed over time is my state of mind has steadily improved. During the May marathon, I stayed calm and collected during the whole thing, and that is now my goal: don't get dramatic and dark and overwhelmed.  Just keep moving forward. I'm running another half this fall and will probably do another marathon in the spring. Weekend long runs and the satisfaction and good-sore feeling that comes after are still one of my favorite things.

I am very fortunate to have many running friends whom I can text the night before and say: "Hey want to run 5 miles with me at 5 am?" and they say: "YES!"  One of my running buds arrives at my house by boat, and this is the beautiful scene while I wait for her to arrive.




The dog:  Last most of you heard, we had to put down our beloved dog Ryder which broke our collective hearts. At Christmas, we surprised the kids with this little blonde puppy and we named her Juno. When we picked her out via photos from a friend who rescues and fosters puppies, we thought she was probably a lab and would be a medium/ large dog. It turns out, she's just a little thing (30 lbs fully grown), of some undetermined mix, and she's perfect. She is smart, a good listener, and very funny. I wanted a dog who was a runner and a lover, and that is just what we got.

Current food and book obsessions

Pinch of Yum
All my cooking in the last few months has been inspired by Pinch of Yum, my current favorite food blogger. Follow her on Instagram.  I would cook everything she posts. Enjoy!



Couscous Summer Salad (also from Pinch of Yum)
I actually made it with quinoa instead of couscous, but the beauty of this salad is all the good stuff you pile on top: Avocado, garbanzos, nectarines, sweet corn, sunflower seeds, herbs, dried cherries, YUM. I am obsessed with salads where you pile loads of good stuff on top.

 

Chocolate hummus
Where has this been all my life?  Go get some.  It's not too sweet, but nice and chocolatey.  I dip fruit or crackers into it and no one else in my house will eat it so it is ALL MINE.




Call Me By Your Name
Hands down, the best book I read all summer. I read it in 2 days without coming up for air. It is the love story between two men, one younger, and it has some crazy sex scenes and is just a swirly, swoony love story. You'll never think of a peach the same way again. The writing is GORGEOUS.  P.S. I hated the movie.

The Girl Who Smiled Beads
Here is my other best book of the year.  I will actually be teaching this book to seniors this year and I'm so excited to talk about it with students. The story of a child who escaped the Rwandan civil war and is eventually brought to America, it will change your preconceived notions of the refugee experience. And it will break your heart.




Amateur Hour: Motherhood in Essays and Swear Words
  
Kimberly Harrington is funny, sassy, smart, irreverent, but also tender on the subject of love and  raising kids. I laughed, I cried.  You'll love it.



Well there.  I wanted to get that done before the end of summer, which is certainly upon us. Thank you to those of you who have stuck with me over all the years. xoxo

The Lovers' Guide to Watching Baseball

My husband Tim and I are both huge baseball fans, but that means pretty different things for each of us. Tim, a career sportscaster and accomplished athlete, cannot fathom why I am not interested in hearing constant stats and strategy about the game of baseball while I watch a Red Sox game. He cannot understand why I'd rather just watch the game. I wish even the commentators would please shush sometimes instead of filling every space of the game with chatter and numbers. Tim explains that baseball is such a slow sport, that the broadcasters need to keep the viewers interested. I beg to differ.

I love the slow pace of baseball. It's like a meditation to me, nice and calm and quiet. I love all things associated with baseball, the beautifully mowed green grass and the warm summer nights, the crack of the bat and the thwack when a strike hits the mitt, the way the crowds all sing together. The guys are nice to look at, and they high-five and hug and pat each other on the butts. Baseball is joyful and patient. It gives me happy feelings.

Tim is a numbers guy in general, so baseball statistics make sense in his world; numbers allow him a way to talk about his love for the game in specific and nuanced ways, something he has done since he was a little kid. But I just don't care about the numbers. I am not interested that the current batter's batting average is .325. And I really don't care that someone is 5 for 8 when facing left-handed pitchers in away games after a rain delay. Sometimes, after hearing a ridiculously hyper-specific statistic like that, Tim will say: "Now that is cool." But all I heard was "blah blah blah 1 3 7 4 8 3  blah blah blah," so I don't really know if that is cool or not. There should be a statistic for the percentage of an inning that the announcers can remain quiet.

