Justice Farewell

(These thoughts were first published as my Facebook status upon hearing of Justice Scalia's death. I share them here as they turned out to be more of a blog post than I originally realized.)

In 1994-1995, when I was finishing up my undergraduate degree and completely immersed in constitutional law, convinced I would some day either be a constitutional attorney or a Ph.D. in Political Science who studied the constitution and the judicial branch (or both, Lord help me), I was first introduced to Scalia's writing. I was feverishly working on a big senior project on US v. Fordice, taking two con law classes, and generally geeking out on reading opinion after opinion of the Supreme Court, past and present.

Scalia's writing was brilliant. BRILLIANT. Aside from working effectively through point-by-point, linear arguments, he was witty, illustrative, and terrific with a well-placed metaphor. He had a singular voice, and I found it to be a breath of fresh air.

I almost never agreed with him, but so often, I would finish what he wrote and think, "Okay, I see how that makes sense, WHY don't I agree?" The closest I can come to describing my mind on Scalia was my experience the previous year reading, "Lolita," finding myself so drawn in by Nabokov's complete mastery of the English language/word choice/pacing/storytelling that at times I found myself rooting for the horrifying Humbert Humbert. Scalia could pull me in, draw in my mind, and make me really think through what I believed and what was important to me as an American citizen.

In recent years, I have had less admiration for the strict constructionist wordsmith I met through his work as a 21-year old. He seemed off the rails at times, even offensive, and I felt badly both because of what he was saying, and because it so besmirched his character, which I had never questioned previously, even in disagreement.

The fact that he was such a fierce friend to Justice Ginsburg still speaks volumes to me. The fact that he is credited with the most laughter during court arguments says even more. The fact that he is now gone from the court makes me incredibly relieved. All of these things are true, simultaneously.

In an age of curated media, of liberal and conservative outposts holding the attention of their followers (myself included), and generally dragging us to the most extreme poles of belief, I miss my days of creeping through the stacks of the UW-Madison Law Library and spending time being intellectually challenged.

If I had met Justice Scalia before his passing, I would have hoped to say something like this: Thank you, Justice Scalia, for teaching me as a young adult to seek out the most intelligent, thoughtful arguments on the opposite side of my belief system; more than anyone, you taught me that I am definitely a loose constructionist. Thank you for showing me that there is something to be learned everywhere, even when you don't agree. Thank you for modeling superb writing. While I do not support the way you shape the decisions of the court, I am so glad you helped to shape my life and my work.

My thoughts and prayers are with the Scalia family. Grazie, Justice.

Insomnia, Love, and Death

It happened last night, after her fourth round of coming out to tell us another reason that she couldn't fall asleep. By now, she was all tears and stress, and I gave up telling her to just lie down and try to sleep in favor of going to her room, lying down next to her, and helping her calm down. Who doesn't want to watch the Super Bowl with numerous interruptions, anyway? 

She's had bouts of insomnia for a few months now. Some of it is just kid bedtime procrastination, but some of it seems to be legit. On evenings like last night, when her fear of not falling asleep begins to get too big to quell, it is truly miserable.

"Don't worry about falling asleep," I told her. "When that feeling or thought pops into your head, just tell it, 'I know you, but you aren't true. I will fall asleep, I don't have to worry.'"

Breathe. Sigh. Her ten-year old body tried to relax, but her mind wouldn't let the thoughts go.

"Mom, it still makes me feel anxious. I hate insomnia. I hate that I can't sleep lately. I hate this part of growing up."

"I know. It doesn't feel good. Just imagine you are in this warm, safe bubble. Everything in that bubble is calm. That bubble is made of all my love for you, it surrounds you all the time. You don't have to worry in that bubble."

"I don't like to talk about how much you love me. Do you want to know why?"

"Why?"

"Because it makes me think of your death, and how I just won't be able to handle it when you are gone. It makes me cry."

Stillness. No breath from either of us. Yes, I know that feeling.

"I understand. I'm not planning on dying anytime soon."

"I know, it's just...it's just terrible to think about."

"It is. Right now, let's think about something else. You know that my love lives right here." I touch her heart as I wrap her up in a hug. She nods her head and squeezes me back.

"That never goes away. Ever. In a million years, no matter how far away we are from each other, it is always there. My mom's love lives in my heart, and her mom's in hers...the love stretches out forever in time."

"It's so much."

"It is. You are also loved by so many other people: family, friends, etc."

"I have a tremendous bubble of love to live in."

"You do."

"It's still hard."

"I know. But we are here now, and you are safe, and we can choose to smile whenever we think of that love, even if we also cry a little bit."

Ten-years old for our child has been about alternating moments of tiny kid vs. tween; needing hugs and believing in the tooth fairy vs. growing cynicism and wanting to let us know she has all the answers. This reckoning with death is so different from younger versions, because a part of her now understands that this will be devastating, and there is no escape from it, for any of us. All we can do is acknowledge the truth of the feeling, give each other hugs in the moment, and remind ourselves that even as we lose each other—and nothing is ever as right or good or peaceful as being together, alive and well—we can seek comfort from others, and have that eternal love live on in our hearts. It doesn't feel like enough, and maybe it never can be. Still, though, it is what we have, and it is a lot.

