Children are the orgasm of life.

Just like you did not know what an orgasm was before you had one, nature does not let you know how great children are until you have them.

-lululemon

Josh was rather shocked to learn that this is part of lululemon’s manifesto. Because who knew that yoga-loving earth-friendly liberals like children?

Oh wait, I knew that.

Support life. Babies are awesome.

You see, grocery budgets never exist alone. They always exist in columns (or envelopes, or whatever) right next to another column. And that means you can take money from the other column to spend on groceries. Yay! More groceries! Less gas and laundry detergent!

Ehem. Anyway, what I was trying to say is that traditional grocery budgets are a challenge for me.

So I use a more, um, physical budget. I only buy what I can carry.

Rather than having Josh carry groceries I make him take pictures of me holding my grocery box. Smart, right?

You know my second-favorite grocery store in the whole world, Aldi? That purveyor of fine savings where they cut costs by charging for grocery bags? Well, I learned as a child that one should never, never pay for grocery bags.

Of course this is sort of a joke since half the stores we visit are in DC where they “tax” rather than “charge” for grocery bags, but still. All eco-friendly feelings aside, one must not pay for grocery bags. It is simply a rule. Sure, it is a rule which everyone else seems to ignore, but it is a rule nonetheless.

So when I go to Aldi I grab a large box and then carry all chosen items around in it. Of course I could technically put the box into a grocery cart (if I wanted to give Aldi the use of a $0.25 interest free loan for the course of my shopping adventure!) but that would cause problems. You see, if I have a cart, then suddenly my box overflows and becomes to heavy for me to lug around after I return the cart.

Josh claims that I could take the fully laden cart to the car, move the items in the box to the car, drive home, walk empty-handed into the apartment and announce to him that he must bring in the groceries. But that is silly. I couldn’t do that.

Besides, if I did? I’d spend at least twice as much on groceries.

So I convince myself that limiting myself to what I can carry is my form of budgeting. Others might look at the larger issue of choosing cheaper grocery stores in order to save, but I know that is almost as silly as Josh’s idea of making him carry groceries. After all, when I go to the organic market I am limited to a shopping-basket even smaller than the boxes at Aldi, and then I have to fit everything into one tiny cloth bag.

It doesn’t matter where I shop for groceries, all that matters is that I can carry the weight of my purchases rather than the guilt of buying too much food.

I’ve long been disturbed by the tendency of some religious people to turn food into religion and preach “food isn’t God” with the meaning that if you are less than svelte you clearly are worshiping food and less of a Christian than your skinny sister.

But I am still working on my lingering unrealistic expectations for food. You see, I was raised in the religion that follows the teachings of the prophet Hippocrates. You know, the one with the bible that says things like: “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.”

For years I internalized the idea that one could control one’s life by controlling one’s food choices. I accepted as gospel truth the teaching that disease was the fitting penalty for poor diet. I knew that if I got the flu it was my fault for eating white flour. Every headache was my just desert for eating dessert.

And then I grew up.

I gained the cynicism of a skeptic and questioned the faith of Food.

And, oddly enough, it seemed that my beliefs were justified. The stats held up the idea that Americans are making ourselves sick with downright stupid food choices. If only we would eat more vegetables and less meat we would chop healthcare costs and grow life expectancy.

But stats aren’t everything, and food isn’t God.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot determine my fate through food. I cannot heal myself by eliminating tomatoes, wheat and caffeine. I cannot free myself from pain by eating elderberries and salmon. Sure, I can make things a little better with vitamin powder etc., but “better” is not the same as healed.

This is the truth, but somehow I cannot really accept it. My sickness feels like failure because I know if only I got food right, I would be healthy.

Sure, I am enough of a pragmatist to realize that I gain more by reducing stress. I know that it is better to eat canned beans than to spend my days obsessing over which grains I should completely eliminate, and which seeds I should soak.

I know this.

But I still feel the guilt of the prodigal child.

Because as much as I rationally know that food isn’t God, the religion remains a part of me.