I wish the commentators, instead of statistics, would tell us some back stories about the athletes. That player suffers from anxiety? The pitcher is a cancer survivor? That guy was bullied in elementary school? Talk to me. This batter just got called up from the minors earlier today, and his mom and dad flew in last minute and are in the stands watching their son's major league debut? Hold me. And tell me more.  (It is with this insight about me that Tim actually got me to watch some of the NFL draft on TV with him. Because there was a guy with one arm who was hoping to be drafted! I got sucked in. He got drafted!)

The journalist in Tim pays attention to language use, and demands concise explanations. He has tried to teach me the difference between a slider, splitter, and a circle change. I am, however, all set with that. I don't need to know. He asks if I want to know the difference between a 2-seamer and a 4-seamer, and I say: "I love you, but no." Our differences cause us trouble when he goes to get a beer during a Sox game, and someone gets a hit while he's gone, and he asks me what happened. He wants to know whether it was a line drive, a bloop, a bleeder, a rope, or a gapper. All I can tell him is that the ball went up, the ball came down, and the guy is now on first. Are we not happy?

There are some things about my husband's baseball commentary that I do love, and this is what gets me into trouble. I'm sending him mixed messages when I encourage him and laugh and ask him questions. I crack up when he says the pitcher threw "high cheese" or a "nasty slider." I love it when he yells "can of corn!" for an easy pop up, or calls a home run a "tall Jack." I find it hilarious when he makes a very specific comment about a play, and then Jerry Remy immediately echoes the exact same line. My husband could be calling games for the Red Sox but instead he's calling games for me right in our living room. So I have learned to take advantage of all of his fun knowledge, but to frame my questions carefully:  "Can you please tell me in 15 words or less what a check swing is?" (It took more than 15 words, and I still don't know.)

Our differences in style bring up some similar issues when I want to talk about Reed, our 11-year old, and how he does in his Little League games. First let me tell you how magical and wonderful Little League is in case you don't know. This is our sixth year watching Reed play, and he has been blessed with the best coaches who teach and challenge the kids while remembering that they are just kids. Little League season means Spring is here at long last. The grass is growing and the burgers are sizzling at the snack shack, and all the parents call all the boys "bud." I love to lean up against the fence with the other parents and watch Reed and his team play.

I learned early on not to say "Reed got a hit!" if the ball was caught. But let me just say that Reed hit that ball hard, and that was a LUCKY catch by the tall kid on the other team. And get this: when Reed hits the ball, and the infielder goes for it but misses, and Reed gets on base, do you realize Tim still says I cannot call that a hit?  That is an "error." And I am like: All I know is that my son hit the ball, got on base, and I am having warm and positive feelings about it. GEEZ with the details! Should I have said  "The pitcher threw high cheese and Reed blooped it right to the shortstop"?

Tim has worked with Reed on the nuances of batting, his stance and his swing, for years. We have had indications that things were starting to click for Reed, and that because he is much bigger than last year, we are entering new potential territory with him as a hitter. I don't need any commentator to give me Reed's back story; I know how hard he works and how much he dreams about getting a big hit in a game. And I'm his mom, so it's my dream too.

On Saturday, while Tim and I were pressed up against the fence watching his game, Reed hit his first ever home run. We heard the ball hit the bat, and we both watched it go, up and over everyone's heads and right over the fence. We then watched Reed round the bases, and when he came around 3rd, he saw that his whole team had cleared the bench and was waiting for him at home plate. I had feelings! He went on to get two more hits, including the one that brought in the winning run in extra innings. It was the best game of his life, by far.

Game ball AND first home run ball.

That night, when we were lying in bed and talking about the day, I said to Tim: "I'm so happy for Reed." He agreed and said how proud he was.

And then, of course, wait for it... "His slugging percentage for the season is 1.100."
I asked: "That's good, right?" and Tim confirmed what I, as his mom, already knew.
"Yes. That is very good."

The thunderstorm inside of me

Breaking News: Anxiety is silent and invisible and alive inside many people you know well, and you have no idea.

I have written about my anxiety before, but I have never made it clear just how much internal struggle I sometimes face on a day-to-day basis. We live in a world where no one wants to admit they struggle with mental health because it makes everyone uncomfortable. But once you start to talk about it, you find out how very many people around you, some of those you'd least expect, are similarly struggling. You find that people will audibly sigh with relief about having this door opened. I have started to take every opportunity presented to me to share how I've struggled. If I complain about the stigma, but continue to feel shame or be secretive about my own mental health struggles, then aren't I just perpetuating the stigma?