Snow Menu

(Love this post? Come check out all my life and cooking advice at Misery Loves Cookery!)

The East Coast has a serious blizzard coming their way in a day—I think the meteorologists have coined it "Winter Storm Jonas," which makes me think it is a member of a boy-band—and it is making me nostalgic for my twenties, when I was transformed from a snow-immune Wisconsinite to a snow-fearing Virginian.

After graduating from UW-Madison, I moved to Washington, DC and took my first big job, with a $25K starting salary. I was too young and naive to even know how little money that was at the time, I was just so grateful to get to move to DC, a place I'd dreamed about living since a trip to the area in the sixth grade. My first winter there, in 1996, there was a huge snowstorm—large by Midwestern standards, so completely crippling by Mid-Atlantic measure. I didn't realize at the time, but I was about to experience a huge culture shift, an approach to winter that was radically different from the one with which I was raised.

My roommates and I had just moved to a new townhouse apartment in Arlington, and we had almost no furnishings. Our only television was a small (12 inch? 15 inch?) box with no cable connection, meaning that our only entertainment via that television was 24-7 weather coverage on the four prime-time channels. As the days dragged on—DC doesn't shut down for just a day or two when they are hit with snow, they go down for the week—I could not wait to get back to work. I remember attempting, on day four, to get into the office, only to discover my bus-to-metro commute was 3.5 hours, and I should have brought my own shovel for the walking portions of the slog.

Even with this inauspicious start, I grew to love the DC snow day. While Midwesterners—especially those of us from the Great Lakes—view snow as simply a reason to wake up even earlier to dig out and drive more cautiously—DC just stays home, tucks in, and declares a weather-related apocalypse. Once you embrace the time off, you can really enjoy the snow-imposed staycation.

There is one critical area of expertise that Midwesterners really understand about a snow-in that DC-area residents don't really get: how to shop at the grocery store, and what to make while stuck in the house. Maybe it is because we have so much more practice hunkering down (even if we don't usually take time off of work for blizzards), I don't really know, honestly. In the Mid-Atlantic, news of a snowstorm means buying three items: milk, bread, and toilet paper.

Now, the toilet paper makes sense. Why anyone needs three cases of toilet paper for 5 days stuck in the house, I won't ever know—scratch that, I don't want to know—but let's just call that a "safety first," move, and not dwell on the possibilities.

And while having a gallon or two of milk and some sandwich bread are lovely, is everyone really planning to dive into endless sandwiches and glasses of milk for days?

Cold weather and snow means it is time for baking, slow-cooking, and roasting. Cold weather = comfort food. Cold weather = EAT THE GOOD STUFF, PEOPLE.

My friend, Mary, already reported this reality at the store yesterday, the panic-induced hoarding of dairy and bakery had begun 72 hours before the snow:

As DC-area residents head out today to stock up before conditions become perilous, they don't need to worry if if the milk and bread are already gone. YOU GUYS CAN DO THIS, you just need to channel your inner Midwesterner (even if you've never even been there.) Here's some tips, along with a meal plan and ingredient list for your staycation that will leave everyone happy*:

Tips:

Tip One: If you don't have the exact ingredients, don't fret. The chicken calls for fresh thyme, and all you have is dried thyme. Wait, that's dried oregano. No need to scrap it, just reinvent it with what you have. If you have a moment now to look up recipes before you shop, do it; if you don't, just pick up what makes sense (I have a list at the bottom of this blog), and try not to get clocked at Harris Teeter reaching for the last coffee creamer.

Tip Two: Plan for one big, hearty mid-day meal per day, with leftovers and fresh veg/fruit to fill in the rest of your hours. Yes, I know that little kids want their breakfast, snack, lunch, snack and dinner, but trust me: put some time into the big mid-day meal, and you'll have all the food you need for everything else.

Tip Three: Think of how one recipe will lend itself to the next. You can cut down on the work and maximize the cooking fun when each thing you make either compliments or becomes a component of the next. My menu ideas show one way to do this, but insert your own and get creative.

Tip Four: Take advantage of this time to make those big, family recipes that you love so much. Your grandmother makes cinnamon bread that takes two days but tastes like heaven? MAKE IT. Your family has a brunswick stew that is fidgety to make but delicious for days? NOW IS YOUR CHANCE. Do these things with your family, and maximize the staycation by simultaneously making delicious food and sweet memories.

Tip Five: Prep coffee ahead of time. If you lose power, but have gas appliances, you can always do a pour over of hot water and grounds...IF you have already ground your coffee, and don't just have a bag of beans that can't go in the non-functional grinder. If you have electric appliances, consider brewing cold-brew coffee—simply pouring water over grounds tonight, then letting it sit in the fridge—for your caffeine needs.

Tip Six: Front-load the baking/making/preparing of staples to the beginning of the storm, in case of power loss. Again, if you have gas appliances, this may not be an issue, but better safe than sorry.

