Frozen Grapes Are Not Dessert

No sugar. No dairy. No grains. Just for a month.

“Tomorrow” has arrived… not the elusive tomorrow in which most of my plans exist, but actual tomorrow. As in today. I am starting a one-month dietary change that’s aimed at bringing down internal inflammation levels that are playing havoc with my body and my life by balancing the candida levels in my traitorous gut.

This is the second phase of an offense-is-the-best defense effort recommended by the 5^th set of medical advisors I’ve gone to about my idiopathic urticaria (idiopathic is medical-speak for, “Huh. That’s weird. Beats me,” and urticaria just means hives). I’ve been living with the hives for more than a year now. In the beginning I’d have 20-50 at a time. These days, I sometimes don’t have any at all. And then I’ll have maybe 10 or so, tops. It’s a lot better, but still not ideal, and it’s random, which is also frustrating. Will it be the day of my best friend’s birthday? The holiday party? The school play? I spent last spring drugged into complete apathy and slothfulness, basically a human repository for antihistamine medication. I decided that wasn’t any way to live, so I quit it all cold turkey, and things stayed about the same, which made it seem like a pretty good decision, all in all.

I’ve migrated to a semi-holistic medical practice now, and I’m working with their nutritionist as well. After a serious conversation about the state of inflammation in my bloodwork, the first order of business was to get rid of gluten.

Really?, I said, nose wrinkled. That’s just so… trendy. Today’s diet fad, like non-fat cookies in the 90’s and – I hope – kale. But I haven’t been to two general practitioners, a dermatologist and an allergist to turn back now. And so, a few months ago, I gave up gluten. Actually, it was 4.5 months ago. I think due credit is important here, because gluten is delicious. Warm baked bread, big pasta dinners… basically gluten tastes and smells like love. But, sure. I’ll give up gluten. In mid-December. During the holidays.

And I did. And I felt better. We don’t have to get too far into the specifics, but my GI tract, which I had always just considered an inherited trait from the unlucky column, started behaving itself. Suddenly, when taking a child the three miles to dance class, I didn’t have to suddenly stop two miles into the trip to run into the grocery store, cursing the fact that I’d been foolish enough to eat dinner.

So, I’d stopped eating gluten to get rid of the hives. And it failed. But suddenly, my life was a bit more my own again. I can look at a cupcake and say without regret, No thanks. Because that cupcake can never taste as good as freedom feels. Yes, freedom. I’m not being dramatic. Well, maybe only a little, but only because hyperbole makes for more interesting reading.

In any case, today was the first day of my one-month trial with ~~the giving up everything else that makes eating fun~~. I mean, day one of feeling – hopefully – even better. We had an early soccer game this morning, and everyone rolled out of bed 30 minutes before go time. Plenty of time, really. Pony tails take 30 seconds, max. Except…. shoot. Breakfast. Eva opted for oatmeal. Oats are a grain, though, even if you buy gluten-free. Never an early eater, Samantha opted for a granola bar for the road. Patrick had coffee. While I don’t drink coffee, it wasn’t lost on me that currently, I can’t drink coffee, either. Something about the mold content. Ack. Why didn’t I do a grocery store run yesterday? I looked at our counter. Bananas. High-glycemic bananas. Great. I didn’t bother opening the bread drawer. The fridge…. Eggs would be fine, but we don’t really have time. Turkey sausage would be okay… except it’s flavored with maple syrup. Definitely a sugar. Yogurt? Nope. No dairy. And so breakfast, on the run, became a bag of slivered almonds from baking supplies. Almonds are on the moderate list, so not to be overdone, but in a pinch…

Slivered almonds weren’t really the best choice for someone who habitually relies on breakfast, and then snacks every two hours. By the time the family stopped at Mr. Donuts to celebrate Eva’s good hustle in her team’s soccer win, I felt awful. Noted: This month is going to require some planning ahead.

