The problem with primal

I'm a big fan of low-carb or grain-free diets. A lot of people feel way better on them, and you can finally stop the sugar high/sugar crash cycle that carbs give you. They help diabetes and hypoglycemia, because there isn't this up-and-down seesaw. And they often help you lose weight.

But some people get on these diets and can't lose weight, or they even gain it! What's the deal with that?

Well, there may be more than one reason. But one very common reason is that people are eating a low-carb diet without changing their high-carb eating habits. When you're eating a lot of bread, chips, and pasta, you get hungry a lot. You might be in the habit of eating every couple of hours (like me) or of having seconds or thirds after dinner. You know how much food you need, and the amount you need is a lot.

However, once you cut out grains and starches, the amount you need may be much less, volume-wise. Fat has 9 calories per gram compared to carbs and proteins, which each have 4. A high-fat meal can be much smaller and still be satisfying. Even protein, though it has the same number of calories as carbohydrates do, is digested more slowly and will leave you feeling satisfied for longer. So you may have to re-learn how much food it takes to satisfy you.

For example, when I went grain-free for a week, I ate some full-fat yogurt for breakfast. I felt satisfied after a serving of that so I went to work as usual. Then when I got home, I found myself rummaging in the fridge, also as usual. I am usually starving after work (at 10 a.m.) and eat a midmorning snack. But as I regretfully passed up the bread, I remembered to ask myself whether I was really hungry. I wasn't -- not a bit!

I didn't eat till lunchtime, and listening to my body led to eating a pretty small lunch, too (radish greens with a small amount of bacon and parmesan cheese). And then I didn't need to eat till dinner, though out of habit I ate a small piece of cheese. Normally I have at least one afternoon snack, sometimes two.

I'm not eating grain-free anymore, and I never did go low-carb, but I still have to remember to keep in tune with what I actually need. My homemade ice cream is way more satisfying than the storebought stuff -- but I have to remember to scoop a smaller serving of it, or I'll just eat what I used to eat.

It's a little sad needing less food, and thus requiring fewer delicious meals. But meals with a healthy amount of fat in them are so delicious and enjoyable that it's not that much of a sacrifice. It is important, though, to actually enjoy the food instead of eating while doing something else. That's a great way to feel psychologically deprived, even if you're eating enough to sustain your body.

As for our family, we are half grain-free (as in, John still avoids grains except rice, and the baby eats no grains) but not at all low-carb. We all have very high calorie needs, and even primal guru Mark Sisson agrees that some people who have no weight problems can eat starches. Our frequent potatoes and white rice don't seem to be doing us any harm!

My past, part I

For years I have been blogging. For years I have studiously not talked about my experiences at boarding school. I've been afraid of criticism, mainly. Unfortunately there's a lot of controversy surrounding the whole thing, so when I talk about my experiences, I'm sometimes accused of stirring up controversy. But for me, it's never been a matter of controversy, it's just my life.

It's taken me years to come to a point where I can be even remotely objective about the whole thing. For a long time, I would brook no criticism, defend to the death even things I had disagreed with at the time. Later, I swung around the other way and couldn't even talk about it because of all the bad memories it was bringing up for me. Now, I look back on it and it's just one of many things that went into the making of me ... not everything, not nothing, just one thing. And I'm done wondering whether it could have been different, what I would have been like otherwise ... it's irrelevant because I am what I am now, and I love my life -- I wouldn't change a thing, if it meant things would be different now. I've come through a lot, both good and bad, to arrive at my present life, which is wonderful. I can't exactly wish any of it away.

So, I've resolved to finally come out and tell my story. I'm going to try to be as objective as I can, and let you all draw your own conclusions. A lot of people I went to school with had completely different experiences, some better and some much worse, so keep in mind that I'm not telling the whole story. I'm only telling my story.

Here are the basic facts. In 1998 I encountered a group called Regnum Christi. They are a lay movement within the Church that still exists. I first joined the youth arm, called ECYD. In 2000, when I was fourteen, I went to a boarding school that exists for girls who want to discern a vocation to the consecrated life in Regnum Christi. The school is officially called Immaculate Conception Academy, but we called it "the precandidacy." In 2002, at the end of my sophomore year, I was sent home. For years I tried to get back there, while being an active Regnum Christi member. Two and a half years into college, I finally left Regnum Christi for good in 2006.