People all around me are embracing it as the hip faith of the moment. They are thrilled to lose a few pounds and gain some energy, and I am happy for them. But I am envious of their innocent faith. They can truly believe that all they have to do is follow a few simple rules and they will be healthy.

Somehow though, the rules were never simple for me, and I have never been able to get.it.right.

Rationally I know that this is because food isn’t God. Food choices matter, but they aren’t everything.

But deep down inside me I cannot help believing that my body is punishing me for failing to dig deep enough to find and follow the mysterious food rules that would bring health. So I add cod liver oil, because maybe they were right that flax just isn’t good enough. And I determine to stop drinking soy milk because maybe, just maybe it is the problem even though all evidence points against that conclusion.

Food isn’t God.

I know that.

I just can’t believe it.

Cute, right?

You know what is odd? Married women, ostensibly happily married women, who love Adele.

Seriously, folks. Adele’s music is beautiful, but it is the sort of music that requires one to appreciate the lyrics. And the lyrics simply do not resonate with me as a woman who is not only married, but deeply content in love.

It is crazy cute for little girls to sing along with Adele precisely because the music does not match with their lives. But that dissonance is confusing rather than cute when seen in my peers.

I am continually surprised at all those whom I see gushing about Adele. Because they just so happen to all be married women who present themselves as happily married.  So what is the draw? Why would you want to spend all day listening to lyrics about how we “could have” had it all if you do have it all?

My first thought was that perhaps all the stories about how you never get over your first love are true and all of these women are still pining for Mr. Ex even while portraying themselves to the world as happy with Mr. Perfect.

Then I heard “Rolling in the Deep” yet again and realized that maybe these songs are appealing because these women have gotten to the point where they are completely disillusioned with marriage. It may be perfectly normal to have times where you think of your husband as something of an ex considering how different your relationship is from what you could have had.

What say you? What am I missing here? Should I give up my deeply romantic Over the Rhine in exchange for some upset Adele?

It is a dramatic lack of any sort of emotion. It is the inability to think of anything with which to bribe myself because nothing interests me. It is the reality of being shocked to see tears in Josh’s eyes because I did not feel anything as I rambled on with hurtful words. It is in the sudden absence of the happiness in which I have stood in awe for over a year.

Sometimes Josh asks what he can do to make me happy. I raise an eyebrow. You’re good man, but nothing can compete with these soul-sucking hormones.

I plan to put up with it for as long as possible because in the pill I trade feeling for doing. What I lack in motivation I can make up in action, if only I choose. I can get things done, and I know that is good, even if I cannot feel it. I may not care much about what I do, but at least I know that I will appreciate it later.

As the pill kicked in and I first thought about all of this, I was thankful for evidence that I wasn’t just an insane religious person for running from the pill before. I may discuss some things in religious terms, but depression is something any reasonable person should should want to flee!

Several times I have tried to figure out how to explain it to Josh. I thought that the word “numb” was inappropriate because I’ve had a lot of dental work recently, and numbness involves surrounding areas of tingling and “off” but very real sensation. My experience on the pill is closer to a little death.

But then it turned out that it is actually numbness.

In the midst of the depression I have liked one thing, and felt one thing. More precisely, I have liked one person, and felt for another.

I like Josh. A lot. I am immensely thankful for this since I know from experience that it could just as easily go the other way. I do not feel able to actually connect with Josh, but I still like him. On most days when I try hard to think of something I might like I am able to conclude that I would like to be with Josh. That is grace.

And then there is the burst of heart-stopping feelings which have played around in these past two otherwise emotionless months. It is renidemus. Every time I read Anne’s posts or tweets my heart is suddenly back, and I know the crushing feeling of life and death exploding within me. Anne is pure beauty.

I can’t describe why she is so amazing without offending those who simply cannot understand this beauty. So I will not try. But oh, God. Somehow I can still feel this, and it is incredible to share in such emotion when I feel nothing else.

And tonight I turned on my computer to check her blog for an update. And it is nothing less than joy.

