Having Enough: Egg-Free Banana Muffins

I struggle with insomnia a lot. Anything that wakes me from 2:30am on is a near guarantee that I’ll be awake for hours; I’ll JUST be falling asleep at 5:30 when my alarm will ring.

So when Jeff’s alarm rang this morning at 3am, I knew the rest of the night would be a tough one for sleep.

He’s deep sea fishing today, you see, with his uncle and two cousins. And he wanted to try his hand at striper fishing before he got on the boat. As much as I don’t understand fishing – really, the last boat trip I took I puked the whole time – I know it makes him happy. And a bonus: he brings home fish so we can have fresh fillets.

Anyway. Of course insomnia kept me awake, then the birds, then it started getting light out. I dozed fitfully until it was about 6:30, and I knew the dog would need to go out and I had to start my day.

Two ideas got me out of bed today: coffee and fresh banana muffins.

Owen was diagnosed with an egg allergy at a year old. What might have been a mild allergy which he might have quickly outgrown *MIGHT* have been made worse by his ignorant parents continuing to feed him egg-fortified pasta. For the next 6 months.

I wish I was kidding.

We didn’t put two and two together until he was 18 months old, when he started reacting to the pasta itself.

But. Every year, we head to the allergist to measure his egg allergy level. Which, to be fair, has abated over the years. But it’s not low enough, yet, to allow us to participate in a challenge.

And he’s aware that he has allergies. He’s been to the emergency room twice because of them – once from a cashew, another from hornet stings. And he’s heading to kindergarten next year, where we can’t police his lunch. As his mother, it’s my job to teach him that he needs to advocate for himself. He knows he can’t have baked goods, because most of them have egg in them. He knows he needs an epi pen for bee stings and tree nuts.

Sometimes he gets sad about it, like the day we were in the airport at Starbucks and he refused a bagel breakfast, because, Bagels are SO BORING, Mommy. I want something GOOD. That I’m NOT allergic to.

He knows whenever there’s a birthday celebration at daycare he can only have the ice cream cup we left for him. Or cookies which we pack for him.

And he has bonded with my mother and best friend when they’ve shared with him that they’re allergic to certain things.

So whenever I can, I try and find recipes for baked goods which don’t call for eggs or tree nuts. It’s more work – everything needs to be made from scratch, of course.

But it’s enough. It gives him the ability to have a muffin for breakfast for a special occasion.

And I kinda feel like a supermom whenever I make them.

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These banana muffins are awesome – you can’t tell they’re “allergy sensitive!” muffins.

The recipe allows for fresh bananas, but since I cannot eat a banana when it has a spot on it, I tend to freeze mine when they get too ripe for me to touch. I’ve made this recipe with both fresh and frozen bananas and I prefer the frozen/thawed bananas. Somehow freezing condenses them so the final product tastes more banana-y. (Yes, that’s a word. It’s on the internet. Therefore it must be true!)

Egg-Free Banana Muffins

Ingredients:

• 2 cups all purpose flour
• 1 cup light brown sugar, packed
• 1 Tablespoon baking powder
• 1 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 2 medium bananas (approximately 1 cup when mashed)
• 3 Tablespoons vegetable oil
• 1/2 cup apple juice
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

(Look ma, no eggs!)

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Lightly spray 12 muffin cup pan with cooking spray (you can use butter if you’d like, too). In a large bowl, combine dry ingredients (flour through salt) and mix well with a fork. (The brown sugar tends to clump, so make sure you break it down so there are no sugar balls!) Add bananas, oil, apple juice and vanilla and stir vigorously until completely blended.

It’ll look like this when it’s combined:

A side note: the banana yumminess will make it impossible for your new puppy, who has just discovered the wonder of Real People Food, to refrain from begging for some of the batter. Ignore his cuteness and do NOT allow him to lick the spoon. (Because that spoon will be all yours when you’re done!)

(Please, please, PLEASE share with me??? Look how cute I am!!!)