The story starts, as I said, in 1998. I had just finished my years of conventional schooling, one year of public school and two years of parochial school, and my parents had agreed to let me return to homeschooling for seventh and eighth grade. I had been miserable at school, so I was thrilled and ready for some change in my life. A friend of my mom's from church happened to mention a summer camp I could go to. I'd never been to a real camp, and really wanted to go. It was a Catholic camp on a lake, run by these Regnum Christi people I'd heard of.

That summer I went to the camp and had a really great time. Instead of the cliquish and cruel classmates I'd been dealing with, there were lots of really nice girls who were very accepting of my awkward self. I made friends, a real challenge for me usually. The two ladies who ran the camp were my idols. They told us that they were consecrated women, "like nuns, but we take promises instead of vows and don't wear a habit." They were both young and pretty, and wore nice clothes, like businesswomen. They smiled all the time and were always really nice. At one point I was called to talk alone with one of them, and thought I was in trouble. Instead they asked if I wanted to join this group they'd been talking about, ECYD. I said I really, really wanted to, but I would have to talk to my parents first. So I didn't get to join at that camp. The girls who had called home to get permission all had an "incorporation ceremony," where they made promises and got little commitment cards. The commitments were very easy -- a few short prayers a day -- and you got to take a rosary ring home with you. I envied those girls fiercely.

After that I took every opportunity to go to camps and retreats these people put on. At a beachside retreat, I finally incorporated into ECYD myself. I saw it as a way to finally turn my life around, stop the misery I'd experienced with my worldly life at school with the cliques and the dirty jokes and the meanness. Instead I was going to be holy and good and pure, all the time! I felt extremely guilty that I'd been a Catholic for all these years and had never made it my own. So I made it a point to. I read the catechism and the Bible. I changed my radio from the pop station (which I didn't really like, but listened to so I wouldn't be shown up for my cultural ignorance) to the Christian station. I stopped reading trashy novels and switched to the classics. All of this fit in very well with my new life situation -- with Catholic, homeschooled friends and friends I met through ECYD, rather than the popular kids at school who would laugh at you if you didn't play along with their dirty jokes, dating games, and popularity clubs. I even got my formidable temper under some kind of control, and eventually rid my life of the gigantic temper fits I had been in the habit of throwing. (I'm sure my parents heaved a sigh of relief at that one!)

Those two years of my junior high were kind of a golden age for me. I was finally making my faith my own -- even praying the rosary sometimes before going to sleep at night. I began talking to God again, like I used to do when I was very little. I also began to follow my own interests more, beginning to write a lot, to work on crafts, to spend a lot of time outside. My mom supported me in everything, saying the ECYD prayers with me morning and night along with our usual prayers and driving me to club meetings.

That was kind of odd, by the way. We had been told at camp that the "girls' club" was for ECYD members and others who were interested, and yet ECYD was never mentioned. The explanation was that we, the ECYD members, would be the secret heart of the club, and all the other girls would want to join too when they saw us. From time to time the consecrated women would show up for "spiritual direction" with those of us who were members. I never knew what to talk about.

After about a year, I think after my second camp, I had a strange dream. In the dream, I was at camp, but at the end of camp, all of us girls joined the consecrated women. We were dressed as nuns and we were all rapturously happy. I woke up with the idea that I had received a Call. We'd heard tons of vocation stories, and there was always this moment when someone realized they were called to the consecrated life.

I reached for my Bible and flipped it open at random, hoping to "get a word" that would tell me what to do. (I didn't know then, but I do now, that this practice, called the sortes bibliorum, is condemned by the Church as superstition.) I got Isaiah 54 and read until I got to the point when I read, "He who has become your husband is your maker; His name is the Lord God of hosts." That settled it for me. I definitely had a vocation.

I had already heard of this school in Rhode Island where high schoolers who thought they had vocations could go. It sounded like a perfect idea to me, the next step in changing my life to what I wanted it to be -- something holier, better, closer to God. And, since I now had a vocation, I should definitely go!

I told my parents and they were skeptical. In fact, my dad pretty much just said no. "You're thirteen," they said. "You never stick to anything. You'll change your mind."