Tip Seven: Stock up on fresh veggies, fruits, nuts and cheeses. Buy bags of salad greens or good looking heads of lettuce and cabbage. "Snow day" doesn't usually make folks say, "I'd sure love a salad!" but the dishes you'll be making are substantial and filling; serving them throughout the day with fresh salads filled with fruit and veg will make you feel great.

Tip Eight: Bottle up some water for drinking, just in case. Blizzards don't usually knock out water facilities, but with high winds and non-traversable roads, having water handy only makes sense.

Tip Nine: Don't forget your beverages. Can't live without diet coke? Make sure you have some, more than you think you'll need. We aren't big alcohol drinkers in our house, but even we like some Baileys in our coffee after we've been out shoveling. If you love to pair beers and wines with yummy meals, now is the time—you are not going to be driving!

Tip Ten: YOU CAN USE THE OUTSIDE AS YOUR FRIDGE/FREEZER. Keep things sealed and inside a closed container to keep critters away (a cooler works great for this.) Important reminder: carbonated things explode when they freeze, so don't leave your favorite bubbly (or soda) out in the cold too long, unattended.

Recipes for three snowed-in days:

DAY ONE:

1) Bake bread. Yes, you heard me. BAKE YOUR OWN BREAD. Do you have a bread machine? Great, use it. You don't have a bread machine? NO PROBLEM. Type "skillet bread" into google. SEE ALL THOSE RESULTS? You are in business. Don't want to fiddle with yeast? Look up "soda bread." You are welcome. Yes, some bread recipes call for milk. If you didn't get milk, don't make those. Problem solved. Serve warm with butter and your favorite jam. Save some to sop up all the juices from item #2 (or just make two loaves, who are we kidding?)

2) Roast a chicken. Heck, roast a turkey. My friend, Heather, a Wisconsinite living in Virginia, already baked an entire batch of cookies and had an organic turkey in the oven by 8:30 a.m. this morning. That is a woman with a plan, right there.

My favorite roast chicken recipe is Ina Garten's lemon chicken, from her book, "Barefoot in Paris," but since that is not online, let me recommend looking up "roast chicken" and discovering the many, many ways you can make this incredibly delicious food. I've also heard raves—RAVES—about Thomas Keller's roast chicken recipe.

Vegetarian? Roast some root vegetables. Get as many as you can, douse with olive oil, salt and pepper, and your favorite seasonings, throw them on a foil-lined baking sheet, and feel happy inside. Heck, non-vegetarians, do this, too. Those veggies will go great with your bird.

3) Make dulce de leche.  Have a crockpot? Fill it with water, then take a can of sweetened condensed milk, remove the label, and put it in the water, so it is fully covered. Turn the crockpot on, and walk away. The interwebs have a million recipes for this, both in the crockpot and the stovetop, but it is always the same idea: turn milk and sugar in a can into dulce de leche by ignoring it in a pot of simmering water. You can either start this in the morning, and enjoy it in the evening, or get it going at night, and wake up to sugar magic.

4) Before bed, soak a package of dry beans over night. Black beans, pintos, black-eyed peas—pick your favorite (or favorites), and follow package directions. These guys will be rockstars tomorrow.

DAY TWO:

1) Bake a quick bread, scones or muffins. Seriously, you are going to spend hours today drinking coffee and tea, give your drinks the carbs they deserve. Plus, if kiddos are sad that they don't have their morning cereal with milk, they may not complain when handed a muffin. (I know, kids may still complain. They are kids.) One of our favorites is this simple banana muffin. You can reduce the fat if you are going to eat them straight from the oven, but keep the fat if you will be eating them for several days. (I substitute melted butter for the oil, and have also used yogurt instead of all the fat if I have it available.) You may have the urge to make pancakes or waffles, and if you do, go for it, but I like the added bang for my buck of making breakfast quick breads, as folks can enjoy them all day long.

2) Make chicken/turkey/veggie stock. Remember that carcass from yesterday? You didn't throw it out, right? RIGHT? YOU WOULD NEVER DO THAT! Place that in a giant stockpot, cover it with water, and put in carrots, onion, celery, and whatever leftover veggie ends/peels/etc. you've got, along with salt/pepper/bay leaf. Simmer it for as many hours as you'd like, but at least 3-4. Want to go the extra mile? Before covering those bones with water, roast them in the oven until they are slightly browned. It will add a depth of flavor that you will really love. Once done, filter the liquid from the solids, let cool, and skim (if you'd like, but keep that chicken fat!)

3) Make beans and rice. Remember those dried beans from last night? Here's their moment in the spotlight. Using some of the stock you are preparing, make your favorite beans and rice dish. I love the black beans and rice from Cook's Illustrated (and if you are willing to pay for their online recipe access membership, you can make this gem of a recipe, in either a meat-eaters or vegetarian version), but any favorite recipe will do. Yes, you can always use canned beans, but this is a great opportunity to use dried, save money, and get that toothsome texture that canned beans can't reproduce. If you are a carnivore and can add a bit of pork or bacon, you can make this lovely dish even tastier.

