Let. There. Be. Light.

This is going to be a long one.  Buckle up. 

Our journey begins back in May, when I ordered a light fixture from Pottery Barn to replace the light fixture in my dining room.  I actually ordered it before I moved into the house, but it was back ordered so I had to wait awhile.  

Here is the original fixture, shown while lit to prove that there was, in fact, power that adequately supplied the light source. 

 

While I waited for the new fixture to be delivered, my parents came to town and my dad helped me install one new light, and two light/fan combos.  (Okay, he installed one light while instructing me how to do so for future reference, and I was johnny-on-the-spot with screwdrivers while he installed the fans.  He was a champion.)  I paid close attention, so when the big box finally arrived on my front porch, I was ready to go.  I enlisted Amanda to help me out since it's a job made significantly easier by the presence of another human.  

 

Learning from the previous experiences, I knew to connect the wires and then test with a bulb before actually mounting the entire thing.  The bulb wouldn't light.  

Two of my male coworkers came over to give it another go.  They arrived with a very large and impressive tool box filled with a wire tester, among other things.  We tested the circuit and found that there was actual electricity running in both the switch and the ceiling.  A few phone calls to the uncles led to the eventual conclusion that the fixture was defective.  When I called to return it, I was informed that it was still on back order, and I would not receive a new one until probably August.  If you notice, the wall in the background is still blue.  I had painted it green the week after Father's Day.  (Just for some chronological reference.)

I decided to go ahead and just return it, then look for something new.  I ended up ordering a different fixture from West Elm.  Naturally, this one was on back order as well.  I'd have to wait until around July 31st for delivery.  Oooooof course. 

 After many moons had passed, the new fixture arrived.  This was a week ago today.  I forgot to mention how confusing the Pottery Barn wiring had been.  I was delighted to open up the West Elm fixture and find that, not only were the wires the right colors, but they were labeled as well!

 

As soon as I connected the wires, I screwed in a bulb and turned on the breaker.  

No dice.  

I contacted some more male friends to find out if anyone had some electrically-inclined friends who might be willing to help.  After a few days of hunting, we finally found someone but it was going to cost a pretty penny.  

My stubbornness kicked in big time.  

Why on earth can I not figure this out for myself?  

Here's the thing: I'm by no means a feminist, and I've never found myself having a hard time accepting help from guys.  The problem is that I don't like accepting help from anyone.  I'm fiercely independent, and it kills me any time I have to seek out favors from people to deal with things like light installations, tree branch removal, plumbing consults, etc.  I like to think of myself as a competent human, and it just irks me when I can't do something myself.

In other words, I was fired up.  I decided this morning that today was the day.  I was installing the new light fixture, and nobody was going to stop me.  I would conquer electricity, and that was that.  

One thing that had come up as a possible cause for the problems before was the dimmer switch from the old fixture.  We had thought it might have been the issue back in June, and even pulled it out from the wall to take a look at it, but my friends determined that it was too over our heads.  So I looked up how to remove a dimmer switch and replace it with a normal one.  A few youtube videos later, and I felt sufficiently armed with knowledge to head to Home Depot and get the necessary supplies.   

I sent Padre the following text message: "Today, I am mustering up every ounce of stubbornness and pride I have.  I am going to make the dining room light fixture work, even if it kills me.  I thought you'd want to know."  

He then asked me to try everything short of killing myself.  Then asked me to give him a text update every thirty minutes to let him know I was okay and hadn't electrocuted myself yet.  Please don't take that to imply lack of confidence.  I genuinely appreciate his concern and caution since I was doing this alone in my house.  

Driving back from Home Depot, I heard "Stranglehold" on the radio and immediately knew I was going to be victorious in my mission.  I am not here to defend the lyrics of the song, but it has one fantastic guitar riff.  That song will pump anyone up.  I turned up the volume as loud as it would go and enjoyed every second of the nine minute instrumental section.... rare for someone who enjoys singing at the top of my lungs.  It was just one of those I-feel-it-in-my-bones-that-this-is-going-to-end-well kind of omens. 

 

When I walked inside, I pulled the new switch out of my bag and prepared to work.  My preparation consisted of the following steps: 

1)  Eat.  Yep.  When my blood sugar drops, so does the chance of anything good happening.

2)  Pray.  Then ask Padre to pray and start the 30 minute timer to text him that I was still alive.

3)  Set up the portable fan that has kept me cool and, therefore, sane, through various home improvement projects thus far.  