I didn't change my mind. I stuck by my determination for a whole year. Two consecrated women (they always travel in pairs) visited my home and talked to my parents. They seemed to know exactly the topics my parents would listen to: to my mom, they talked about prayer; to my dad, about the problems in the world and the Church. With me, they were a bit more doubtful. They were not at all convinced by my claim to "have a call" to the consecrated life, but they said there was no problem with me going to the summer program at their school and seeing if I wanted to go.

Eventually, my parents agreed that I could go. I saved up money to help buy my plane ticket, and in the summer of 2002, at age 14, I finally went. My main plan was to stay and go to school there, but my mom and I had tossed around other possibilities too. It was possible, I admitted, that it wasn't for me. My mom was more concerned that they wouldn't let me stay.

I flew out to Rhode Island near the end of July, as excited as I had ever been in my life.

To be continued...

Grampy

I've been meaning to write this post for quite some time. I didn't want to leave my grandpa without a tribute. But there's so much to say, and I feel I could never say it right. Even so, here's my attempt.

I've talked a lot about Grampy's military honors, his heroism, his big accomplishments -- building planes, running marathons, rescuing people. And I'm definitely proud of those things. It's likely what most people will remember of him.

But not me. I don't remember him by those things. I remember so many smaller things, but things that I think say more about him.

I remember the way he worked on the cabin they had by the lake. He decided to put stonework along the outside of the foundation. I was there that day and he let me help him. He taught me to mix the mortar while he selected just the right stones and fitted them together in his big, capable hands. You can see it now, the perfection of the work he did. But what meant the most to me was that he let 12-year-old me take part in what he was doing.

He was always that way. One of my first memories of him is of sitting on the exercise bike in his workshop, watching him cut, sand, and solder pieces of an airplane wing. He'd show me, step by step, how he did it, let me feel the sanders, give me scraps of wood to play with. Though he wasn't chatty, he never acted like he found me a nuisance. I'd stay there all afternoon, till Grandma called us to dinner.

At dinner, he always let me sit next to him, and would point out my seat beside him. It was he who taught me to enjoy marmalade and sour cream on sourdough bread and milk with my pancakes. He liked us all to hold hands during grace, and even when the rest of the family had lost the habit, he'd still hold my hand. My whole hand fit in the place of his two missing fingers, between his forefinger and his pinky. It was our special way of holding hands during grace.

When he hugged you, it was never just a little squeeze. Instead he'd grab you tight and lift you up a little bit, the kind of hug that makes you feel strong and brave. You could feel the rock-solid muscles of his back when he hugged you.

He and Grandma were both big gardeners, but Grampy's specialty was edible things. He would wander around his vegetable garden, tasting things and telling me what they were. You could go out and graze in that garden, and there were always good things to try.

He was an incredibly devoted husband. Grandma would say, "I wish I had lights above the kitchen counter," or "I'd like some towel hooks," and those things would be done. Not just done, but done perfectly. He made towel hooks carved like birds for Grandma.

It was Grandpa who taught me to look through a camera lens or a pair of binoculars and really see what I was looking at. He knew all the different birds on the lake; he could tell when the fish were jumping or a fire was burning on the opposite hill. He was an outdoors kind of person, the kind of person I want to be.

Though he wasn't Catholic till the very end, he was very religious and had great faith in God -- something he handed down to my mother and she handed down to me. Often he would go to Mass with the rest of us.

Grampy didn't think he was anything special. Paying attention to an interrupting grandchild, doing kind things for his wife, or helping out those in need never seemed like big things to him. But they were big things to us.

He won't ever be forgotten, and I feel a great burden on me to share with those who didn't know him the sort of amazing man he was. I can't really do it -- he was the sort of person you just had to know. But I'm going to keep trying.

Caramel butter pecan ice cream

My original plan for my ice cream maker was to start with simple vanilla and work up to more complex recipes afterwards. Then I saw pecans at Aldi. Never mind then! Butter pecan is my favorite flavor, and I have always felt it would be better with caramel. So I made my own recipe by combining four or five different recipes, and it was a real success!

The recipe is a little complicated, but it's totally worth the effort!

1 pint cream, divided

1 cup milk

3 egg yolks

3/4 cup sugar, divided

1 cup pecans

3 tablespoons butter, divided

2 pinches of salt

First, chop the pecans roughly. Melt 2 tablespoons of the butter, and toast the pecans in it for about 10 minutes on medium heat along with a pinch of salt (if the pecans are unsalted). Remove the pecans from the butter and place in the fridge to chill. Reserve the butter.