4) Make snow ice cream! By now, you should be waist-high in the stuff, you might as well make it an ingredient. If you are worried that it can't be made without milk or cream (and the stores had no milk or cream, oh no!), our old friend, sweetened condensed milk, comes to the rescue. The interwebs abound with recipes for snow ice cream with sweetened condensed milk, so have at it. In fact, warm up a bit of that dulce de leche you made last night and pour it over your fresh snow-cream. Yes, you are in heaven. You are welcome.

DAY THREE:

1) Start your day with an omelette or scramble. EGGS! Eggs are your friend. I always wonder why there isn't a run on eggs before a snowstorm, but let other shoppers' folly be your advantage. You'll need the protein to get to all of that shoveling, and with left-over poultry, along with both fresh and roasted veg, your entire family can get what they'd like. Add some cheese—you wouldn't forget to buy cheese before the storm, right?—and go nuts. Bake a package of bacon in the oven on some parchment paper at 350 until crispy. Smile, because BACON.

2) Make taco soup. Starting with the pulled chicken or turkey, the stock, and the roasted veggies you have left, you can make a really lovely soup. Add a bag of frozen corn, and 2-3 cans of tomatoes (diced, pureed, whole—it truly doesn't matter, whatever you have.) Mix in a couple of packages of taco seasoning (or the equivalent), and let simmer. I also like a teaspoon or two of apple cider vinegar, just to brighten it up. If you'd like something creamier, you can thicken it with a roux (remember that chicken fat you saved?), or if you grew in in the truly Midwestern tradition of "add a can of cream of [ingredient] soup," now is your moment. Serve with tortilla chips, slices of lime, salsa, hot sauce, sour cream, avocado, and cheese. Go crazy and either mix in or ladle over some beans and rice from yesterday. You are now at a fiesta. Ole!

3) Bake cookies. Call neighbors and ask them if they's like to tunnel over. Make ice cream sandwiches with snow ice cream, cookies, dulce de leche, and any other toppings you scored at the store before the snowpacolypse. Don't worry if you have extras: let's face it, someone is going to have to go into the office tomorrow, no matter what. Bake cookies that will fortify you for your eight-million hour commute, and remind you of your time in your warm home.

Ingredients:

A whole chicken or turkey (if this isn't available, get a cut up bird, or get any other cut of meat you might enjoy slow-cooking)
Carrots/Onions/Celery
Peppers (Green/red/jalapeno/whatever looks good and makes your palate happy)
Salad greens/heads of lettuce/fresh veggies for snacking
Vegetables for roasting (Root veggies, cabbages, potatoes/sweet potatoes, squash, brussels sprouts, etc.)
Any fresh herbs you love
Avocado
Lemons and limes
Bananas
Fresh fruit for snacking/salads
Flour
Sugar
Brown sugar
Powdered sugar
Baking soda
Baking powder
Yeast
Vanilla
Chocolate chips
Butter (unsalted for baking—you can freeze this, so stocking up never hurts)
Buttermilk (can work beautifully in recipes that you may typically make with milk, just check for modifications via internet search)
Taco Seasoning
Favorite spices
Apple cider vinegar (or your favorite)
Oil (olive oil/regular)
Sweetened condensed milk (2-3 cans)
Dried beans
Rice (grain specific to your recipe)
Canned tomatoes (any type, you can't have enough cans here, as you can use them for everything)
Frozen corn
Any frozen veg you and/or your kids like
Eggs (go crazy and buy 18)
Bacon
Critical beverages (only you know what they are)
Tortilla chips
Soft tortillas (consider these a back-up to bread if you lose power—rolled up they make great PB&J sandwiches)
Salsa
Hot sauce
Sour cream
Cheese (for shredding over soup)
Cheese (for snacking)
Nuts
Sprinkles/whipped cream/chocolate sauce/any snow-ice-cream topping that makes you smile
Nutella (Nutellas is in none of the recipes, but trust me, you want Nutella.)
Your favorite peanut butter and jelly (splurge on the kind you don't normally get—you'll be happy eating it on all your baked goods, and will be extra happy if you end up without power eating PB&J)




*If you lose power and don't have gas cooking available, you may not be happy. I'm sorry about that.

One Year Post-Op—Happy Sleevaversary to Me!

One year ago, I underwent surgery, a vertical sleeve gastrectomy, to save my life.

Right before taking off my glasses and getting wheeled in,
continuing the family tradition of a goofy pre-op shot.

First meal of broth and jello the next day. Still goofy post-op.

To mark the occasion, this morning I got up and headed to the lab to get my one-year fasting blood tests, stopped at the store on the way back to pick up some double-protein milk to make myself a cappuccino, then came home and took a nice, hot shower, with salt scrub and lovely scented lotions and potions.

I was in the shower at the hotel last year when I got the call that my surgery time had been moved up; Mike answered it, then we hustled to put on all our winter duds to race out to the hospital. Showering this morning was a lot more relaxing, and since we are now in Florida, I could just slip into a sundress when I was done. What a difference a year makes.