4)  Get started.

I even remembered Uncle Todd's advice to take a picture before I undid anything in case I needed to put it back the way it was.  

Here's the dimmer. 

 

And here's the fun mess inside.

Yikes.  That mess may or may not have been hanging out like that since June.

When I removed the dimmer, I was left with this:

 

Here's where the trouble really began.  All the youtube videos I watched informed me how to install a single pole light switch to the black, white, and ground wires in the wall.  My wall contained a box of three black, three white, and three ground wires.  

I immediately called Uncle Kevin.  He asked a lot of questions and requested a lot of pictures.  After careful and thorough analysis, he informed me that each bundle of wires (Romex cables, I learned) was feeding something different.  One was the power source, one likely went to the fixture, and the last one potentially powered the outlet on the same wall that hasn't worked since I moved in.  I needed to figure out which one was the hot wire.  For that, I would need a wire tester or a pigtail light.  

By this point, my spirits were not quite as high.  Ted Nugent was losing his inspirational power over me, and I was starting to get discouraged.  I was also strongly opposed to driving all the way back to Home Depot, which really should be paying me commission by now.  

I decided it was a good time for me to go talk to the neighbors to see if anybody had one I might be able to borrow.  I headed across the street first.  I met the man who lives there back in May, and I'd spoken to him once since then in passing.  He did not answer the door.  The woman who answered almost hid behind the door in fear and then looked at me like I was full on crazypants when I asked if she had a wire tester I could borrow.  So much for that.  I then went to one other house where there were neighbors I'd already met.  The man not only didn't have a wire tester, but he also looked at me like I was insane and expressed genuine concern for my safety when I explained what I was doing.  

Now I was hugely discouraged.  I maybe started to cry a little.  It's important to note, for those of you who haven't been around me in the past 3-4 months, that everything has made me cry lately.  This particular occurrence is not an indication of deep depression or of major sadness.  I was just frustrated.

Still determined not to drive far across town again, I did a little scouting online and realized they sell pigtail lights at Autozone.  I called to make sure they would work in a house rather than in an automobile, and the man made me explain the entire story before informing me that it wouldn't work in a house, but they sold voltmeters that would do the trick. 

This is what he sold me.

 

I am fairly confident we used something similar to this in Pre-AP Physics back in high school, and that I didn't have a clue what was going on then either.  Fortunately, he told me what setting to put it on, how to use it, and that it should read around 120 volts.  

After a little fidgeting with the apparatus, I found the hot wires.  Uncle Kevin then called me back and directed my attention to a diagram he found online that would help explain how to wire everything.  He patiently walked me through the entire thing, making sure I understood what to do with each and every one of the nine wires coming out of my wall.  Then he told me to call him back and let him know how it went.  

The instructions were easy.  The application was not.  This wire is super thick, making it very difficult for me to manipulate.  I was able to finish almost all of it okay, except for the white wires.  I needed to strip the insulation off the ends of them, twist them together, and then cap them off with a wire nut.  Every time I tried to twist them, one of the wires broke.  The same wire.  In other words, it kept getting shorter.  This was a wire coming out of my wall.  A limited resource.  I was panicking slightly.  Finally I got it to work.  I had the original fixture hanging again with one bulb so I could test if the switch was connected properly.  

SUCCESS!!!!!!!!!

I don't exaggerate when I say I felt like I was winning an Olympic medal at that point.  It might seem dumb, but this stupid light fixture has frustrated and annoyed me for almost three months now.  

It's the reason my dining room table has looked like this since I moved in: 

 

I flipped the breaker back off, and swapped the old fixture out with the new one.  I screwed in one bulb and tested it again.  The new one worked too!!!!

Now that everything was connected properly, I finished mounting the plate and canopy, screwed everything in, put in all the bulbs, and attached the glass that goes over the bulbs.  One more flip of the breaker, and...

nothing.

No light whatsoever. 

Arg.

Actually, from watching my dad I had learned that if one tiny wire gets just a little loose or touches metal or anything, the whole thing gets thrown off.  I figured a wire had come loose, but I had to go meet my trainer so I determined to deal with it when I got home.  

On my way back, I enlisted the help of yet another male friend who is fairly handy.  I explained what I thought the problem was and that I figured it would just be an easier job with two people and should be a quick fix.  Now around 9pm, I walked inside to a dark house and flipped on the porch light for my friend.  No light.  I checked and the breaker was on, so I knew there must have been a loose wire to turn off the entire circuit.  Not a problem.  