1. Well, the drug itself isn’t experimental, but the off-label use certainly is. One of the things that infuriated me about NaPro was finding out that so many NaPro fans don’t even realize how much is experimental and what is and isn’t normal. Seriously, how could you recommend that people try drug x when you haven’t even bothered to research the uses for which it was FDA approved? Oh, right. Normal people don’t associate fan-dom with research. I’m odd.

I’m on the pill. It isn’t a long-term solution (at least I hope not!) and I would be thrilled to find a better solution sooner rather than later.

I intend to reference my experience in several posts in which it will not be relevant for commenters to rail against the pill and the evil of women such as myself who take it. Instead I offer this post for the comments of those who care and know more than I, or who just need to vent about their hatred of the pill.

And, as always “the pill” in this context should be read as any of the typical forms of artificial hormones frequently used for contraception but also used for therapeutic (non-contraceptive) purposes. Thus “pill” includes the shot, patch, etc. etc.

What would you do if your hormones were horribly out of whack?

What would you do if you had a body like mine?

First, let me tell you a bit of what it would be like if you did nothing for treatment.

• You would be in debilitating physical pain for about a week and a half of each month. During the rest of the time you would have pain strong enough that you would never forget about its presence.
• You would be tired. No, make that exhausted. Who knows how much of the exhaustion comes directly from the messed-up hormones, and how much from the chronic pain? It does not matter, either way, there are only a few hours of each day during which you want anything more than sleep.
• You would be unable to think clearly. Again, who knows how much of this would be the direct result of the hormones, and how much the result of the fact that you are constantly in pain and exhausted. Either way, you’d be too foggy-brained to think through why exactly you couldn’t think.

None of that sounds too bad, does it? Sure, pain isn’t fun, but you’re tough.

But think a bit about the ramifications:

You would not be able to be employed. It would never work because about one in three days would be a sick day. It would not work because you would not be able to hold any job which demanded clear thinking, much less a job which required any physical effort.

You would not be able to stay home alone with a child. There would not just be the issue of the days in which you cannot get out of bed without vomiting. No, far, far scarier is the fact that you cannot think clearly. So maybe you’d place the infant car seat on top of the car while getting the toddler situated… and then drive off with the infant still on top of the roof. Or perhaps you would set the house on fire while trying to make a simple lunch. In any case, if you have children and a spouse who cannot be at home constantly you would have to have some sort of in-home childcare.

For a few days each month you would not be able to go more than ten minutes away from a bathroom. It does not matter if it is your sister’s wedding that is an hour away in the country, you could not attend unless you were okay with sitting on towels soaked with your own blood.

You would not be able to have close relationships without crushing your beloved under the weight of your illness. You would be constantly needy in the most desperate, unable to give-back sense.

Those are just a few of the issues, but hopefully enough to let you see that doing nothing really isn’t a good idea.

So we start with something.

Would you change your diet and exercise?

How would you change your diet? Do you honestly believe that soaked organic oats and fish oil is going to cure this sort of thing?

How would you exercise when exercise improves circulation… which takes even your best days and fills them with cramping?

Would you take painkillers?

That could enable you to function well enough physically to take fewer sick days and perhaps hold down a job if you are lucky enough to find one that can accommodate you. You’ll still be in pain though, you’ll still have trouble thinking, and you’ll still be exhausted.

And, of course, there are all the side-effects of painkillers. It is not just the prescription painkillers which you will need for the worst days that are a problem, even the OTC painkillers increase your risk of heart attack, stroke, miscarriage, etc.

So, let’s say you’ve changed your diet and now have a little more energy, and take painkillers and can function a bit better.

You still can’t carry on normal conversations, care for children, or have anything resembling a social life.

So what would you do?

Do you try “natural” remedies that have all the risks of the pill and then a hundred times more?

Do you try random drugs prescribed for off-label uses not approved by FDA?

Do you accept that perpetual pregnancy is the best solution and pursue fertility drugs?