Left: Pre-surgery, December 16, 2014
Right: Post-surgery, December 16, 2015

The one year date is a big deal, as the majority of the benefits of bariatric surgery are reaped in the first 12 months—after that, post-op patients basically become average joe dieters, along with the rest of the world, struggling with the same potential pitfalls and sidetracks.

In short, today marks another transition, one that I have felt coming for awhile. On the anniversary of surgery, or my sleevaversary, as I'm calling it, I'm reflecting on what I have learned in this very powerful, life-affirming year. Here's what I now know for sure:

• This is the second-best decision I have ever made in my life. My top three are now:

1. Marrying the right person
2. Saving my life with bariatric surgery
3. Studying abroad for a year in France

(I know, I know, everyone is going to ask, "Isn't becoming a parent in the top three?" It used to be solidly in spot #3, for sure. When I really think about the decisions I have made that have shaped who I am, and how well I take care of myself, the vertical sleeve has to be #2, without question, knocking parenting out of the trifecta.)

• Obesity is a disease, or part of a matrix of related conditions/diseases. Surgery helps address these, but it isn't the whole answer.
  
  I've always suspected that my incredible ability to gain...and gain...and gain...(it's a super-power, truly) has been part of a larger pathology of which I had some, but not entire, control. If this year has taught me anything, it is that I will be managing this disease state my entire life, regardless of how heavy I may be.
  
  Case in point, unlike a huge number of bariatric surgery patients, I didn't eliminate any medications this year, I actually added one. If you lose as much weight as I did, exercise regularly, and eat small portions of healthy food, but your blood pressure is still borderline high, you have to face the fact that there are genetics at play that require medication as a part of your disease plan. All these things—obesity, BP, blood sugar—are enmeshed, and I can't pretend that I don't have the predisposition to these problems just because I am thinner than I was last year.
  
  I also have not stopped using my CPAP machine, although I do sleep even better now that I am lighter. Again, this is morphology at play: a strong, genetic disposition for a small, narrow nasal passage means that, even if I become Twiggy, I'm pretty certain I'll be wearing that sassy mask to bed forever. (This helps me get out of camping, which is a bonus.)
• I have done my very best, and at the same time, I could have done better.
  
  On this day, I can honestly say that I am proud of myself for being brave, for taking the (calculated) risk, and for persevering through physical pain and practical challenges throughout this year. I have worked incredibly hard. Moment to moment, I have done the best that I can.
  
  At the same time, I could have done better. My activity level could definitely be higher, and I could streamline my diet a little more. I probably could have maximized my weight loss a bit more with added attention to protein and water intake—I spent a lot of time trying to cram both of these in, but even so, it was a constant challenge. I also may have benefited from journaling my food intake, although that is a slippery slope for me, one that pre-op counselors warned me might be ill-advised if I wasn't able to be kind and gentle with myself.
  
  For anyone who sees me now, who knew me then, it is hard to believe that I could have had a better outcome. I am a little behind the average weight loss for someone my size, however, and have been in a stall, bouncing up and down five pounds, for months. I can both accept that I have accomplished great things and acknowledge that I missed some opportunities.

• I can still do better, and I will.
  
  Sure, the magic of the first year post-op may be over, with my tiny healing stomach and gut flora that supports burning fat like an engine with no hunger pangs, but that doesn't mean this is done for me. My body has leveled out at around my lowest weight as an adult, that of a 16/18 plus-sized twenty-something, my weight when I got married at 25. I can feel my body saying, "Okay, this is great! Let's hang out here forever, or maybe even gain a few pounds." If I stayed here forever, I would still be the happiest with my body I have ever been in my life; that said, I'm going to challenge myself to continually add activity and healthy nutrition to my routine. I am going to remind myself when I don't make good choices that new good choices are always available. I'm going to remember that I can love myself fully exactly where I am, while still making changes that can improve my life.
  
  This process will never end, no matter how I look, no matter how much I weigh.

• One great change can get so many other great changes going.
  
  I preach this to my clients—my whole masters thesis centered around this idea, for goodness sake—but experiencing this firsthand in such a grand scale this year has been revelatory and belief-affirming. My sense of self-efficacy—the belief that I am capable—is through the roof, and with each little hurdle jumped I know I can meet more challenges head on.
  
  It is not the least bit surprising to me that this was the year we finally picked our new home, packed up and moved, and started planting down new roots. The momentum of my surgery catapulted the whole family forward in a positive direction, and it solidified the way we work together to help each other achieve goals.

•  I feel joy so often now, it makes me tear up.
  
  What can I say? The physical heaviness that I carried was a prison. I have broken out of jail, and it feels so good, I can't even describe it.
  
  This strange thing has happened since my surgery—when I see or hear beautiful things (e.g., a rainbow, a colorful light display, a great piece of music)—I start to cry tears of joy. Without all that weight, everything glorious is so much more palpable.

• My neck is my bellwether.
  
  At my heaviest—shoot, at 40 pounds under my heaviest, for that matter—the weight on my neck felt like it was strangling me. When I went to sleep, I would force myself to pull sheets up under the skin and fat on my neck so that I could feel something cool there, as lying back with that weight on my windpipe made me feel like I might die at any moment.
  