I went in the kitchen to grab some dinner and realized that the entire kitchen is also on that circuit.  Somehow this detail eluded me previously.  

The kitchen.

The fridge. 

MY FOOD!!!

Yikes again.  Okay, now time was crunching.  

I had been using a tiny step ladder, but I figured I'd need something more substantial to get a closer look.  I ran to the garage and grabbed the ladder I borrowed from my parents but had yet to use.  

Figuring out the Little Giant ladder system was more complicated than wiring the light fixture.  

 

A painful incident with a similarly complicated ladder last summer had me extra worried, but I managed to get it set up okay... I think.  

I pulled off the canopy and retwisted all the appropriate wires together.  I got everything else on the circuit working again, but the breaker flipped anytime I tried to turn on the light switch.  It was now too late to call Uncle Kevin, who was likely fast asleep.

My friend arrived and we got to work carefully stuffing the wires back up into the ceiling.  He pointed out where exposed wire was touching the mounting plate and helped me fix it.   He also informed me that he is afraid of both heights and electricity, but he graciously climbed his side of the ladder and touched all the wires anyway.  (Quick plug for the Little Giant Ladder System: if you can figure out how to use it, it's pretty stinkin' awesome because you can have people standing on both sides of it... super convenient in situations like this one!)

We got the bulbs lit!  

Anticipating a similar complication when I pushed all the wires from the light switch back into the wall, I made him stay to help me with that part as well.  It was a good thing I did.  After a lot of work, we managed to get the light switch screwed on properly. 

Looks a lot better than the tangled mess from earlier, huh? 

The result? 

Drum roll please...

...

...

...

LIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm so happy I could cry all over again.

I have to be honest, I had about 43 things to do today, and I didn't get to a single one of them.  

But now this source of months of frustration and annoyance is gone, like a weight removed from my shoulders, and I feel like I can be much more focused and productive with everything else that needs to get done around here.

Huge, mega, ultra, super shout out and thank you to Uncle Kevin, who walked me step-by-step through this entire thing!!!!

 

 

(and who maybe expressed to my mom that this better work so he wouldn't be eviscerated on the blog.)

I couldn't have done it without you.  If you didn't live 1500 miles away, I would be making you the stovetop pork carnitas that I raved about last week as a thank you gift.  I guess you'll just have to come visit so I can make them while you check out my handiwork.  

Love, 

Murphy & Me

Boy Problems

Not just any boys.  Studs, in particular. 

You know what I mean - strong, sturdy, supportive.... 

Okay, I'm talking about the wooden studs in the frame of my house.  Not actually guys at all.  But it got your attention, right?

Over the summer, I have been gradually painting every single wall in my house.  The most recent canvas was my master bathroom.  Wanting to be thorough, I decided to take down the medicine cabinet that was hung up (as in, not built directly into the wall) to paint behind it.  I also had some issues with the previous toilet paper dispenser.  One side of it came loose and I could not for the life of me figure out how to reattach it to the wall.  I ended up pulling it out completely.  Lo, and behold: I pulled out the wall anchors too!  I was immediately puzzled.  Who puts wall anchors in to hold up a toilet paper dispenser?  Is there really that much of a weight issue?  Are people wiping with special grade, lead toilet tissue, and I didn't get the memo?  

Either way, this created some prominent holes in the wall.  Even more fun was that the anchor ripped right out of the left side, but was significantly more challenging to remove from the right side.  Same thing with the medicine cabinet.  This should've been my first clue, but it wasn't.  (Truthfully, I wasn't going to remove those screws at all.  But when I took the cabinet off the wall, the left screw pulled straight out.)

The damage:

I attempted to putty the walls, but the holes didn't seem to fill.  The putty just kept falling back into the wall.  I checked my memory and the interwebs, and headed to Home Depot to buy some drywall patches.  While there, the guy looked extremely confused that I couldn't get the putty to work.  He finally just took my word for it and pointed me in the right direction.  

I armed myself with the appropriate tools and got to work.  

I actually trimmed the patches down because they were bigger than I needed them.  

 

Once I got them on the wall, though, they stuck out big time.  Nowhere close to flush with the wall.  Not to mention the fact that they didn't blend in with the wall texture either.  