Next, make the custard. Heat the cream (reserving 3 tablespoons) and milk over medium heat, along with a pinch of salt and 1/4 cup of the sugar, whisking to dissolve the sugar. Meanwhile put the egg yolks into a large bowl (at least 3 cups) and whisk in 1/4 cup sugar. When the cream just reaches a boil, reduce the heat to low. Slowly pour a cup of the hot cream into the bowl with the egg yolks, whisking to incorporate. Pour in another cup, and then pour the contents of the bowl into the pan of cream. Whisk thoroughly. Heat, stirring frequently, over low heat for another 5 minutes or so, until the custard has thickened. (My recipe said it should "coat the back of the spoon," which it didn't, but it turned out fine anyway.) Then shut off the heat and chill the cream -- either by setting the pot in a bowl of ice or cold water, or overnight in the fridge.

A little before you're ready to make the ice cream, make the caramel sauce. (Be very careful with this part, as the sugar gets very hot, and also have all your ingredients ready before you start. Your pan should be relatively deep and heavy-bottomed, if possible.) Melt the last 1/4 cup of sugar over medium to medium-high heat. The dry sugar will turn into caramel -- whisk to incorporate all the sugar. Once the caramel is boiling in places, stop whisking or you'll get a candy-coated whisk -- swirl the pan instead. The moment all the caramel is melted, turn off the heat and add the last tablespoon of butter. It will melt in a big hurry and foam a bit -- whisk to mix. Then add the reserved butter left from cooking the pecans, along with any pecan bits that stayed in your pan. Last, add the 3 tablespoons of reserved cream. Whisk together and cool to about room temperature or a tiny bit warmer. Don't cool it in the fridge or you won't be able to pour it.

Take out the chilled custard and pour it in the (running) ice cream maker. Once it's thickened -- after about 15 minutes -- and almost ready, add the pecans (breaking them up if they're stuck together). Last of all, slowly drizzle in the caramel sauce. Run for a few more minutes, then shut off the machine. Eat a small serving and lick the paddle -- the rest should pack into a quart-sized yogurt container. Chill in the freezer to firm it up.

Note: if the caramel sauce chills too much to pour, go ahead and just add it separately to each serving. That's what I ended up doing.

This recipe mostly qualifies as "real food," except for all the sugar. I did reduce it a bit from the original, but to be even better you could use a more natural sweetener. I had to laugh when a lady at work agreed that you can make ice cream healthier when you have your own machine: "You can make it lower fat!" Well, not so much. This recipe is quite high in fat, but so satisfying a tiny serving should be all you need.

It was, of course, absolutely delicious. I've had some pretty amazing ice cream in my time (I was something of a gelato connoisseur when I studied in Rome), but this may well have been the best I've ever had.

Sleep tips from babies

Lately, Marko has not been what I'd call a good sleeper. All these trips really do mess with his routine, and to make things worse, we had to lower the mattress of his crib (he is pulling to a stand, and I was afraid he'd tip himself out). So even his less-favored sleep spot (second to my arms) isn't quite comfy.

I have no objection to sleeping with him in my arms, if it weren't that once he's asleep, he pushes me away and stretches out in MY sleep spot. So where am I supposed to sleep, huh?

This ended up being our solution:

We have an IKEA bed (the Malm) and an IKEA crib (the Sniglar) which are about the same height, when the crib mattress is set to the lowest level. In this picture we have the crib bumper padding the wooden edge of our bed, but I have since replaced this with a fleece blanket that tucks under both of our mattresses, making a nice soft edge if we have to roll over it.

Now I can simply lie down with Marko in his crib, nurse him to sleep, and when he pushes me away and rolls over, I scoot back into my own bed and get comfortable myself.

So that has helped a lot for nighttime. For naps, we've been more stuck. While I was sick, I slept with him for all naps, but now that I'm better, I simply don't need that much sleep. I ended up checking out Elizabeth Pantley's "No-Cry Nap Solution" from the library and reading it cover-to-cover in one day. That's how desperate I felt with a kid who wouldn't sleep more than 30-40 minutes at a stretch, woke up still tired, but refused to nap again for the rest of the day. Let me tell you, he's been cranky!