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In the end, I had eggs and avocado for a late breakfast, an apple – part of my allotted 2 cups a day of moderate-heading foods – for a snack and then, having finally been to the grocery store, chicken with mixed sautéed vegetables for dinner. With half an orange for dessert. An orange. That sounds almost like frozen grapes, doesn’t it? But actually, it was delicious and the sugar addict in me was grateful. But then, lost for something to do, I felt goaded into loading the dishwasher just to distract myself and have something to do with my hands, other than find out how much ice cream is left. It’s really good ice cream, too. This sea salt caramel with chocolate chunks… so good.

But I’ve had only real food today. Food with no list of ingredients to be listed. Just …. Egg. Avocado. Chicken. Spinach. Apple. I’m feeling good about that. I’m not feeling hungry, but at bit at loose ends. Food, and the lack of it, is a powerful force. Hmm. Maybe I’ll start getting more sleep this month, too.

One day, day one, down.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it!!”

This childhood battle cry, from in front of Disney Channel’s Jessie (or it could have been Austin & Ally) was my tipping point. It was Friday of a long week, and in the first four seconds of being home — that beautiful, wonderful, sacred place that we daydream about from our desks — my 7-year-old daughter yelled, Mommy!!!!, in that heartwarmingly excited way that children have, and then unleashed a MLB-worthy fastball pitch right into my eye. It was a 2-inch soccer-inspired foam stress ball, but it HURT! And then, despite the fact that everyone else in my family had been home all day, dishes were piled on the kitchen counter and sink. I’m not a clean-house fanatic by any means (my husband is laughing right now at even the suggestion). We have two daughters, ages 7 and 8, and three cats, and two tired parents. But somehow, for no good reason, those dirty dishes just ticked me off, and sent me into a cleaning frenzy, still in my jacket, and much to everyone’s general confusion.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it!!” ….I don’t know what sibling complaint this was about because suddenly, I was sitting in my youngest daughter’s room, in front of her not-quite-empty Easter basket, foraging for chocolate …. ooooh, and jelly beans! How has she not eaten the jelly beans when they’re the best thing…. but I digress.

I love my kids. They’re funny, dynamic, creative people. And while they still feel bathroom towel hooks are strictly ornamental, and enjoy the good secreted yogurt-container science experiment in bedroom back corners, they are amazing. I worry that I’m failing them by being so constantly tired at the end of the day, by posting adorable photos of family time, instead of being fully present in family time, by not fully savoring every last drop of wonder in these days and years that are going by so, so quickly.

I love my husband. He’s the stable pivot point of my pendulum, the foothold just when I think I’ve missed a step. And when I want to strangle him… well, clearly I’ve never actually done it. But because of a few health issues — chronic hives, chronic GI issues — I worry I’m failing him, too, day-to-day. There have been a lot of family plans postponed, plans simply unmade, better-nots and wish-I-coulds, because… what if I wake up covered in hives? Despite a wardrobe infused with linen, hives on a hot summer day are self-esteem sabotaging. What if we get to the top of that mountain, or take that back road, and I’m desperate for a bathroom? Uh huh, great view, can we get the heck out of here? As fast as possible? It’s like being a hostage to your own fears until they become self-perpetuating. Actually, it’s not like that at all. It’s exactly that.

And now I’m finally ready to change it.

And so… that brings us to this blog. Frozen grapes are not dessert. I believe that literally and passionately. Because seriously, chocolate lava cake is dessert. Hot fudge sundaes. Maybe even strawberries and (real) whipped cream. But every so often I read a celebrity interview that cites frozen grapes as a favorite dessert. Just… no. If anything, they could be a clever ice cube substitute for summer cocktails. But I’ve recently started thinking about this as a life motto. No more substitutions. As they say, anything worth doing is worth doing right. I want to make plans and climb mountains, to feel alert and healthy and present. I’m on a quest to choose the real, the worthwhile, and even if I have to temporarily give up actual dessert to do it, I’m ready, because frozen grapes are not dessert.