I ended up peeling off the patches and just using putty after all.  It took about six passes before I was satisfied that I wouldn't accidentally punch a hole right through it.  

 

Isn't it lovely??

That was a few days ago.  

I did the same with the medicine cabinet holes. 

 

Sunday I sanded them down and touched up the paint.  Then last night I finally got around to installing the new screws and new toilet paper dispenser.  TP first.  The new dispenser only had one part to screw in, not two.  I had noticed that the old one was also a little too close to the toilet for my liking, so I decided to push it out a little bit.  I measured for the holes, making sure that it was level.  Remember when I thought the previous owner was crazy for using wall anchors?  Well it turns out that they come with the dispenser as part of the hardware.  I still don't see why, but I decided to go ahead and use them since I paid for them.

I even grabbed the drill since the instructions called for one.  I had to do some improvising since I managed to borrow my parents' drill without any drill bits, but it got the job done.  And by job, I mean holes drilled.  Then I went to hammer in the wall anchor.  It wouldn't go.  

Ugh.  

A stud.  

Even with a drill I couldn't get the hole deep enough for the anchor.  I ended up just moving the entire thing back to right over the original holes.  

  

 

Lovely, right?  I obviously need to re-putty, sand, and paint over those new holes, but that's a job for another day.  

Next up: medicine cabinet.  

I measured, leveled, and nailed in starter holes to mark my spots carefully.  I screwed in the new wall anchor to the left hole with great ease.  The right one?  Not so much.  Another stud. 

Gah!  This is not the kind of stud presence I want in my life right now!

Again, I was not able to drill far enough into the stud for the wall anchor.  Or even a plain screw.  So I tried just using the holes that were there before.  This time I was less successful.  The putty did not provide enough of a support for the wall anchor.  So... I called it quits.  My medicine cabinet wall currently looks like this: 

  

and my medicine cabinet itself will remain here: 

 

 

until I can find a different kind of stud to help me out with this situation.  

A Turnaround

Tonight, I am thankful for sports.  

A lot of the time, my fan-ship leads to negative emotions - anger, frustration, even sadness at a stomach-punch loss.  

Tonight, though, I am thankful for sports. 

The past 36 ish hours have been quite frustrating for me.  My allergy medicine, driving back home in the middle of the night after the baseball game, and a few other various factors have put me in a mental cloud that has demolished what I needed to be a blur of productivity.  Like the Tasmanian devil-meets-Martha Stewart.  It didn't happen, though.  

I cleaned up a ton around the living room and downstairs today, but then I opened up the shipping box for a new light fixture and unleashed a cloud of styrofoam crumbs all over my newly vacuumed floor.  Arg.  Then I attempted to install said light fixture.  I thought I remembered which breaker to turn off from the last go around at this particular light socket, but to be sure, I plugged a lamp into the socket right next to the light switch.  

 

(Yes, typical reasoning would suggest I just turn on the existing fixture.  I never re-installed the original one after I attempted to replace it though.  The one that came with the house worked perfectly, so I know it is possible for light to exist there.  But attempt #1 to fix it, partnered with multiple phone calls to brother/father/uncles and visits from male friends, some of them even handy ones.... well, that led to the ultimate conclusion that the fixture was defective, and I returned it.  It was going to take a full month to get a new one in because it was back ordered, so I cancelled the order and found a different one from a different company.  Turns out that one was back ordered as well, so a month later, here I am.)

I swear to you, I turned off every breaker except the one that controls my air conditioning, and that lamp shined brightly through it all.  Why, oh why, is there one single socket attached to the same breaker as my a/c?  I finally figured it out and, dripping with sweat, got to work.  Since this isn't my first electrical adventure, I knew to hook up the wires, attach a bulb, and test it out before going through all the hassle of installing the entire fixture.  No. Go.  

Ughhhhkajshdfkajhsdfk;ahsdfj.  I was frustrated.  

I am also in this mad dash to try and finish a bunch of small things in order to prepare for the arrival of my new roommate next week.  By this point I was so discouraged that I just popped down on the couch to eat something and calm down without destroying anything more.  (I ate some of the tuna salad that called for the homemade mayo - it tasted good!  A consult with a friend informs me that I did reach the appropriate consistency with the mayo as well.  Thank.  Goodness.  I also tasted a few bites of the pork carnitas that I cooked up for the rest of the week.  Stop reading this now, and go buy the necessary ingredients to create this delight.  Seriously.  Here is the recipe.  Holy moly is it delicious.)