Now, the original recipe I found says that this makes 12 muffins.

It WILL if you fill the cups in your muffin pan 3/4 of the way full.

Except then it makes muffins without a top. And seriously, who likes topless muffins? I like my muffins overflowing – with real TOPS. So that is why I only make 10 muffins from this recipe.

(I admit that my OCD Inner Self struggles with this. Those two empty cups! They HAVE TO BE FILLED!)

Bake your 10 (0r 12 if you prefer to have no-top muffins) at 350 degrees for 15-20 minutes. Mine are usually done around 16 minutes or so, so err on the side of early. The muffins are done when a toothpick in the center comes out clean.

Cool for however long you need, or eat right away.

(See how awesome they look? With tops!!!)

They’re tasty with – or without – butter. I’ll pack them in Owen’s lunchbox for a snack as well.

My early morning today, though?

Warm right out of the oven, buttered. With a cup of coffee and the Sunday paper.

Bliss.

Having It All. Except Not Really.

I am of a generation of girls who was raised to value strength and intellect and fairness. I was told that I could be anything I wanted to be, as long as I focused and worked hard. I’m the generation of Title IX sports, where I could play baseball and football and organize races with the kids the neighborhood. I was raised to believe I was equal in every way to boys, and there were no limits to what I could do when I was a grownup.

And so, when I got my MBA nearly 15 years ago, I decided I’d be a CEO. To that end, I spent my first years in business working as many hours as possible. I changed careers – picked accounting because I knew it would be recession-proof, and it was intellectually challenging. I loved it those first years, before I started burning out. There was just so much WORK. Busy seasons were grueling – I worked every weekend and most days from 7 in the morning to 9, 10pm.

And then I finally got pregnant with Owen. And I worried. How would I make those hours work when there was a baby at home? I mean, honestly – I worked 80-90 hour weeks up until the day I delivered my son. It was my last day in the office, and I was squeezing in doing a friends’ tax return at lunch when my water broke. I spent the afternoon in the hospital waiting for him to be born, on my Blackberry, letting my clients and managers know I wasn’t coming back that day because I was having a baby.

It became clear to me that I needed a change. So I took 6 months when he was born – an extended maternity leave. I figured it would give me a chance to try out the stay at home thing, give myself a break from the working hours. I figured it would be refreshing not to have to go to work. I’d surely be on top of everything around the house!

There were a few things wrong with that picture. I was not a confident parent early on in Owen’s life. I wasn’t much for schedules, and he was an abysmal sleeper and therefore a fussy baby. I spent that time with him completely sleep deprived and stuck in the house, because we never really had a “good time” to go out. And there were days I never even got a shower.

Quite honestly, I hated it and assumed I just wasn’t meant to be a stay at home mom. So I went back to work.

And for the past four and a half years I’ve spent my days working while Owen is in daycare. He is thriving, and I have no regrets about the decision. For us, it was what was best for our family.

The thing is. Being in the business world is HARD. It’s 24/7, and it’s a constant stress, even when we’re home. Not just that, but it’s hard parenting when you AND your husband consult. We aren’t always in the the same place, which makes things hard to plan. Our days right now are spent juggling meetings and being at clients and our work schedules. We’re fortunate that Jeff is working from home right now, so when I’m needed at a client site we have a little more flexibility, but that will go away this summer.

And Owen goes to kindergarten this fall. And for some reason, I’m feeling strongly that I want to be there when he gets off the bus every day. Maybe it’s because I can hold him accountable for homework and studying. Maybe it’s because time is going by so quickly and I want more time with him every day. Maybe it’s because I don’t find accounting rewarding anymore. Maybe it’s because I’m tired of sitting in my car for 2-3 hours a day stuck in traffic. I’m not entirely sure.

But here I am. And I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought that I should just quit my job.

It is so interesting to find myself in a place where I feel like I have a lack of motivation – or drive. I can’t really believe I’m thinking about hanging up my CPA and my MBA in order to stay at home and raise my family. Where I’m CEO of my house, not a corporation – or even my own small business.