Hi. I'm Emilie. I have anxiety.

At my very best, I am confident, quick to make jokes and tell stories, friendly and generous with the people around me, willing to try anything and go anywhere. At my most anxious, I am physically sick with worry, dreading things as normal as going to work, walking into my classroom, meeting up with a friend in a public place, or cooking dinner for guests. At my most anxious, I have regular panic attacks where I can't catch my breath, frantically scan the room for exits wherever I go. You've never seen this happen to me because I go hide in the bathroom or get outside to take a walk as quickly as I can. Or you've been right beside me but it's invisible, and while I may seem to be all clear skies, I'm actually harboring a thunderstorm inside of me.

You might wonder what specific fears drive my anxiety. Well, that's a great question, one I've spent years trying to figure out. Here is my best answer: I am afraid of getting trapped in a situation where I cannot escape, of having no way out. One therapist theorized that I, like many anxious people, have an extreme form of stage fright or performance anxiety, a paralyzing fear that I am going to be exposed as weak or needy or flawed.

The list of things that made me anxious started out small. But every panicky episode at a particular place or doing a particular thing would make me get anxious the next time. As time went on, the list grew. I became anxious almost every day about getting sick, fainting, throwing up. I was anxious at airports and on planes and busses and trains, in the back seat of cars, in the middle of a row of seats at a concert or lecture. I became afraid of public speaking, of being observed when teaching, of speaking at meetings, of reading out loud to my students. I got anxious during races, specifically as I neared the finish line. I was afraid of rooms with no windows, long lines, specifically in airports, being too far away from home, going crazy, humiliating myself, losing my mind. I became a master at avoiding situations that would make me anxious which got harder and harder to do. I had good days, of course, but I white-knuckled my way through a lot of days until I got home where I could breathe.

These fears defy all logic and frankly, they piss me off because they are so ridiculous. Have I ever fainted?  Once, 25 years ago.  I have had no negative experiences with travel. I feel loved and well respected in all areas of my life. I know I am a good teacher, and I love standing in front of a class and telling stories and sharing witty banter with students. I've never been trapped anywhere nor had anything traumatic happen to me. There is nothing obvious to blame. I have learned this is one of the great misunderstandings about anxiety. People want to know: "but what happened?"  Nothing happened. I have anxiety.

I became proactive about fighting anxiety once I started to feel the pull to stick close to home, and I feared my world was getting small and might close in on itself. I went to therapy and hypnosis. I tried meditation. I read books and listened to podcasts and TED talks that provided coping strategies. I even stopped drinking coffee. Sometimes I would feel better for a week and feel victorious, only to find myself with a pounding heart, walking around in circles, trying to talk myself out of a panic attack again.

About 18 months ago, I went to my doctor (I love my doctor) and said to her:"I am throwing up my hands here. I need help." And then I cried and cried and cried. She hugged me and together we made a plan. Even though I had adamantly insisted against it for years, I started a daily medication. The first one lasted 2 weeks and had horrible side effects. The next one lasted 6 months and took the edge off but was not enough. Finally I found the right fit last winter, and I am currently feeling about as good as a human could feel.

I don't know how much of my recovery should be attributed to the meds. All of it?  Half of it? Because now that I'm feeling so stable, I am able to do all of the other things that are good for me and help me maintain my mental health:  exercise 5 times a week, eat well, unclench my jaw, relax.

But anxiety is never far from my thoughts. In the past few months, I've taken two trips that involved flying and miraculously, I was completely fine from start to finish on both trips. Going through security, waiting at the gate, getting on the plane, I kept saying to myself:  "This is weird. I'm not sweating. I think I feel fine. Am I fine? Am I really okay? Yep, I am totally okay. " Meetings?  Deadlines? Social events? Observations?  Public transportation? Riding in the backseat? Crossing finish lines? All good. Bring it on. I'm floating happily in these calm waters, buoyed up by relief and my own confidence in myself. I let my world get small for a while, but it feels wide open again.