Then I sent my trainer a text message to prepare him for my state of mind at our fast-approaching workout:  "Level of frustration: high.  Bring your A game."  The translation is - "I need you to destroy me.  I'm pissed off and need an outlet for my aggression.  I won't push myself hard enough, but if you try then I will do my best not to whine about it."  It's my code, and he knows it well.  It worked.  I was in a better mood walking out of the gym until I saw the score of the Rangers game tonight.  Down 7-1.  

UGHHHHHHHH.  I growled out loud, got some weird looks, and drove away angry all over again.  

Where is the turnaround I mentioned?  Right here. 

 

 

Tonight I had some friends over to watch D2: The Mighty Ducks.  I found out earlier this summer that they had never seen any of the Mighty Ducks movies.  That presented a grave situation that necessitated immediate correction.  We watched the first installment a few weeks ago, and tonight got to enjoy the best of the trilogy.  (I compare the Mighty Ducks to the Godfather.  The first movie is solid, and it sets the foundation well.  The second movie is the best of each franchise, without question.  The third movie in each does not exist.  Or at least, it's best for all parties involved to believe that.)  I just assumed that the Rangers were going to choke the way they did the previous two nights, and sat back to calm down and relax while watching one of my top five all time movies.  A text message from my Rangers-fanatic pseudo-brother led me to believe the game was over.  

As the movie reached its climax, my dad sent me a text asking if I was watching the Rangers.  I checked the score on my phone and realized that they had come back, and were now down by only one run in extra innings.  And they were at bat!  And the bases were loaded!! With only one out!!! By now my friends (also Rangers fans) were getting play-by-play updates from me.... I'm sure they were not at all distracting from the movie. 

"ELVIS AT BAT!"

"FULL COUNT!!!!"

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" 

I also had to ignore six rapid fire texts from Padre and pseudo-brother, knowing that the gamecast on my phone was behind real time.  

"RANGERS WINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  

There was jumping.  On the couch.  And a lot of yelling.  

Then immediate quiet to let these patient friends watch the Ducks defeat Iceland and fly home to Minnesota to sing "We are the Champions" by a campfire.  (I don't feel spoiler alerts are required for movies that are 18 years old.)

Just like that, my extreme frustration turned to absolute triumph. 

I'm thankful for a Rangers win, and I'm thankful for the victory of my favorite fictional hockey team.

If you are a fan of the Ducks and remotely familiar with the current Team USA basketball team, do yourself a favor and read this.  Columnist Rembert Browne compares each of the American basketball players to Mighty Ducks team members.  He also captured my heart.  Feel free to contact him and let him know that his future wife is waiting for him in central Texas. 

Take that, Murphy. 

Make Your Own Mayo

Bonus!  Two posts in one night! 

Okay, so "Make Your Own Mayo" probably sounds disastrous.  Or, just like a terrible idea in general.  Maybe? 

Here's the thing.  I don't eat condiments.  For the longest time, I have been anti-condiment.  I am a huge fan of sauces, dressings, relishes, or anything else you'd put on your food to add some zest... except condiments.  Specifically, the big three:  ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise.  

That changed slightly in 2010 when I started to like mustard.  It's the only exception.  Then I read a recipe for tuna salad that called for an entirely different recipe version of homemade mayo.  Blah.  It was yet another one of my new favorite paleo recipe blogger's, though, so I thought I'd give it a shot.  

Around 11:00 tonight, I started peeling and grating vegetables for some meatballs, figuring I'd tackle the mayo while the meatballs were baking.

Ha.

Problem 1: There was major emphasis in the recipe on getting the consistency right.  Given that I haven't eaten mayonnaise in well over a decade, I have no idea what that consistency is.   

Problem 2: The directions also placed a priority on slooooooowly drizzling in the olive oil while continuing to blend the mixture.  I don't own a blender.  I own a Ninja, which is fabulous and kicks blender butt.  However, you can't pop off the lid and continue blending while adding ingredients the way you do with a normal blender.

My solution was to drizzle in the teeniest bit of olive oil, then blend.  Drizzle, then blend.  Drizzle, then blend.  I needed to do that for a total of 1 cup of olive oil.  I swear to you right now that my measuring cup was filled to 3/4 of a cup after at least seven different drizzle/blend iterations.  