We're still working on our solution, but the mere fact that I'm blogging and he's napping shows we're getting somewhere! Here are some things I learned about sleep:

A baby Marko's age needs, on average, 2 naps of about 2 hours each per day. He will get cranky if he's awake for longer than 4 hours or so at a stretch. He needs about 11 hours of sleep per night. (He sleeps less than this at night, but the nap recommendation seems spot-on -- when he gets this amount, he's way happier.)

Tiredness and sleep pressure are different things. Sleep pressure is the urge to sleep. It increases the longer you're awake, but it can be relieved with as little as a 5-minute nap! That's why Marko won't take a second nap after a too-short one, even if he's still tired. Catnaps are poison to good sleep, especially for a baby.

When a baby gets overtired, he's as unlikely to sleep as when he's not tired. I've been figuring that one out lately, as my overtired baby screams and screams but won't settle down. Let me tell you, that's no fun to deal with.

Sleep goes in cycles. First light sleep, then progressively deeper sleep, then shallower sleep, and then a short stage of rapid eye movement before the next cycle begins. The easiest moment to wake up is in REM sleep -- which is when many babies awake and aren't able to resettle, even when they're still tired. An adult's sleep cycle lasts about 90 minutes, a baby's about half that. So, when Marko wakes up after 45 minutes, that's not him being done -- that's him waking up accidentally and not knowing how to resettle.

Here are some tips I've gleaned from the book, many of which will be just as helpful for sleepless adults:

1. Routine is key. Our circadian rhythms help us know when to go to sleep. Marko naps very well for his morning nap, which is always at the same time because it's when we get home from school. Afternoon naps have been all over the place -- so it's no wonder we often don't manage to take one at all. The trick to finding the right nap time is to watch the baby as well as the clock. If he's close to maxing out the amount of time he can handle being awake (that is, if his sleep pressure is high), watch for signs of tiredness. These can be rubbing eyes, staring into space, or withdrawing from play. If you miss these, the low point of his rhythms could pass, he gets a second wind, and you're dealing with a hyper, tired kid!

An adult can use this tip by always going to bed at the same time and getting up at the same time. Our bodies don't know about weekends -- so is it any wonder you have trouble going to sleep Sunday night and waking up Monday morning? It's like a weekly jet lag.

2. Ritual is key. Since you can't explain to a baby that nap time is about to happen, give clues. When it's time for nap, do exactly the same thing each day. I realized that I usually change Marko's diaper before I put him down for a nap -- no wonder he never went down when I skipped that step! For him, it was a clue that sleep time is coming. Pantley suggests a half hour or so of reduced activity and extra quiet before nap time to let the baby wind down. Unfortunately, I don't know how to make Marko cooperate with "reduced activity," but I have been trying to schedule things like baths in this pre-nap window.

An adult can make a nighttime routine as well. If you're battling insomnia, set up a ritual that you do each night. I have always found I can't sleep if I stay out late and then try to go straight to bed. Instead, I have to sit quietly on the couch reading for a bit, have a little snack, brush my teeth, and go to the bathroom before I really feel sleepy. A cup of herbal tea or a warm bath is a great sleep cue. Light is another -- dim the lights before bedtime.

3. Get plenty of stimulation during awake time. Part of the reason Marko's been napping so badly is because he's bored. If he's been in the house all day, playing with the same toys, he doesn't get as tired as when he's out and about. Also, he's learning to stand lately, and he really wants the practice. If I'm not walking him around a lot, holding his hands, and helping him pull up, I find that when he gets to the pre-nap nurse, he spends the whole time kicking his legs and keeping himself awake. After all, he has no idea you have to hold still to sleep.

Adults need to remember that a little exercise, especially outdoors, works wonders for improving nighttime sleep.

4. Settle back to sleep after waking. This is the really big one for Marko, who wakes up before he's ready. Rather than taking his smiles and energy at face value, I've been doing my best to soothe him back to sleep again. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. The less time he's been awake, the better -- which is why I often stay next to him through the first sleep cycle, to soothe him back down at that first wakeup. If he's stirring a little, a few pats on the back often do the trick. But if he's all the way awake and crawling all over the bed, I just have to start over -- back to the rocker for another nurse!