  One of the first places I lost weight was in my neck, and it has become the symbol, to me, of my escape from death. I figuratively stuck my neck out to have this surgery and do the work that comes with it, and I can now literally stick my neck out and feel like a brand new person. I find myself touching my neck, often, still not believing it belongs to me. 

• I am afraid.
  
  What, on earth, will happen if I gain this weight back? Not everything has gone to plan this year, and like I said, I can already feel old disease patterns creeping in, making the things I try to do to help myself be healthy seem ineffectual. I can't imagine the pain of gain. I can't envision the psychological and physical ramifications of gaining back the weight without my anxiety and fear rushing in and shortening my breathe.
  
  Part of what I must do, now, is face this potential reality. It happens to a lot of people. People who become as heavy as I was are not working with a body type that likes to stay trim and healthy. I must fight for it, I must work to keep myself well, and I must also deal with that fear, so that it doesn't start running the show behind the scenes, sabotaging me.

• I am still a plus-sized woman, and I may always be.
  
  Secretly, even though I did this to save my life, I dreamed that, by this time, I would be able to walk into any store and purchase clothing. While I can now buy some shirts in an XL or XXL in a "normal" store, by waist/hips are solidly in the 16/18 range. It didn't happen.
  
  I'm not giving up, but I've also realized something fundamentally true (see next point):
  
• I love my body, if it didn't change an inch, I'd feel fantastic going out looking this way.
  
  The fact that I can't easily buy clothes in a "normal" store cannot change that feeling. In fact, it makes me want to say this: "Stores, YOU ARE LAME. It is ridiculous that I can't get pants in the misses section of a department store. Shame on you. You are the ones who suck, not me."

• Everything feels better now. EVERYTHING.
  
  This includes, but is not limited to:
  
1. Hugging people
2. Walking
3. Standing
4. Breathing
5. Sitting (and not worrying about fitting in chairs)
6. Driving
7. Wearing jewelry
8. Wearing clothes
9. Moving in anyway whatsoever
10. Holding still

• I'm not exaggerating about how much better JUST BEING now feels.
  
  I cannot believe I lived in so much pain for so long, and all I ever felt about it was guilt and belief that I deserved it because it was all my fault I was so heavy. As I have described to so many people this year, I spent most of my life trying to do the things that are necessary to lose weight, and then maintain a healthy weight, I just didn't see any real success.
  
  It wasn't all my fault (see my second point, above, about this being a disease), and I am so grateful that there was a surgery available that helped to catalyze my efforts and make me healthier, stronger, and happier. I didn't even realize how much pain I was in until it was eliminated. I feel very lucky to feel this good after so many years of work.

• Now comes the hard part (but they've all been hard parts.)
  
  Accepting that I was ill was hard. Researching the surgery was hard. Adopting the pre-op diet was hard. Traveling to get the surgery done was hard. Recovering was hard. Changing my lifestyle was hard. Dealing with this current stall is hard. And now that I am one year out, and just another heavy person using regular dieting techniques to lose weight, it's going to be hard. Around every turn in this journey, I can hear that voice saying, "Now comes the hard part, Kori."
  
  The fact that this is hard no longer has anything to do with anything. It's all hard. Real life stuff is HARD. We've all got our troubles. I don't win an award because I lost weight that many people never even gain. I'm just so grateful that this was more effective than any other difficult attempt at weight loss in my past. This is my hard. I'm on it. I accept it. I own it.

• I was never alone.
  
  Here's where I get all weepy-eyed and sniffly. This year taught me that being vulnerable—opening yourself up to ask for help, and to tell people that you need love/support/prayers/assistance/good thoughts/listening ears/cheerleading/hugs—is the most powerful thing you can do. I have never, ever felt more connected to others as I have this year, and I can honestly say that I felt the support of all of you who love and care for me buoy me up so many times when I thought I might go under. I mean this in the most literal way possible—I felt the energy, the good intentions, the love and prayers, and they carried me further than I could have ever gone without all of you.
  
  I am forever grateful.

For those who want my one-year stats, here they are:

Pre-op jeans on my post-op body.
(Special thanks to Carrie,
who suggested I keep a pair of my old jeans for comparison.)

Total weight loss (including pre-op diet): 112.2 pounds

Weight loss since surgery: 91.2 pounds (roughly 10-15 pounds heavier than my doctor's projection, but not too shabby)

Sizes lost: 3 (plus sizes have wider weight ranges, and drop much slower than regular sizes, I have learned)

Speck-Tacular—Don't Miss It!

This post is sponsored by Speck Products, who provided me with some lovely Speck cases to try out and write about here on the blog. All opinions presented here are my own, or those of my family members who have sampled the Speck cases along with me.

It's that time of year, friends, when technology gifts abound, and/or hearts may be broken because new technology gifts aren't in the cards. Either way, you can find something fabu at Speck, either to wrap up that new tablet you got for Hanukkah, or to spice up that old phone you just pray will make it until you are eligible for an upgrade in the spring. 