By this point, my patience was gone.  But worse, my Ninja was getting really hot from all the blending.  I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to cook the mayonnaise at any point, so I poured the entire thing into a tiny food processor and picked up where I had left off.  

Friends, some five hours and six episodes of Friday Night Lights later, I have a jar of something.  It may or may not resemble mayonnaise.  Which, I had no desire to consume in the first place. 

I'll keep you posted.  

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

On Sunday afternoon, I trekked up to Dallas for a quick trip to see the parents.  I had gotten tickets to a Rangers game for Padre for Father's Day, so I drove up the night before to spend some time with them.  

In an effort to be supportive of this Whole 30 thing, Wonderlynn asked what kind of food I needed around the house while I was up there.  I decided to see if she'd let me make dinner for all of us, and I would eat the leftovers the next day.  I found an incredible-sounding chili recipe that I wanted to try, and I figured that everyone likes chili.  Because her expertise is in hostessing and providing a full meal for people (not just the main course, which is all I pretty much ever do), I would also need a vegetable side dish.  In other words, it was the perfect time for me to enact phase one of Mission: Brussels Sprouts.  (For starters, I feel I should clarify that this food is called Brussels sprouts, not brussel sprouts, as I have always thought.  Thank you iphone, for correcting me.)  I recently discovered the greatness of this mini-cabbage, much to my mom's chagrin.

"Ew!!! Gross!! I will not eat those!!!!!" is something along the lines of her reaction when I threw them in the cart at the grocery store while she was in town last month.  I talked to Goola recently, who informed me that Poppy shares this attitude.  After polling several other family members, we discovered that an unfortunate group have been subjected to poorly prepared Brussels sprouts, thus leading them into a life lacking in the enjoyment of a delicious food.  Goola and I decided we were going to crack them.  I informed my mom that she would eat Brussels sprouts, and she would like them.  She was nice enough not to argue.  

I also made cornbread for the parents to enjoy with their chili.  It was the only part of the meal I did not partake of, but I didn't feel too deprived.  Discussing it with my mom later that night, I remarked that it is further evidence of my inability to do anything in moderation.  It was far easier to have no cornbread than it would have been to have just one piece.  

For the two hours that the chili simmered, Wonderlynn continued commenting how wonderful it smelled.  Sadly, I don't know her stove well enough, and it simmered a little higher than the "low" setting that was called for.  While it didn't damage the flavor at all, it did lead to bowls of liquid so piping hot that Padre needed to cool his off with ice cubes.  No lie.  

For me, it just meant a few extra minutes to enjoy the Brussels sprouts.  The reactions?  Padre said they were better than any he'd ever tasted... but it still wasn't something he'd choose to eat.  Wonderlynn was much more enthusiastic.  The word "delicious" was used at least twice, and she requested the recipe!!  Here she is enjoying the Bohemian Brussels Sprouts - recipe linked.  

Here's a shot of how they look after being cooked.  We did bake them at a lower temperature than the recipe called for - 380, I believe, and took them out a bit before the 30 minutes was over.  Madre's oven is pretty hot though.  They will look like they're starting to burn... that's when you know they're getting good.  The outsides look charred, but are actually delicious, and the insides will be the perfect amount of tender.  Mmmmm. 

 I wanted to show off Wonderlynn's cute new(ish) dishes.  I luf them. 

Again, I was not lying about the ice. 

 

 Yesterday afternoon, Padre and I headed out early to Arlington for the game.  It was picked up by ESPN, which moved the time up an hour to 6pm.  Great from a traffic standpoint.  Seemingly terrible from a weather standpoint.  Padre had the fantastic idea to pack towels for us to use as sweat rags.  You may laugh, but it was 112 degrees when we pulled up to the ballpark.  Our seats were right in the sun, but we found some good ones a few rows up that were in the shade and set up camp.  It ended up being quite pleasant.  We had a nice breeze and never touched the towels. 

Look at the cute matching hats that he bought us to wear to the game?  (I mean, not cute.  Rugged?  Sporty?)  I like them.

 

The Rangers lost in a rout to the Angels, but we were happy to cheer for Hamilton as he broke out of his slump a little.  We also played a game that kept the entire night more entertaining.  

When I started this eating plan, the baseball game was the night I anticipated being the hardest.  No hot dogs.  No slushies.  No nachos.  No... peanuts????  Thankfully, I found a recipe for some coconut flakes that you toast and sprinkle with cinnamon and salt.  Padre informed me that it wasn't bad for a snack if you were trapped on a desert island.  I thought they were much better than that.  Totally met my cravings for something salty and a little sweet to snack on during the game. 