Plus, I have an only child. Often, I think, Really, Karen, how hard is it to coordinate the schedule for your ONE kid to get to and from school?

So many working parents have to content with multiple kids and multiple schedules – and I can only imagine the logistics required to make that work.

But as I sit here, looking at the piles of mail that we’ve stacked up because we’ve been too busy to go through it and recycle/shred it, I am realizing that it’s not really POSSIBLE to have it all – at least not in the definition I’ve lived for the past 37 years.

I recently read this article by Beth Woolsey: 20 Things Every Parent Should Hear. And it was #19 that got me: Balance is a myth. Parenting isn’t a tight-rope walk; it’s a dance. Strive for rhythm instead of balance, and trust yourself to move to the ever-changing beat.

It’s impossible to be everything at once: Super Worker, Super Mom, Super Wife, Super Friend, Super Organized, Super Volunteer, Super Baker-of-Cookies-Just-Because, Super Writer, Super Painter, Super Runner, Super Cook, Super Blogger. I can’t be all those things – if I tried I’d keel over from stress and anxiety and exhaustion.

So, really, then, it’s a matter of focus. Focusing on what’s needed in the here and now. If that means my career takes a backseat in the coming years so I can focus on other things, then so be it.

How do you find rhythm in your family life? What choices have you made in order to maintain the dance of your life?

The Runs.

Okay, so a running update.

Last September, I ran a half marathon with one of my best friends. Two weeks before said half marathon, I turned my ankle in the dark on a training run, and thought it was sore, I didn’t really think much of it.

And then. Literally 15 seconds after we started the race, I turned to say something to her… and turned the very same ankle in a small groove in the middle of the road. Badly this time.

Probably it wasn’t the best decision to run the race anyway, but that’s what I did. Honestly, after mile 4, I felt very little – some twinges here and there when we walked through the water stops, but nothing awful. We finished 2 hours and 17-some odd minutes after I turned my ankle, and within minutes of stopping I found I couldn’t really, well, WALK at all. My ankle swelled to massive proportions on the drive home that day, and for three weeks I hobbled around and couldn’t run.

During that time, I had a lot of time to think. About what I was doing with my running, how I was approaching it, and my goals.

So I did what any person who couldn’t run does: I decided that I’d run a marathon in 2013.

Except THIS time, I was going to do whatever it took to make sure I wasn’t injured this year. I talked with my PT, who helped me rehab from my ITBS. I hired a running coach to help me get my running form back, who would keep me honest over the winter. I did PT exercises on my ankle and my IT band and strengthwork at the gym. I ran when my coach told me to, didn’t run when he told me not to.

And the biggest thing: after looking at my spring half pictures, the day I broke two hours in a half marathon, I looked heavier than I had in 2010, when I finished the Smuttynose half marathon. I had put on muscle, yes, but I also had put on fat. So I also started counting calories on myfitnesspal.com so that I could shed some weight.

Since then, I’ve lost 15lbs, and am at my lowest adult weight ever. And I am back logging regular, consistent mileage, peppered with speedwork sessions, strength training, and long runs.

A month ago, I ran a half marathon in Central Park in 1:56:31, a personal best from my last half marathon of more than 3 minutes.

And couple of weeks ago, I ran a local 5k and ran a personal best by a full minute and forty seconds – my official time was 23:15.

So running, right now, is going really well. Even the hard runs give me something to take away. Like last week: in one run I gained confidence that I can keep running a number of miles when my legs are really fatigued without losing pace. In another, I figured out that I’m really bad at tempo pace and I need to focus some workouts on that.

Every run I do is leading towards a goal race.

My goal race this training cycle? Boston’s Run to Remember on Memorial Day weekend.

My ideal time goal is to break 1:45:00. Realistically, I’ll be happy with anything under 1:50:00. And if it’s hot, I’ll aim at 1:55:00, which is still a PB for me.