Do you shut down your cycle with harsh male hormones because at least it isn’t the pill?

Do you take the pill?

I am sincerely interested in what you would do. I have read so many comments about how the pill is evil and how there is always a better solution, but I always come away with the feeling that the commenter or blogger knows nothing about severe hormonal issues.

What am I missing?

In either case, I am feeling very blessed. Josh is well. We have more than enough to meet more than our material needs. Current virus aside, I am not in daily pain. And that, my friends, is incredible!

I have not made any resolutions (yet!), but today I did register for a race and get Josh to update our recurring donation thingamajigs. Perhaps 2012 will be my year of laziness and automated achievement rather than putting actual thought into fulfilling particular resolutions. That sounds nice.

If you have any resolutions that I should borrow please do let me know!

Thus my choice was to use the paper plates provided at the office, eat my broccoli straight from the freezer, or go without lunch. I was not up for munching on frozen broccoli or going for 5 more hours without food, so I turned back to the evil paper plate.

My coworker was appalled because she had read all of the studies on these particular plates and had previously warned me that it was better to use a plastic storage container to reheat food than to risk the carcinogens and reproductive toxins found in these innocuous-looking plates.

I sincerely appreciated my coworker’s concern, but on this particular day the risk of going without food outweighed my concern about the potentially toxic plates. I try to be reasonably smart about how I treat my body, but it is impossible to truly protect myself. So I seek balance. And “balance” means that every day I knowingly take risks. I expose myself to danger and potential poison in order to live.

I share in a friend’s birthday cake without inquiring about the types of fats used to make it. I drive to the grocery store despite the very real chance of getting in a car accident. I use a cellphone. I take so many risks it is difficult to even think of them: just about everything I do is risky.

And yet, refusing to do what I need to do because I fear risk would be the riskiest option of all.

I have previously posted about why “erring on the side of caution” simply does not make sense to me. And it continues to bother me that so many urge “better safe than sorry!” when their version of “safe” is far, far more dangerous than the particular action which they warn against!

How do you deal with risk, particularly in the area of life and health? Would you have used the paper plate? Gone without lunch? Always been perfect and never left your reusable bowl at home? Done something I haven’t thought of? Do share!

Advent is one of those mysterious things that can take care of itself. Advent has a way of seeping into the souls of those who are even remotely liturgically inclined. Advent is awesome. Advent can work itself out when given even a sliver of space and, despite my failings, there are still many Advent-shaped slivers in my soul for it to wedge itself into.

I was quite busy the week before Advent, but that meant that I didn’t have to worry about things like cheating on my Advent grocery challenge because I did not have time to go to the grocery store.

And then Advent started. I am pretty sure that today concluded the third week, but I can’t even remember all that has happened.

We started Advent with a drive from New England to DC. I was exhausted and emotionally drained and so Josh agreed that we could leave on Saturday evening and drive through the night so that I could rest at home on Sunday. We got back in time for our regular Mass but ended up sleeping through it and going to a Spanish Mass that evening. That was nice since it meant that we didn’t have to think about the translation… more on that later.

Then I returned to a job which has become so stressful it was surreal. For real, folks. I had thought that things got bad in July, but this was a whole new game. I held out with my resolutions for a few days: I saved grocery receipts and took pictures.

I started posts about why I don’t buy into “real food,” why menu planning doesn’t work for me, and about frozen burritos (the short version is that I feel guilty about them for about 5 reasons but buy them anyway). I even used the horrible crock-pot to ensure that we had overcooked legumes ready to eat in the evening.

A bit of background for non-Catholics–a few minor changes were made to what we say in Mass (not to be confused with en masse, though it is that too). These changes were implemented starting the first Sunday of Advent, and in some places (namely, my head) it has caused enormous disturbance.

I managed to stumble into Mass during a few of my workdays, and it was hilarious. In my sanity-deprived state it felt as if the Bishops had come up with a new game. The rules are confusing, but basically I “win” if I can get to the point of Communion in a state where I can still receive it (meaning I can only have so many blasphemous thoughts during the first part of Mass or else I won’t be able to repent fast enough).