I am now eight days in, and while I haven't yet experienced the life-changing effects that everyone swears I will experience, I am quite pleased.  I have not been hungry or felt like I was dieting at all.  It definitely takes more preparation to avoid pitfalls, and it's weird not drinking diet coke anymore.  Still, though, the weirdest thing that I miss the most is gum.  Chewing gum is off limits because it contains artificial sweeteners.  I never would have thought of myself as a habitual gum-chewer, but it is the singular thing that continues to make me feel "deprived."  (I use the word loosely because it is far from deprivation.)

Part of the plan also dictates that you stay off of the scale for the month so you don't get preoccupied with losing weight.  Well, I broke that rule.  My trainer started his own version of biggest loser among his clients this week, and I am in it to win it.  But I had to get a starting weight for the challenge.  Without doing any cardio or changing anything else aside from my food, I am down 2.5 pounds in a week.  I'll take it!  Now it's time to kick it into gear... I'm always down for some healthy competition.  

As for the allergy side of things, the outlook isn't as positive.  I wrote about how I had another reaction last week.  I finally made it in to see my doctor today, and he wants to go ahead and do allergy testing for foods to see if we can pinpoint what the problem areas are.  The rational side of me is totally on board.  Every reaction I have gets increasingly frustrating, and it makes me a fairly miserable person to be around.  I am genuinely hopeful that I can figure out what I need to avoid in order to keep it under control.  A small part of me fears that the testing won't result in anything conclusive.  Four years ago, they did extensive testing for environmental allergens (aka, trees and mold and stuff) and determined that I am not allergic to any of the normal culprits.  If that happens this time around, I don't foresee myself reacting well.  The biggest issue, as always, is my needle phobia.  For any of you unfamiliar, it is a full-blown phobia.  The textbook factor that distinguishes a phobia from a fear is its irrationality.  No words or any other gestures can calm me down or make me feel better about it.  After a lot of trial and error, though, I've figured out a few ways to make the best of it and cope as much as possible.  Before I made it home from the doctor, I had already found someone to drive me to and from my appointment so I can take medicine that will calm me down significantly.  I am currently working on plans for the night before to keep me distracted.  The big day is August 9th.  My appointment is at 8:30 am, CST, and prayers are much appreciated.  

Until then, I will be doing everything in my power to keep me from thinking about it.  

One last note... I feel I should give a shout out to the chick responsible for most of the recipes I have been indulging in this past week.  I linked to her sprouts recipe above, but I highly recommend checking out her extensive archives.  You can find her blog here.  She actually lives in Austin, too.  I downloaded the free sample of her new cookbook, but most of the recipes are available on her site as well.  I look forward to buying the whole book soon, as I have not had a complaint about anything I've tried yet.  Even if you aren't intending to cut out insane things from your diet, her recipes are pretty darn delicious.  Both my parents can testify.  

4 Days In... Murphy Stops By

I have been wanting to share this meal with you since Wednesday for a few reasons: 

1) It was delicious. 

2) I only spent ten minutes longer than the recipe said it would take... a monumental achievement for me.  I blame some of those ten minutes to texting while cooking. 

3) I get to show off a sneak peek of the surprise package I received last week. 

4) It was delicious. 

Friends, I made veggie spaghetti.  The name is totally misleading.  First of all, it's called veggie spaghetti because it's made with spaghetti squash instead of pasta (which is why it's Whole 30 - approved).  Second, the word "veggie" suggests that it is meat free.  That is not the case.  

I had heard of spaghetti squash before, and kind of knew what it was, but I have been missing out.  If you haven't tried it, you are missing out too!  You find it with all the other squashes in the produce section.  I happened to buy it at Whole Foods, but I'm reasonably confident that it is a pretty common vegetable and can be found at your average grocery store.  To eat it, you cut it in half lengthwise and scoop out the seeds as shown in the picture below.  Then you put it in a roasting pan, cut face down (not like the picture shows), with 1/4 cup of water and roast at 400 degrees for 30-40 minutes.  When it's tender, you scrape out the inside and it turns into spaghetti!!  Oh, you should probably let it cool a little to make the handling easier.  Important detail.