And honestly, it’s kind of insane that I’m looking at these numbers.

Because I remember the days where I’d need a gel at mile 4.5 because I had been running an hour – where I had to walk a hill I regularly use as my warmup. I remember the days where running my 6 mile loop around town felt like a really far run. I remember my first 5k, where I walked multiple times and finished at 32:48. The day where I ran my farthest distance – 6 miles – and realized, holy shit, you can run as far as you want. It’s actually possible!

It’s not been that long since my first race – 4 years ago this August.

So really, I kind of have no idea what I’m capable of as a runner. I’m just going on faith and working hard and making sure that I put all the pieces in place in the hopes that I can do something awesome.

Which is kinda how life works.

So here’s hoping.

Puppy Love.

I haven’t written in this space for so long, I might have actually forgotten HOW to write.

(Seriously, people. I opened the “New Post” page this MORNING. It is now 6pm and I have been sitting here, staring at this page, all day.)

And yes, I spruced up the place too. The picture at the top is one of my favorite places in New England – Acadia National Park.

___________________

So. An update then?

Well, the biggest life change we’ve made since I last posted: during the week of the Boston Marathon bombing, I saw an article about a couple of golden retriever therapy dogs, who had visited Newtown after the awfulness in December and then again in Boston that week.

I think it was that Thursday morning, as I sat in traffic trying to get over the Tobin Bridge, when the thought struck me.

I want a therapy dog of my own.

Now, mind you, this didn’t come out of nowhere – last fall Jeff and I started discussing the idea of getting a dog. For many reasons, it seemed like a good idea. Since, given our history, Owen is likely going to be an only child, we thought it would be good for him. A dog would be a good playmate, a companion for him has he grew up. And, too, we thought it would teach him responsibility.

But really, it’s because I miss having an animal. We’ve lived a year now since Puck died and I missed having that unconditional love; someone who is ALWAYS glad to see you.

Except we couldn’t decide on a breed – lab or golden? Or whether we wanted to get a rescue dog, or a shelter dog, or what. And then, well, the WORK involved scared me.

But in that moment on the Tobin Bridge, I told Jeff (via phone, of course) that I wanted to get a puppy. It was great timing: it was spring, Jeff is working from home until the end of June and I’ll be home most of July. Really, there was no reason NOT to move on it.

Well, except for one thing.

Confession: I kind of don’t really LIKE puppies.

I know, that makes me an awful person. I mentioned it, once, to my neighbor. Her reaction was as if I told her I was an axe murdered. All she could say, over and over, was:

Who doesn’t LIKE PUPPIES?

I don’t. I mean, they’re cute and all. But they’re slobbery and chew on everything and jump up on people and pee on floors and steal your stuff and have I mentioned they chew on EVERYTHING? Over the years of living with my parents, I think my mother brought home 2 or 3 puppies. And I hated them all – they bonded immediately with my mother, tolerated me, and then chewed all of my stuff.

And the other thing: I believe that there are Cat People and Dog People in the world, and you are one or the other. I, personally, am a Cat Person. Out of all the animals in my house when I was growing up, it was Rusty cat who was my favorite.

But Jeff’s allergic to cats and I kind of am too. Plus I wanted a running buddy. And really, at the end of the day, dogs LOVE EVERYONE. Cats? Not so much.

So anyway. The desire for a dog won out over the reservations, and we found someone local who had golden retriever puppies. And we got one – a little boy we named Finley Huckleberry.

And he’s so sweet. He was the one, out of the three puppies we saw, who patiently waited for Jeff to give him a pet before he came over to me, while his brothers nearly mauled me with happiness. Despite Owen trying to get him to jump on him, he just laid down and watched the three of us. And the first few days, he didn’t make a sound – just slept and ate and wagged his tail and whimpered when we put him in his crate.

He’s a puppy though. And a golden, who are notorious eaters of everything.