There is nothing wrong with priests getting so confused by the prayers that they pray all of the new versions of a single prayer and ultimately get so turned-around that they walk out of mass without actually concluding it. This is all part of life. But it does mean that the rejuvenating peace of the liturgy has taken a short break in my life to delve into deeper areas, and rather than being a place of rest, midday Mass was about as stressful as work for the first part of Advent.

Then there was something of a blur with finishing exams (plural “exams” for one class–let’s talk about this later) and something else about work.

Then we drove back to New England. And by “we” I mean “me” due to a messed-up rental agreement. The drive was quite slow thanks to rain and then snow, but we made it just in time (9:00am) to get to one of the latest Masses that day being offered in honor of the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. A new bishop in town means that all the priests go to chill at the Cathedral, but everyone is still obligated to get to Mass. I was not actually grumpy about the lack of midday and evening Masses, just incredibly tired and trying not to sin by being too proud of myself for staying awake through the excruciatingly long homily.

The longest weekend of my life (that is a bad thing, by the way) went incredibly well. Josh and I did not get to spend much of the weekend together, so late during the night of the drive back I decided to tell him about all of the things that had happened that would probably make me a complete emotional mess later. It made sense to me at the time but somehow did not make it more relaxing for Josh. Huh.

We got back around 2:30am and went happily on with our lives, though perhaps my back was a little red from my repeated self-congratulations at holding it all together at work with only a cup or two of tea.

Then I went home.

I was surprised to find that the noxious scent permeated even into our bedroom and gave me a headache in record time. I texted Josh that the smell was the worst ever and that I would be out of the apartment until it was time to meet his train.

When Josh finally got to experience it for himself he told me that it was far worse than he expected. I reminded him that I had told him “cant stay home drug smell is worst ever.” But Josh said that was not helpful since there was a tremendous gulf between the worst it had been previously and this.

We were both so tired that we took at least an hour to figure out what to do. Staying in a hotel did not make sense. It is a crazy waste of money considering the fact that we have an apartment! The property management certainly would not do anything after hours, and calling the police seemed downright stupid. The only people at risk were ourselves and the neighbors behind the science project, so it was not as if we had a clear-cut need to protect children.

We finally went to a hotel, and ended up doing the same thing the next night since the smell was still pretty stinking bad and I had no idea how to check the drug interactions between what I was inhaling and the pain medication needed to sleep with the headache it induced.

We came home the next evening and I stayed in bed moaning about the cold while Josh successfully managed to ventilate the apartment to the point of only minor brain-damage.

We kept going to work and I kept being confused: how could we be so busy and stressed? Neither of us is “career oriented,” we don’t have children, we have minimal obligations… so how can things have gotten to the point where I am so beyond stressed that I just shrug and announce that I will celebrate Advent in January?

Clearly I am insane. And perhaps that is why I am both happy and yet still concerned about my moral standing given how incredibly self-centered and shallow this all is. But I still have faith that Advent will make it through somehow. After all, Advent is wonderfully long this year, so it still has time to snatch me into silence and peaceful preparation. I hope.

The challenge is to:

1. Set a food budget
2. Seek to under-spend the budget as much as possible
   1. To share in the experience of those whose limited resources require them to always be mindful of the cost of their food
   2. To give the excess from this area of my life to someone who actually needs it
3. Pray each day for the one to whom I have decided to give that which is left unspent at the end of Advent

My plan is to post the amount of every grocery item I buy along with a picture. I can go grocery shopping as often as is convenient during the week, but at the least, each Sunday I will post about every item purchased.

I decided to blog about this because I find it easier to stay on track when I am recording things precisely, and I hope that I can benefit from anyone who happens to read and comment.

This is certainly an attempt at improvement, not a pretense of perfection. So if you see something especially atrocious that I have bought I would love it if you commented with an explanation for why you would not make that same choice. And if you are doing something similar please leave a link so that anyone interested can read about your experience as well!