Right now, Speck is running their Holiday Speck-Tacular, with all items on their site 30% off. Plus, if you order by tomorrow, December 16th, you have guaranteed shipping in time for Christmas. I'm always jolly when I don't have to worry about gifts arriving in time.

My family and I received the following items this week, and gave ourselves some early Christmas presents—I know, I know, we should wait for Christmas, but I had to review them here, didn't I?

For my birthday last month, I was lucky enough to receive a new iPad Air, replacing the slowly churning "old-timey" (by Apple standards) iPad 2 that served as my main work tablet. With my sassy new orange StyleFolio, I can keep that new iPad protected until it, too, becomes as slow-moving as a glacier. I picked orange, because I'm a coral/orange kind of gal, but there are wide variety of colors and styles available.

The kiddo had worn out her Speck case after two years, but she's all of ten, and I can hardly believe her original case lasted that long given that iPad Mini's extremely careful treatment general abuse. She was excited for a more grown-up floral case for the iPad Mini she earned for Christmas two years ago by doing homework and chores, and immediately commented on how cool the clasp is. She also likes how she can set it up at almost any angle for viewing/typing.

As for my hubby, he was desperate for a new phone case. He has used several Speck cases in the past, and has determined through experience that he prefers those that don't have a hard cover over the screen. No matter what he does to keep them clean, he always manages to get dust/lint in at least one corner of the case, blocking off his screen in that area. With his last case, he couldn't adequately see how much charge he had on his phone, as what looked like a layer of sand (denim lint) covered the top right-hand corner. I picked a blue non-hard cover version for him to try, and we will be purchasing some screen films to keep his screen scratch-free. He was pleased immediately after putting the new case on, exclaiming, "Look, my phone has 72% charge!" It's a brand new world of knowing when his phone is going to die, and plugging it in time, thanks to Speck.

Nothing lasts forever, of course, but expensive technology is something you'd like to last as long as possible. Speck cases are available for many makes and models (we are a Mac family, but Android-lovers can be Specked out, too), and give you a stylish way to keep your tech safe. Check them out!

Anything But Fearless

Have you seen the movie, Inside Out, yet?

It is a terrific movie—genius, actually—about the way our emotions interact, and how each emotion is valid and necessary in its own role. More specifically, it is about a family of three—mother, father, and school-aged daughter—moving across country, and the daughter having what is tantamount to an emotional breakdown, as she tries to stay joyful when she is actually feeling anything but.

You can imagine how frightening this movie was for my husband and me, as we watched it on opening weekend, just days away from <<gulp>> moving our school-aged daughter across the country.** Fear, one of the five emotions highlighted in the film, along with Joy, Sadness, Disgust and Anger, was swimming all around me, and this acute potential scenario of pain and struggle was hard to swallow. Fear was popping up nightly in my vivid dreams, daily in my endless lists of "things to do/pack/think about/discuss," and physically in the tightness in my chest when I imagined our short-term future.

In the movie, of course, as voiced by Bill Hader, Fear is hilarious. Worry lists, anxious movements, and frenetic screams make his character a much-needed relief from the (sometimes dark) plot. Check him out:

Today, four days post-moving truck arrival, buried by boxes but starting to enjoy our new home, I can think about this movie with a little bit more perspective, and a lot less fear and anxiety. We made it to the other side, with a toe dipped in the water of our new normal, and we are all doing okay. We love Florida. It is a good choice. This transition is nowhere near over, and there will be many more moments of sadness, anxiety, grief, and frustration ahead, punctuating this honeymoon period with our new home. We have a lot of hope, though, because even in the stress of unpacking, living out of suitcases, and paying big bucks for home repairs, we have all been having a lot of fun.

For EJ, a good chunk of that fun has been a drama camp she has been attending this week, for which we will go and see her performance in a few hours. As I was driving on the (now familiar, previously foreign) route home from drop-off this morning, I started to think about how fearless our kid is. Aside from her anxiety about loud noises, for which we got some excellent professional help, I have always described her as fearless about everything: entering new situations, trying new things, being in front of people, etc. Even as I discussed her noise anxiety here on the blog, I called her fearless (topic sentence, third paragraph.)

It struck me this morning, however, how dangerous that description really is, or at least how dangerous the expectation of "always being fearless" could become if she internalizes that label, especially as she approaches adolescence. Thank you, Inside Out. 