Really, I thought people were kidding when they said that they’d eat everything. I had heard stories of dogs chewing through wood and drywall and whatnot. But hell, not all dogs were like that, right? Right?

Nope. Finley does, in fact, eat everything. Moss. Leaves. Sticks. Rocks. Mulch. Dandelions. Bamboo. Grass. Plastic. Shoelaces. Wood. The stuffing in his toys. Paper. Labels. Tinfoil.

It’s like he views the world through one question: Is it edible?

Also something I had heard but did not really BELIEVE: having a puppy is EXACTLY like having a baby.

Except worse, because when you have a newborn you can stick a nipple in his mouth in the middle of the night and you don’t have to be OUTSIDE. There was one night when I was outside in 40 degrees with a pokey baby dog who, you know, hadn’t actually figured out how to do his business on command, and I really questioned what the hell I was doing. Why did we get a dog again?

But then, you know, now that he’s sleeping in his crate, through the night, and he greets me at the door all happy and loving and wants to bring me all his toys to chew on in my lap and when something scares him he whimpers and comes over to me for a snuggle…

How can you resist this face?

Maybe I AM a Dog Person after all.

Off the Grid.

This weekend, Owen, Jeff and I we’re heading up to Lake Winnepesaukee with my inlaws, sister and brother-in-law, and niece and nephew.

A full week spent in teeny cabins right on the lake, beach two steps outside our door. Without internet access (thought Jeff and I both have smartphones. I’ll never really disconnect, who am I kidding?).

But whatever, NO internet access!

I have a loose plan to stick with my half training: 26 miles next week. I’m hoping to actually do the speed workout on Tuesday night if I can manage to find the local high school, if not, I’ll do it as best as I can on the road. (Maybe hill repeats? Ooo, that would be something.)

I am also going to try my first open water swim – am hoping to spend a half hour in the water and try and focus on sighting moreso than doing a full on workout.

And obviously, there will be ice cream. And playing in the sand. And throwing the frisbee. And splashing in the water. And a train ride. And a trip to Laconia. And ice cream. And Mike’s Hard Lemonade.

And did I mention the ice cream?

Morning Magic (Aka: My 4 Mile Run.)

A night of insomnia; wordless dreams from which I wake often and forget nearly immediately, only to be plunged back in when I fall asleep again.

The alarm rings much too early. It’s set to the local classical music station to ease my wake up, but today it doesn’t matter. I only have the energy to slam the snooze button, hard. So, so tired. I do not want to get out of bed.

But my mind is awake. It moves restlessly; I’m focused on the number of miles I want to run this week and how I’ll juggle everything I need to get that accomplished. I won’t have another chance to run in the morning – the best time, given the heat and humidity – for another three days. When the music starts again, I turn the alarm off and get out of bed quickly, not looking back in case I’m tempted.

Once in the bathroom, I change into my running gear and put my contacts in. Within minutes I’m downstairs, sitting in the dark mudroom, lacing my sneakers.

It’s dark outside; I have yet to hear birds, but the drone of the insects is soothing somehow.

I strap on my garmin and head out; the sky near-black in front of me, but getting lighter behind. Impatiently, I wait for the watch to establish the signal with the satellites so I can start my run. When it vibrates, I start down the hill to the main road, stiffly at first.

The first few minutes of a run always feels like I’ve forgotten HOW. My legs move, but my cadence is off and I feel awkward and stiff. But I know it fades once I warm up, so instead I look around and breathe in the morning air.

This early, there are very few people up and around in my town. I run down to the river and cross the street, barely looking over my shoulder, since I hear nothing but the insects and my breath, and wave to the town cop parked across the post office. I turn and head over the bridge.

Mile 1 comes before I know it, and my legs are fully warmed up. The humidity is making me breathe a little harder than what I’d like, but I keep on, even though it is starting to hurt. I know that if I just keep going, it’ll get better.

It’s always in the beginning of mile 2 where everything settles down; my breathing is deep and regular and my legs have found a good rhythm. I find that place where there is nothing in my head except my breath.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

I can run forever like this. The morning, the river on my left, the insect droning. I’m warm and strong and happy and relaxed.