Adults, remember that just because you woke up doesn't mean it's time to get up. If the clock tells you it's not morning yet, don't get up and do stuff just because you feel awake or because you don't want to be tossing and turning. Give sleep a chance -- ten minutes might have you snoozing again. If that doesn't work, then reach for your bedside novel or your iPhone.

5. It helps to put baby to sleep in the same place he's going to take his nap, rather than rocking him to sleep and then laying him down once he's out. Naturally, if he wakes up in his crib when he fell asleep in your arms, he's not going to want to roll over and go back to sleep. This was a really hard one for me, because the whole "put the baby down drowsy, but awake" thing simply does not fly with Marko. He has too much energy, and laying him down awake is like turning the lights on and saying, "Okay, playtime!" The one thing that does work is lying down with him. So instead of rocking him all the way to sleep in the rocking chair, we rock and nurse till his eyes close and then go to the bed and lie down there. He falls asleep there, and I move away once he's sound asleep and settled. (Or, sometimes, I don't -- because he doesn't much like waking to find me gone. We're working on that.)

This isn't really an issue for adults. But imagine if it happened to you, and you'll see how babies might feel. Pantley's example is, "Imagine if you fell asleep in your nice warm bed. You wake a little to adjust your pillow, and find yourself in the middle of the cold kitchen floor! Every time you fall asleep, this happens. You aren't going to want to go back to sleep until you find out what happened -- and even then, you'll keep one eye open to make sure it doesn't happen again." I thought that was pretty clever. It is natural to expect the same conditions you fell asleep in to remain all night long. You can't really blame a baby for not sleeping well if things keep changing on him.

I learned a lot from the book, but I can't recommend it wholeheartedly because it didn't tell me the one thing I really wanted to know -- how do you put a baby down to sleep? Her recommendation is, if you're starting with a newborn, you can try putting them in their crib awake and they will get used to going to sleep there. Otherwise, you're on your own! She basically says, "If you're okay with what you're doing, just stick with it -- whatever gets the child to sleep!" But what if, like me, you always nurse to sleep, but some days the baby doesn't feel like nursing at naptime? No answers from her. She does recommend baby swings, but at nine months, Marko's too big for one. So I'm just hoping I can keep the baby enough into nursing that he'll nurse down for his nap until he figures out another way. Otherwise I'm afraid we'll be doing a lot of driving around the neighborhood at eight p.m.

Whether you're the mother of an insomniac baby or an insomniac yourself, I hope that helps!

Higher education

John's finished his first semester of his masters' degree. The whole time he's been working on it, I admit to being a little bit jealous. Sure, he's busy and stressed out. But he gets to learn all this neat stuff!

I really miss studying. I liked college a lot. Just lots of learning, all the time! Other people wondered why I got such good grades while appearing so relaxed -- I must not be studying at all! But in fact, I was studying, I just mostly studied for fun. Except for a few short deadlines and some core classes I hated, I found it relaxing to study.

Yes, part of me would really like to go back to school and get some kind of higher degree. But I've dismissed the idea for a long time because I have no idea what I'd study. I'm an English major, but I have no real desire to get a masters in English. Then there are the classics, where I know I excel, but ... what would I do with that? Teach? I already teach -- there is nothing a masters could teach me that I would use with these high school kids, who have trouble remembering the difference between a declension and a conjugation. And although it would be nice to get back to reading Greek, I can't really justify spending all that money just for that -- especially when I could brush up on my own and get a lot better than I am now without spending a cent.

So every time John brought up the idea of me getting a higher degree (which he often does, mainly because he thinks I am smart -- even though he's married to me, I still feel proud that he thinks so) I generally dismissed it. But lately, getting so into nutrition and health, and occasionally being beaten down or even having my comments deleted because I don't have "credentials" to say anything about health ... it's been getting me thinking. Biology was my favorite subject for several years, particularly in junior high when I took advanced high school biology, with some additions from my mom's college textbook. When I got to high school and found out what passed for biology there, I was so disappointed! I had been hoping to learn so much more. The workings of the human body, particularly on the molecular level, are just fascinating to me.