In case you're wondering, yes I am tempted to wean myself off of the medication. I feel so fantastic and I want to believe I don't need it anymore. But getting off meds is complicated: weaning has side effects and drawbacks. Going back on involves headaches, jaw-clenching, insomnia and heightened anxiety. For now, I'm on a fairly low dose with hardly any side effects and no plans to change that anytime soon.

 I recently took Skyler to Chicago for the weekend to see Hamilton.  Everything about this scene is a small miracle. Here we are in the balcony of a small, hot, claustrophobic theatre where the seats were all jammed together and we did not have aisle seats. And I was just chillin'. I was happy and calm and able to be present for every second, to truly enjoy this incredible experience with my daughter. Not to mention planes and cabs and making our way around an unfamiliar city and I never even had so much as a nervous flutter. I am so thankful.  

You may relate to none of this, some of it, or all of it, but please know that even if you are not, someone in your life is silently struggling. For those who relate, remember that wherever you are on this path, it keeps moving and turning and you don't know what view is around the next corner.  If you are struggling now, you will not always be struggling.  I promise you this.

  Having a calm head and heart after years of trying and failing: amazing.  Also, I adore my fam.

So why aren't we talking about our mental health? Anxiety and depression are as common as having a cold. Why are we all pulling out our hair alone and taking so long to get help?  What if we didn't treat this topic as if it were such a soul-bearing leap of faith to discuss?  What if we just casually start dropping it into conversations rather than letting our shame grow in secret? How much heartache and tragedy could we avoid?  If simply talking about our mental health takes some of its power away, then please, pull up a chair.  Let's talk.

When Love Bites

At 6:30 on Sunday evening of Memorial Day weekend our dog Ryder bit one of dear friends' kids. By 8:30 that night, we were driving home from the vet holding our dog's certificate of death.

Our sweet black lab was the perfect family dog until he bit two children within a 6-day period. We adopted Ryder when he was 1-year old from a foster home in southern Maine. We knew only that Ryder was a stray pup born in South Carolina and was transported to Maine, and then we found him on the internet and fell in love with his soulful brown eyes. Tim still talks about how quickly I decided this was our dog after only seeing three pictures of him. "Look at him," I said.  "We need him."

Ryder met all the qualifications we wanted in a dog: a rescue pup who was smart and strong and loved to run. He cuddled with the kids on the floor. He stayed right by my side when I ran trails with him. He swam to the floating docks with the kids and climbed the ladder.  He did silly things like take one piece of trash out of the kitchen garbage can and put it on the floor as a way to tell us that we had left him home alone too long. When he did something naughty, he put himself in time out. When he really had to pee, he tap danced a little with his front feet to let us know.

Ryder lived happily and loyally with our family for 4 years and we had no concerns about him whatsoever until he bit a child who lives across the street from us. She came into our garage to play with Reed, and Ryder lunged at her and bit her in the cheek. It was a total shock that this happened. The family was super kind and understanding about it all. Of course we cooperated and talked to animal control about the incident and agreed to keep him on a leash from now on.

This plot twist weighed heavily on all of us. I googled "Why dogs bite" and "aggressive dog behavior" and "if my dog bites once..." and read everything I could about why this may have happened and what to do to prevent it from ever happening again. Tim and I both knew this could not happen again.

Before that first bite, Ryder had enjoyed total freedom at our house and around our yard and the lake, and because we are outside all the time, he was too. With these new rules, his life and ours would change. We reigned him in and kept him mostly inside. I started walking him on a section of the rail road tracks where there are no houses, just trees.

6 days passed, and our friends came over for a Memorial Day Weekend barbecue.  Everyone knew what happened and that we were going to be careful with Ryder around the kids. When they all arrived, I kept him on a leash and stayed right with him.  He seemed happy but a little restless, especially when we didn't let him go outside with the kids. While I was cautious, I was convinced his bite was a one-time freak incident and that everything would be fine.

An hour into the party, when my friend's six-year old son walked into the living room, Ryder was lying on the floor. The little boy walked up to Ryder, leaned over him to pet him and Ryder lifted his head and bit him in the face. It was so quick, a snap, a bolt of lightening, and what resulted was a whole lot of chaos and screaming and running around for paper towels and bandaids, while I grabbed Ryder, put him on the leash, and ran outside with him, saying out loud:  "Oh no.  Oh no no no no."  I knew what this meant, and Tim did too.