It, of course, doesn’t last forever. Because the rolling hills at the end of mile 2 always hurt.

I tell myself, out loud, Nice and easy to the top, then a recovery. You got this.

I don’t always believe myself, but today I actually AM able to run all the way to the top, recover downhill, and power up the second hill. I know all I have to do is make it to mile 3, which is close, and I get a good downhill for a long time, where I can really roll.

Thank god, mile 3. I take a minute to recover, and then I let my legs go, following the downhill. My breathing hitches a bit, but I focus on my exhale. Breathe OUT. Breathe OUT. I keep going.

A slight incline to the bridge again, and I’m only .25 miles away from the end of my run. That’s a 400. I can run a 400 in less than two minutes. I lean forward just a bit, pumping my arms a teeny bit more, because I want to finish this run STRONG.

And then it’s over. As I walk back to my house, I can see the sun warming the sky in front of me.

And.

I feel so good.

Just Do It.

Wow, how is it August already?

My lack of posting isn’t because I have nothing going on. On the contrary. I’ve started up my half training for the fall, after slacking a bit with my running in June and early July. It’s hard getting back into it, but I’m into week three and am feeling it come back, slowly. I’m still low on endurance, but I’m getting there.

Yesterday I had lunch with an old high school friend; someone I haven’t seen in at least 15 years, maybe more.

And over the course of our lunch, she mentioned that she wanted to write but was finding it hard to find the time.

I wholly, completely, one thousand percent identify with her.

And then we talked about how hard it is to find time, and she showed me her journal, where she keeps her ideas for writing. How she heard a perfect writing prompt in an airport one time (seriously, it’s a PERFECT prompt: someone on the loudspeaker announced: The Cowboy is down. That is inspiration for a story right there.)

We talked about how hard it is, though, to find the energy at the end of a long day to put words to paper, unless there’s a burning idea for a story. (And even then it’s nearly impossible.)

I often have stories in bullet form point – where if I just had the TIME, I could nuture the sentence or bullet into something beautiful.

Ah, but there’s no time.

Something about me: I am an accountant who probably should have never been an accountant. It was a practical choice, of course. I was driven by indecision – not knowing WHAT I really wanted to do – and coupled with a burning desire never to be out of work.

And it worked out for me – since becoming a CPA in 2003 I have never been out of work, without it being my choice.

But, by gawd, it’s soul-sucking. There are days when I feel so far removed from the girl who spent her summers writing ridiculous “novels” – wandery love stories with very little plot. (aka: girl meets boy, they fall in love, they get married and have kids. Yawn.)

I used to dream about starring in a Broadway play. I wanted to dance and sing and write and play my clarinet.

I sing in my car, and dancing has been replaced with running. I haven’t played my clarinet since I was pregnant with Owen.

And I’m currently writing about my client’s monthly deferred revenue reconciliation process.

Whee.

Thing is, I know that girl is in here somewhere. And if I could carve out just a LITTLE more time to make it happen, maybe I could find her again.

Except. My alarm rang this morning at 4:21am (so, you know, I can get a snooze in before I have to get up), and I’ve been in Boston at my client since 6. I’ll leave here at 3(ish) today so I can pick up Owen and bring him to his own race tonight – he and Jeff are running the Beverly Yankee Homecoming race at 5:30 and 6 tonight, respectively.

Then we’ll go home and I’ll figure out how to work in dinner for Jeff and I, a 4 mile run, packing for our weekend trip to Boothbay Maine, and maybe some additional work tonight, depending on my client deadline.

Where will I get the time?

Oh. Right now. On this blog.

This is writing, too.

It’s time I just DO it.

So here goes. 15 minutes a day. Here, maybe. Maybe in a journal if my thoughts are not fit for human consumption. (Yes, that happens.)

But here’s where I say this:

I want to write. And I am just going to do it.