And yet, if people ask me my credentials, "junior high biology and a lot of independent study" just doesn't cut it for anyone. I have a liberal arts degree; no help there! Unfortunately people do trust credentials a lot, and so (particularly in comboxes, where I admit I hang out a lot) the objection "Are you a doctor? Are you a nutritionist? Are you a chemist?" comes up all the time. The implication is that you can't possibly have anything to add to the discussion, or any objection to the establishment ideas, unless you have a degree. If you haven't got the education, people assume that you just "read it all online" and therefore don't know what you're talking about.

Personally, I've always been an autodidact (self-teacher) and I know how to sort good sources from bad when I'm researching. All the same, it isn't just the degree that I'd like. I would also like to learn a lot more about the human body works.

For example, I read an article lately questioning whether viruses are really the cause of disease, or whether they are simply a side effect of disease -- being, as they are, simply bundles of DNA in little packets which replicate using a cell's own mechanisms. Could they be created by the cells on purpose? Who knows? I suspect not, but unfortunately don't know quite enough science to address it. Sure, I know what science teaches about viruses -- but I don't know what mechanisms were first used to discover all we know about them. What's the proof? I haven't studied far enough.

But it is mostly the degree. I am tired of people who buck the establishment in various ways -- real food, primal living, natural childbirth, declining vaccines -- being sidelined and treated like they can't possibly know what's good for them, just because they don't have a degree. Does it take a degree to change the way you eat and notice that you feel better? Yet our society can't give the slightest bit of advice on diet, exercise, or childcare without saying, "Before doing anything, ever, consult your physician." Let me tell you, my doctor does not care if I start doing sit-ups or not. The internet told me to "ask a doctor" about the excruciating back pain I experienced during pregnancy. I asked my ob/gyn, who said, "Oh, that's just a normal symptom, I can't help you with that. Ask your mom." Really?

I guess I'd just like to be able to say, authoritatively, "I know how the body works, and so I know this or that course of action is not dangerous just because your doctor doesn't recommend it. I also know it could be good for you for these reasons."

At first I was thinking it would be nice to study nutrition. Fairly easy degree (fewer years compared to, say, medicine), and nutrition is very interesting to me. But John pointed out that my curriculum would be completely determined by the ADA (American Dietetic Association), which I totally and utterly can't stand. Its recommendations, like the food pyramid, are based way more on who's got the money than on science. What science they have is being discredited all the time, and yet they hold on for dear life to their old notions. No, the ADA is not my friend, and John, having had to deal with a few kooky notions the American Library Association keeps pushing, advised me that I would have a lot of trouble dealing with a curriculum that taught the opposite of what I think. I mean, what would I really learn from it, if I didn't trust the teachers?

Medicine itself, though, is beyond me. Do you know how many years it takes to become a doctor? And after that, to get enough experience to practice on your own? Besides the fact that I don't actually want to be a doctor. That's a very demanding profession, and I already have one of those. Not to mention I disagree with the medical establishment almost as much as the nutritional establishment. Doctors seem unfamiliar sometimes with the workings of the human body when it's healthy -- their expertise is treating disease. So when it comes to how to help a healthy baby or what diet or exercise to recommend, they're operating outside their expertise and their advice varies a lot.

So I've settled on biology itself. I want to learn about the healthy human body. Molecular biology and biochemistry are particular areas of interest. I want to know how medications work, and what factors can affect cellular metabolism. Stuff like that. But I also want to study digestion, and, of course, reproduction and birth.

How much biology to study is another question. I would have to start over entirely, because my English degree is no good at all where science is concerned. A bachelor's degree? Do I have it in me to get a masters? I am pretty sure I do not have it in me to get a doctorate -- I know enough grad students to be intimidated by that idea. Writing a dissertation sounds fun, but not the rest of it. Probably I would eventually write a book or two, whether I got a doctorate or not.

Most likely, I will just take what biology classes I can, when the occasion arises, and see how far I go. Money is an issue, after all, and I don't have a career plan involving biology. Luckily John's dream of becoming an academic librarian may open doors for me -- many universities offer a certain number of free credits for families of staff.

What do you all think? Is it crazy to think of getting a degree "just for fun," because I'm interested in the subject and like studying it? Or, worse still, to get people to listen to me? Do you think biology is the right field for me?

My resolutions for 2011

It's a new year! Can you believe it? You better believe I'll be writing it wrong for months to come.

It's time for some resolutions. Last year I didn't really make any except "have a baby" because I simply couldn't imagine what life would be like after that. This year, I have a better idea, though I do know the baby will be growing and changing the whole time -- in fact, he won't be a baby anymore by the time 2011's gone.