Every significantly wonderful, life-changing, soul-expanding, perspective-enlarging experience I have had in my life has come with a healthy dose of fear. I have never been unafraid in those moments; sometimes, my fear has almost gotten the best of me. Had I believed that being fearless was key, I would likely have pushed away these experiences to rid myself of the feeling, and in return, I would have denied myself:

1. Every single performing arts moment of my childhood through adulthood, through which I have learned how to play and to think, how to relate to emotions with empathy, how to express myself creatively, and in the process, how to make and maintain life-long friendships.
2. My trip to France in high school at age sixteen—a trip in which our plane got turned around halfway across the ocean for suspicious reasons, and after a long lockdown at JFK, finally flew to Paris—a trip that ignited my love of France and helped me become dedicated to being a fluent French speaker.
3. My college education, away from home, at University of Wisconsin-Madison, which shaped me in more ways than I can count.
4. My junior year abroad in France, a year that I almost chickened-out of completely the night before our plane left, as I weighed my giant green suitcases over and over trying to make everything fit within the baggage weight restrictions, and obsessed over everything I would miss in Madison (e.g., friends, clubs, classes) if I left. I have said this before and I will say it again: aside from choosing the right person to marry, choosing to go abroad and live in Aix-en-Provence for a year was the single best decision I have ever made for myself, it was so profound in its impact on my life.
5. My life in Washington, DC, packing my 1988 Honda Accord and driving out there after college, taking a job at a big firm, persevering as I struggled to assimilate to professional life, coping with missing family and friends, surviving on a $25K starting salary. Learning to love a place, build a life in that place, and create the family/friends/structure I needed to make any location truly a home, was the gift that DC gave me.
6. Marrying my husband. Was I scared to get married? I didn't think I was, right until one week AFTER I got married and we were on our honeymoon. As I stared at a complimentary bottle of champagne for "Mr. and Mrs. Lusignan," all I could think was, "What have I done?" He sent me to spa and bought me flowers, I calmed down, and the rest is history. 
7. Moving to Chicago for graduate school for Mike. Chicago was wonderful, and Chicago was hard. School took longer than we expected, and we had to take out student loans. Our fourth-story walk-up was difficult in the ice and snow. Nothing really turned out as we had planned, except that, in the end, he got his PhD. That said, moving to Chicago meant living closer to family, making an amazing network of friends in our neighborhood of Hyde Park as well as through my masters program at Northwestern University, living a truly urban (walkable) lifestyle for a season, and confirming that we DO NOT want to live in the Midwestern climate forever.
8. Giving birth. I wasn't afraid to be a parent, and I wasn't afraid to go into labor, initially. When the labor took some frightening, exhausting turns, however, I was more afraid—actually, more physically terrified for my life, to be exact—than I had ever been, or have ever been since then. The lesson: the human body can (and will) withstand almost anything. Case in point, see item #9.
9. Saving my life with a vertical-sleeve gastrectomy. Because this was elective, and because it was expensive, and because there was so much shame around how "I really should be able to be a healthy weight without surgery" rolling around in my head, the fear I had going into this surgery was immense. What if I were the one person in thousands who died on the table? What if I had complications that made it hard for me to ever eat again, or be nutritionally sound? What would happen to my family if this all became a tragedy? Getting ready to go to the hospital that morning and putting myself in the hands of the care team was overwhelmingly scary. I remember doing breathing exercises in the shower, then hearing my husband pick up a call from the hospital saying that I could come in early, and being so grateful that I wouldn't have to sit in that terror any longer. Now, at seven months out and 107 pounds lost, it all seems obvious that it was the right choice; I remember that fear, though.
10. Moving to Florida. Taking a risk on a new life, trying to shape our future in a new way, and launching into a new community with the hope that we will make friends, find our place, and grow some roots.

Ten is such a nice number for a list, but I must add one more thing, one that encompasses everything: fear helps me ask for help. In every big moment listed above, as well as the million other moments of fear and anxiety I have felt throughout my lifetime, I had people in my life who helped me to face the fear, chose courage, and cope with the stress. These folks reminded me that if things didn't work out, I could always make a new choice. They patiently sat with me as I tried to answer the question, "What's the worst that could happen?" even as my responses became outlandish and hyperbolic, and lovingly tried to convince me that a) those probably wouldn't happen and b) even if they did, I could—and would—handle them. Fear has made me seek out new techniques from others—breathing, meditation, exercise—so that even when I am alone, I can be okay. At its best Fear keeps me safe, and connects me to others in a web of support. We all experience fear—there's no getting out of it—and we all need help feeling our way through it. Acknowledging fear doesn't mean you lack courage, it means that you may be at the precipice of making a courageous choice.

As the audience learns from the story of Inside Out, no good comes from an externally-imposed emotional expectation, even when it comes from a kind moment of praise or gratitude. Feeling what you feel, and knowing you can express your feelings honestly, is vital to sanity. I want my daughter to know that fear is normal, healthy, and not insurmountable. Being fearless, as much as that is praised as an attribute in today's world, especially for a young girl, is an unrealistic expectation. My hope for her is that she may embrace the feeling, breathe, ask for help, and make choices based not simply on that one emotion, but on the sum total of what she knows, with the support of those around her to buoy her up when the tide comes in. That is my hope for all of us.

**Our child was in no way traumatized by this movie. She thought it was funny, and would help her with her move. So far, so good.

(Special shout-out to the folks at #BlogHer15 today: attending the conference last year was one of the key steps in my choice to reclaim my life and have weight-loss surgery. It also connected me with terrific new friends. Hope to see you again next year!)

Sweet Sixteen, Five Months

With inch-by-inch of circumference eliminated, I'm five months out of surgery. 91.9 pounds down, with many more left to go. Feeling great and grateful.