Random smatterings, Insomniac haze

Bryan and I got busy. Busy in the kitchen. Oh yeah. We lacto-fermented more than we did last summer—zucchini, cucumbers, salsa, gingered beets and carrots with cardamom—used more veg from our garden than last summer, since Bryan grew more, since he got serious (I look forward to participating in the planting more next year), and now we are enjoying the sometimes fizzy fruits of our labor. I've been downing salsa like nobody's business—on eggs, on taco night, and drinking the brine for a digestive boost. I'd like to thank salsa for my poops. Sniff. 

I have insomnia. I think it's from the steroids I'm on for the fluid the ENT detected behind my right eardrum, Lord knows how long that's been there.

I went to the ENT because I have this weird ear thing where my ear pops open and I can hear myself talking inside my head. I can hear my breathing, my heartbeat, my footfalls. According to the world wide web it's called Patulous Eustachian Tube, and it's rare and it's barely fixable. Hooray! It doesn't hurt but it's annoying as hell and makes me want to lie down, because when I do it stops. Or when I bend over. It doesn't happen all the time but when it does, oy. Unfortunately losing weight and exercising are prone to worsening symptoms but hell no, I won't sit around and gain weight. Anyway, PET is one of the few things Primal can't fix. In fact, since losing weight and exercising more (and by exercising more I mean walking barefoot around my neighborhood until I grow the balls and the funds to try this), it's been worse. What a buzz-kill. Actually, wait. Scratch the exercising more thing. I am not even exercising more. I am exercising less. But I am moving around more and I am sitting less.

I've had PET for over a decade. It obviously took me a while to get it looked at.

The fluid may or may not have anything to do with the PET. The PET happens because my eustachian tube doesn't stay closed the way it should. The fluid has me slightly deafer in my right ear.

The kicker is that the steroids make the PET worse and may have no effect on the fluid. God I love Western medicine!

I already tapered off the Prednisone thank God but I'm still on the spray. And I'm thinking about kicking it to the curb tomorrow. I can't stand this shit.

This is what I learned: I hate steroids. They make me mean and unsympathetic. Or maybe it's the kids. Or maybe it's my diet. I'm looking into this since reading this Primal blogger's account of her vulcan-like apathy. Could sweets really make you sweeter? Maybe. Still, I'll choose apathy over anxiety any day of the week. The steroids, though. They give me a headache and interrupt my sleep. I love sleep.

I've wanted to blog for a while but haven't had the chance. This seems like the perfect time, five AM. Is insomniac blogging the same as drunk blogging?

Summer is done. My tan is fading. But I look forward to dropping my kids off at school. Oh I do. This week has been rough, ladies. Men. Puppies... 

Okay these pics are Stella-heavy but these are my flagged shots so here we go. Above, a rare shot of Stells with her hair neatly kept. Below, looking scarily grown up. 

Below, twirling. It reminds me of the cure's The Head on The Door album cover. But it's just a five year-old girl showing off the twirl power of a new, already beloved dress. 

Sweet dreams, y'all. And happy last summer weekend.

super hero pose

This is the kids in supta virasana, a pose that escapes me in my current spinal state. It doesn't say in the manual to stick your tongue out while doing this pose. But. It's summer, and we forgot to sign the kids up for camp. We thought, hey our kids sleep late, which is true. Like until nine on some quiet reverent mornings. So why would we pay money to wake them up and schlep them somewhere when we don't have to? Of course now they wake up at the crack of ass, decline to say good morning in favor of: Do we have any plans today? And then groan as Daddy and Mommy blink and stutter. Next year my babies. Next year.

Meanwhile, will I ever be able to get supta virasana back? 

spur

This isn't what it looks like. Unless it looks like yoga. A pro-active friend invited me and a bunch of other yogi pals to join her and a thousand others on the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art a couple weeks ago to practice for an hour to raise money and awareness for an organization called Yoga Unites for Living Beyond Breast Cancer. I had fun and made new friends. Well, obviously.

So what the hell is that up there? It's an assisted upavistha konasana of course. My partner helped me bend deeper. It's important to open your hips.

kefir krazy

I keep waiting for this new...tritional... thing... of mine to blow over, but I keep coming back for more. Bryan remains supportive but hesitant to jump into my new cult, as we affectionately call it, but he allowed me to drag him and the kids to Hendricks Farm to show them real food (moo) and start brainwashing them early. Cause Mommy has PLANS now. With a capital A for Agenda. I've never had an agenda before, not one that wasn't all about me anyway. I care about others now, and feeding them well so they will be pleasant to spend time with. Oh wait, I guess it's still about me.