(One moment while I go sob. Where is my tiny little newborn peanut I used to have?!)

All right, here's what I resolve:

1. To eat better. I want to cut sugar out almost completely. (My new ice cream maker ensures that I will at least be eating some.) And I'd like to work on reducing my grains again. After trying things both ways, with and without grains, I think I can see that I felt better without them. Refined grains, like white rice and white bread, just turn to sugar and turn my system haywire the way sugar does. Whole grains are better, but they are kind of indigestible. I hope to experiment a bit with grains, soaking them and making sourdough, trying to find what will go down best for John and me.

2. To pray better. Yeah, I'll just come out there and admit that I'm a horrible pray-er. I just don't pray nearly as much as I should, and my life requires a bit more virtue than I can come up with on my own. I also want to read the Epistles -- the only part of the Bible I haven't read much of.

3. To be a better housekeeper. I consider myself to be a good mother. I think I do pretty much what I should in this regard; I make mothering a priority and I flatter myself that I do a decent job most of the time. But I'm a lousy homemaker. We both kind of still live like college students in this regard. We'd like a clean house, but we generally expect this to happen without effort -- and when there's dishes being made, and a kid's toys getting scattered, and laundry coming out of our ears, the college-student method doesn't really work. I'm working out a schedule to get myself to do more cleaning, which I hope to blog about soon.

4. To buy a house. This has been our financial goal for some time. It's going to require a lot of scrimping, a lot of saving, and a lot of compromise -- because on our budget, we can't be picky. If we want it to be within 45 minutes of DC and have a roof, we'd have to pay more. Right now we're thinking of moving further into Virginia, which is where we'd really prefer to live anyway, but it does lengthen John's commute. It's very sad to have even less time with him, but of all our possible choices, it seems the best. We simply can't afford to keep renting. As soon as we manage to scrape together the money to put down for a house, we'll be saving significant amounts of money every month. And that's something I get very excited about!

(On this topic, we went out looking at houses today in the area we're thinking of. Quite educational -- a lot of those houses were on top of a mountain. Very scenic, very picturesque -- and also very hard to reach! The roads were mostly gravel, up and down this mountain. I was shrieking, "You don't want to go this fast on gravel!" and John would calmly reply, "I'm not going this fast on purpose; my foot is on the brake." Oh, that is so comforting! I felt sure we were going to slide right off the mountain. Then we ventured down the steep gravel driveway of our favorite house. No trouble, even in our big van ... until we edged a little off the gravel trying to turn around. We couldn't get traction -- kept spinning our rear wheels in the mud. We kept rocking back to get traction further down the hill, only to end up stuck about 12 feet down the hill from where the driveway ended. Oops. We had to call AAA to come winch us back up again. Very embarrassing, especially as the friendly neighbor next door asked if we wanted to come over to wait for the tow truck. Bet this happens all the time. Ah well, at least we now know two things about this house: 1. Driveway needs work. 2. Nice neighbors.)

5. To be less patient with my husband. Whaaaat? Yes, unfortunately I seem to have two settings in my reactions: react instantly and without thinking (whereupon I always say something utterly stupid) or, even worse, not answer at all, but shut my mouth, resolve to "be patient," and then 50 or 60 offenses later, flip the heck out because I've been resenting every single one of them along the way. So, I admit, it's not exactly patience that's my problem. Just forbearance. I've been very forbearing in the name of patience, and it's backfired a lot. John expects me to be forthright with my problems; he has never demanded that I censor myself in any way. So why am I wasting my time holding back and getting resentful? No idea. So my goal is to think for five or ten seconds before snapping back an answer, but not for a week. That does no one any good. No one is hurt by my saying, "No, I think you're wrong," or, "Hey, that hurt my feelings." But I am hurt when I don't speak up. So I resolve to cut that self-righteous forbearance out. If I'm upset enough that I'm going to resent it, I'll just speak out.

6. To get another baby cooking. Well, that one's more of a hope than a resolution. Till Marko's nursing less, nothing I do is going to achieve much in that direction. But I would love to get pregnant next summer, and have a baby when Marko's about two. I would also love that baby to be a girl. But there I really truly do have no control.

I think that's enough resolutions for one year, don't you think?