Mother's Day, 2 weeks before Ryder died.

While our friends took off for the walk-in clinic (where four stitches closed the wound on our friend's sweet little forehead), we began the process of saying goodbye to our dog, and it all happened fast. Tim and I were completely in sync on this decision. We simply could not have a dog who bit kids, not when we have kids of our own and a house where kids are literally in and out all day. This was a liability we were not willing to live with, that nobody should live with.

Ryder sat next to us, oblivious, while we gathered the kids around our fire pit and cried.  I could not bear to think that, because it was Sunday night of a holiday weekend, we needed to make a plan to have him put down but not actually do it until Tuesday. I couldn't bear to think of the next couple of days and what would be a prolonged and tortured goodbye.

On the advice of a friend, we called the emergency vet and told them our situation. They said we could bring him in right then. We spent about a half hour taking Ryder for his last walk down the tracks, helping the kids say goodbye, and all sobbing together. We drove to the vet, answered a lot of questions about who he bit and what the injuries were, lots of paperwork. All of the vets and techs confirmed with us that we were making the right decision. They could not have been more kind. We settled in to one of the rooms, and laid on the floor with our dog until he was gone. We whispered over and over and patted his velvet ears: "You are such a good boy. You are such a good boy. You are such a good boy."

I truly don't believe that Ryder ever meant to hurt anyone, but something had changed in him. Was he in pain? Was he sick? Did something traumatic happened to our dog before we got him that affected his brain somehow? We just don't know and we never will.

The aftershocks of that Sunday night rippled through our house for the next several days and weeks. We mourned and cried and felt sick over what happened and that our otherwise awesome dog caused other families such a traumatic experience. I saw what it looked like to have Skyler's heart break in two. I answered Reed's hundreds of questions about dog heaven and what it was actually like to put a dog to sleep. We all found ourselves reaching for him and swearing we could hear his collar jingle. Four months later, every one of us still expects to hear him running to greet us when we walk in the door.

If you are reading this and thinking that you are so glad that your dog is good with kids and is not a bite risk, we felt the exact same way. We would've said the exact same thing. And the reason I wanted to tell our story is to remind everyone that you never really know.  Dogs are animals and unfortunately that means they are not entirely logical or predictable. Neither of the kids who Ryder bit did anything wrong. The bites were completely unprovoked and undeserved. And yet still, everyone can stand to be reminded to be cautious around dogs. I have talked to my kids again about the proper way to approach a dog, even ones they know. Don't assume anything. Always ask the owner before petting. Give lots of space.

Both of the kids who were bit have healed nicely (though both have small scars) and their families could not have been more kind to us. In that regard, we are lucky it wasn't worse or that we didn't end up in court. Dog bites, accident reports, rabies labs, and liability are not the words we think of when we decide to bring a pet into our lives. When we talk about what a big responsibility it is to have a dog, we think about feeding him and walking him and keeping up with vet visits. We might think about the risks of opening up our hearts to the vulnerability of loving another thing so much. But we probably don't think about how we are also responsible for all the other people our dog comes into contact with. Take it from us; you shouldn't take that responsibility lightly. And thank God our friends forgave us.

I miss so many things, walking and running with Ryder. I miss how he slid his head in between me and Tim when we hugged. I miss saying "Hello boys!" when Ryder and Tim came into the house together. But more than anything, I miss believing that nothing like this could happen as long as you love a dog the way we loved this one.

Taking back August

When I got back from our trip west and had a full month left of summer, I wanted to take advantage of this nice, long stretch ahead of me full of the two things I don't have during the school year: plenty of time and plenty of daylight. I was also feeling especially healthy and wanted to hang on to those good vibes as I took the slow bend in the road that led to the fall.

Last August was all about brain scans and doctors' offices. The previous August was my worst stretch of anxiety (almost debilitating and also pretty inexplicable). I was starting to associate the start of school with insomnia, panic attacks and dread rather than my usual associations: fresh faces of students, stacks of books, and crisp fall days.

This year, I decided to take back August with the hope that I could seize the last stretch of my summer, and to start my school year in the best possible condition:  strong and happy and calm.

I decided to exercise every single day for all 31 days of August, my own little summer grand finale.


Here is how it went:
Aug 1: 2 mile walk with my sister in Utah before the long travel day back to Maine.
Aug 2: 3 mile run
Aug 3: 4 mile walk
Aug 4: 4 mile walk
Aug 5: 1-hour Strength training with Pete at Bodies by Badger (B3)
Aug 6: 1-hour Boot Camp with Pete at B3
Aug 7: 25-mile bike ride around Park Loop Road, Acadia NP,  3 mile walk

Aug 8: 1-hour Step Aerobics with Mark at B3
Aug 9: 4 mile run, 3 mile walk
Aug 10: 4 mile run, 3 mile walk
Aug 11: 7 mile walk
Aug 12: 1-hour Strength training with Pete at B3
Aug 13: 1-hour Boot Camp with Payson at B3
Aug 14: 3.5 mile run, 1 mile walk
Aug 15: 2 mile walk, 2 mile run, 1/4 mile swim (from Beach Club to island and back) and 1-hour Step Aerobics with Mark at B3
Aug 16: 45-minute Strength Training with Amy at B3

Amy and her workout that included so. much. jump roping. (18 minutes total)

Aug 17: 3 mile walk (Ouch, my calves.  See above).

Aug 18: Climb Cadillac Mountain with Reed (7.4 miles)

Aug 19: 1-hour Strength Training with Pete at B3 (so many pull ups)
Aug 20: 1/2 mile swim in the lake escorted by Skyler in the kayak
Aug 21: 45-minute Ball and Tone (strength training) with Sherry at B3
Aug 22: 3 mile walk, 1-hour Step Aerobics with Mark at B3
Aug 23: Climb Mount Katahdin with Tim (11 miles).  This mountain is no joke.

Aug 24: 3 mile walk (so sore from Katahdin)
Aug 25: 3 mile walk (still so sore)
Aug 26: 4 mile walk
Aug 27: Climb Tumbledown Mountain with Tim and the kids (4 steep miles)

Aug 28: 3 mile walk
Aug 29:  4.5 mile run
Aug 30: 4 mile walk
Aug 31: 1-hour Zumba STRONG with Amy at B3. Zumba STRONG is not like regular Zumba.  Think burpees, pushups, squats and lunges, but set to music.  Very hard, very sweaty, very fun.

And just for good measure:
Sept. 1:  5 mile run

So, how did it go? A few observations:

• I am experiencing the least amount of anxiety that I have in years.  Coincidence?  Nope.

• The harder I exercise, the better my head feels. My headaches got better over the course of the month.

• I was very sore on some days from the strength-training (after that crazy class with Pete on Aug. 19 I could not lift my arms or fasten my bra for days) and normally I would take rest days after these hard workouts. What I found is that a swim or a long walk made me feel MUCH BETTER.

• Having a gym like Bodies by Badger (It's in Brewer... check it out) is a blessing because there are so many fun options there for classes and there is always good energy, good music, and good people there to keep me motivated. Variety is the key.

• Once again I am reminded that if you make it a priority, there is always time to exercise.  I will have plenty of obstacles this fall that will make it trickier to get my workouts in, but in August I had no excuses so I made none.

• A tired body makes for a calmer mind. Running, walking, sweating, and just breathing fresh air seem to be the magic bullet for my mental health.

I'm feeling strong and excited and ready to get back to work. I am so grateful to have my summers to reboot and take care of myself. I know that soon I will be tired in a whole different way, the kind of wiped-out that makes you fall asleep face down on the couch on Friday nights at 7:00. (Teachers, am I right?)

Starting Tuesday, here is where I'll spend my days:

Lastly, Reed and I made this video that shows some (I couldn't even fit it all!) of our summer. The last shot is their first day of 5th and 7th grade. Where has the time gone, Stop growing up, I guess I blinked, please slow down, etc. etc.

Happy September!  May you all start the school year with your best possible self.

xoxo
Emilie

Summer 2017 from Emilie Throckmorton on Vimeo.

Year in Review: a safe distance

On August 2nd I decided, while out for a walk, that it was time to write again. My former blog, One Mom in Maine, is no longer accessible to me due to several logistical and frustrating problems, so I let it go. (If you look at my old website, you will find that some weirdo has reformatted and reposted several of my old posts.  It looks terrible and it is not me posting, so please disregard). I wrote that blog for almost ten years, and I have my work cut out for me to recover the content. I've moved a few recent posts over here and will call this home for now. Thanks for coming over. I will explain the new title in a minute.

The significance of August 2nd is that one year ago, on that date, I received a phone call from a doctor who told me that I had a brain tumor, and I spent the next three months thinking that I was dying.  Not thinking in a paranoid way based on uninformed google searches in which I have been known to partake, but thinking that I was actually probably dying from an optic glioma because there was definitely a mass on my optic nerve and even the most expert neurosurgeon and the most expert neuro-opthamologist at Tufts shook their heads and said they didn't quite know what to make of the lesion in my brain. Inconclusive, is what they told me, and while I heard that word with my head, what I felt in my body was much, much worse.

You probably know if you've followed along (the story is below in three parts) that follow-up scans in the fall and again in the winter showed that the lesion all but disappeared. The amazing neurosurgeon Dr. J stayed with me throughout the year and called me after the February scan to say that if she hadn't known what she was looking for, she wouldn't have seen anything at all on my brain of concern; there was only the tiniest shadow of abnormality left.

Another neurologist that I have seen several times, whom I secretly call Dr. Fucker, tends to be more gloom and doom.  When I first saw him last summer he scared the crap out of me with his serious tone. Even after the "clean" scan in February, he would still not rule out a brain tumor.  I saw him again this summer and even though I was ready for it and planned to dismiss it, he still made one of his little comments: "You know that we still aren't 100% sure what that is." He wants to leave the window of awfulness just a crack open.  Tim says:  "Honey!  He has to say that!" And I say, no he does not.   Dr. J says: "Hooray! Your brain is healthy and beautiful!" and Dr. Fucker says: "Well you know, maybe..."

I still have a blurry spot in my vision and chronic headaches, so the "not 100% sure" tends to visit me in the night sometimes when I don't have my guard up. Other than that, I'm pretty much healthy and back to normal, physically. The official diagnosis was Idiopathic Optic Neuritis. Idiopathic sounds dramatic but it means for no obvious or clear reason, my optic nerve misbehaved last summer and continues to affect my vision, and it is not necessarily connected to any other disease. I have never gotten an answer about the headaches.

Whether or not the almost-terrible diagnosis can be seen as a blessing or a curse is still not clear. Of course, I never actually had aggressive brain cancer. I never got very sick. I was incredibly lucky. I just had anxiety and headaches and a lot of sleepless nights. One might assume that I would have come through this experience seeing the world as full of rainbows and unicorns and that I would see every passing minute as a "moment" to be appreciated. Grateful I most certainly am. And maybe a bit more fiercely determined to be myself and prioritize my time. But also I'm more fragile. You could say I'm clingy with my own mortality.

In May, I had an irregular mammogram (again) which sent me to ultrasound (again) and then biopsy (again). This was a few months after the brain cancer ordeal so I thought: "Okay, woman, this is your chance to see how evolved you are now about staying calm and not assuming the worst," and I succeeded in not panicking. I really did. I had to wait four days for the results (again).  I tried very hard to stay light hearted about the whole situation. The entire bottom half of my right breast turned incredible shades of black and purple from the biopsy and I did what anyone would do in this situation.  I texted my sister and best friends and said:  "Want to see a picture of my boob?"  My sister said:  "Yes!"  and Suz and Ange said: "Absolutely!" It was indeed impressive and they reacted to my boob selfie with the appropriate amount of exclamation points. My doctor called a day early with the results, which were benign, again.

I feel as though I keep coming close to the edge and peering over. And then I am told: nope, you're fine, carry on!  So I brush off.

But this is not my only story.  It may seem that I am dwelling on the what-could-have-been, but I'm just catching you up. My story is that I'm here and feeling everything more than ever, which is sometimes a hard thing but mostly a beautiful thing.

My headaches and blurred vision and I continued on with our life, because we are together now. Over the past year, I resigned as Department Chair. While I adore teaching, I did not love administrating, and my job is much more manageable now that I am "just" a full time English teacher.

My headaches and blurred vision and I went to Puerto Rico, Washington D.C., Arizona, and Utah:

Puerto Rico

Washington D.C.

Arizona

Utah

My headaches and blurred vision and I ran three half marathons:

Skyler's first half marathon

Despite and maybe because of the year we had, I fell even more in love with my husband, if that is even possible:

On our recent trip to Arizona, we visited the Grand Canyon and also an overlook several hours north called Horseshoe Bend, an extremely dramatic spot where the Colorado River bends like a horseshoe around a giant rock structure. We hiked down to it, a little less than a mile, and as we approached, I took in the crowds of people standing next to the drop-off looking down. When we got right up to the edge, my heart started pounding and I swallowed hard. Skyler and Reed and Ellis and Tim were already ahead of me peering down. There was no gate, no fence, no warning signs, just a sheer 1000-foot drop off to death. In order to see the cool horseshoe shape of the river, you really had to get up close to the edge, but at first I could not. I could not even look at my kids looking at the edge.  Every molecule of my body wanted me to get down, back up, go back to the car.  But it was so beautiful on the other side, and I wanted to look too.

Such a strong reaction did I have to this place that I've been forced to think about it ever since, and I've decided that that edge has some archetypal meaning to me.

Tim took this photo without me knowing.  A casual viewer may think I look relaxed or peaceful, meditating on the glorious landscape beneath me. In truth, I was extremely scared and could only inch forward slowly in order to look down. My fear of heights has increased ten-fold in the past decade, and when my children are also in danger of falling, especially because they seem way too casual about the whole sheer-drop thing, I become slightly unhinged.  Skyler claims that I actually said the words:  "Back up and don't even look in the direction of the edge."

The edge for me brought about a bit of an existential crisis. Why are there such dangerous places? Why isn't everyone as scared as I am? Will my children always feel like actual extensions of my own body? Is my fear actually keeping them from falling? Why don't people warn you about these feelings when you have children?

It was hot and the sun was beating down and my children were totally freaking me out because they wanted to sit on the edge. I had to physically back away to let my heart settle. When I turned around a few minutes later to take inventory over my most beloved people, I only counted three and I could not spot Reed. I had to do yoga breathing and dig my fingernails into my arm for the full minute he was unaccounted for. The sound of my voice yelling for him made me more panicky. He had just walked up to a different rock to look down and was sitting behind some casual tourists. I am not cut out for standing next to giant holes. I am not cut out for being so close to the edge.

Let's take this metaphor a little further and talk about how life is really all about edges and boundaries that have no warning signs. Last year I was forced to look over the edge. The way I felt for those three months of waiting for follow up brain scans is not entirely unlike how I felt near the edge of Horseshoe Bend. My senses were on high alert. I was scared and craved solid ground. It was uncomfortable to the max but it forced me to see with new eyes, from a new vantage point, a sharpened perspective.

This is my story, and it is not my children's story or anyone else's. I have entered a new territory of narrative and have been thinking about the concept of stories, and who owns them.  I have recently gotten in trouble a few times by my nearly-13-year-old daughter for posting a photo on Instagram of her that was not pre-approved. And when my 10-year old son overheard the conversation, he said: "Yeah, you need to check with me first too." They want control over their stories now. They might tell you that I was irrational at Horseshoe Bend and that my fears made it less fun for them.  And I would agree, but you have to hear my version and they can tell you theirs.  I don't want anyone telling my story for me either.

I can no longer write stories about their defining moments, or even my interpretation of them. As "One Mom in Maine," I reported about the kids' funny comments and what they ate or didn't eat and what naughty things they did, but those days are over. I will certainly admit that I would love to help craft their stories, but part of my latest journey is putting my hands up and agreeing that I cannot do that for them or anyone else. Look how comfortable they are sitting just there.

***

Skyler and Reed are in Michigan for 6 days with their dad, and right now I'm drinking my second cup of coffee in the chair by the window where the lake breezes are moving the trees and the air around in just the right way. Tim is down in the water by our dock rearranging rocks on our shoreline, making things even more pretty than they already are. Everything is so quiet.

I still struggle when the kids aren't here but am forced to make meaningful use of my time or else go mad. I have been reading obsessively, and ending each of my walks or runs with a dive into the lake where I float for a minute, savoring that short time where the water presses on my ears and I hear nothing at all. The water is perfectly cool but sun-warmed at the surface and everything feels right with the world. I am grateful to be home, at sea level, away from giant holes that threaten to swallow me or my loved ones, but I know better. There are giant holes and cliffs and dangerous precipices out there; I'm just more aware of them now. My senses have been heightened, but I like to remind myself, from this safe distance, that is a good thing.