It was super easy.  I snapped this picture to show off the cute serving and cookware that Poppy and Goola sent me last week!  This picture does not do justice to the fantastically bright and cheerful colors.  They even consulted with Wonderlynn and made sure not to include anything orange!  I am definitely excited to try it all out as I continue on this dietary adventure.  

Back to the recipe, though.  While the squash is roasting, you brown some ground beef, and chop up a ton of vegetables, and throw them into a big pot with a couple cans of crushed tomatoes.  That's it. I was actually able to wash and chop all the vegetables, and only took a few minutes past the squash's cook time.  Personal victory.

Below you can see what the squash looks like in spaghetti form.  While willing to try it, I had doubts about the quality as compared to pasta.  I actually grabbed a bite to try plain, and it's very similar.  The recipe concluded with pouring a small amount of olive oil on each bowl of squash and then serving the sauce on top.  The end. 

I was genuinely surprised by how much spaghetti the seemingly small squash (well, hello there alliteration) produced.  That being said, it was still negligible when matched with the sauce quantity created.  I suppose most people (my mom comes to mind here) would freeze half the sauce to use for later.  But I love food.  I love large amounts of it.  So I managed to divide it up and squeeze it into four of those ziploc tupperware things.  Each one was probably about two bowls' worth, but since it's almost all vegetables, I didn't feel a bit guilty about it.  

On Wednesday, I actually half before and half after my workout, so I didn't have to work out on a full stomach.  Thursday night I brought it over to eat while my small group dined on scrumptious-looking tacos.  After explaining that no, I am not in fact too good for their food, they all mentioned how yummy my dinner smelled.  This is one for the go-to easy meal list.  

I haven't been able to sit down and share this all with you until now because it has been a busy 48 hours.  After finishing my food Wednesday night, I rushed over to watch Lilo and Stitch with my favorite family not connected to me by blood.  Because they are so much fun, I didn't leave their house until 12:30 am.  That made waking up for Algebra camp a little rough, but it was the last day.  Hooray for the end of summer school!  I left the house yesterday with all three of my meals for the day.  Right after camp, I drove - car seat with me - to pick up two precious little boys from daycare and babysat them for the rest of the day.  Then I swung by walmart to buy a chair for my balcony (pictures forthcoming) and headed to small group.  By the time I made it home last night, I was wiped and went to bed early.

That brings us to today: Day 4.  So far, I have had no problems other than the constant craving for gum.  I have found the meals really yummy and very hunger-satisfying.  Today was no different, save for one detail.  

The hives are back.  

This time on my legs and in the crooks of my elbows.  

I feel like my body is attacking itself, beginning with my bloodstream and working its way outward.  I was so frustrated that I really just wanted to cry.  I called my allergist, who was already gone for the day.  The other doctor in the practice called in some steroids to calm down the hives until I can call again on Monday.  I took one and then settled in for a long, long nap.  The medicine keeps me from sleeping, so I thought I'd enjoy a few hours before it kicked in.  I feel a little better now, but the frustration is still here.  

For the last few hours, I've been camped on the couch watching the opening ceremony for the Olympics and planning the next 9 days of meals.  I must admit, the sight of QE2 parachuting out of a helicopter, in a dress!, and strolling into the arena still looking prim and proper as ever was enough to temporarily motivate me back into butt-kicking mode.  Four days of being at home or within constant reach of a fridge where I could store my food made for an easy start to this 30 days.  My schedule is a lot more chaotic and sporadically on the road in the upcoming days.  I knew this would require much advance planning.  Here is a glimpse of what that looks like for me: 

 

 Thank goodness for Microsoft Excel.  Love. It. 

Alright, I don't want to end on a negative note, so let me just say that I will be using my medicine-induced alertness to get a lot of stuff done around the house before my roommate moves in.  Say a prayer for my immune system and my epidermis, and prepare yourselves for some pictures of my domestic projects.  

Love, 

Murphy & Me

Dear Diary...

I hate journaling. 

Hate.  It. 

I tell my students all the time that I would fail language arts as a student today because they have to journal all the time.  I guess I'd probably just make up stories or something to fill the space because my innate need to make straight A's would take over, but I definitely wouldn't take it seriously.  

I bring this up because I have started a journal.  Allow me to explain... 

I mentioned last week that I had broken out in hives.  This isn't a first time allergic reaction.  Last summer I had hives show up on my stomach one day.  A few more the next day.  Then BOOM!  Day three I woke up and it looked like I had gotten chicken pox all over again.  Three different doctors couldn't figure out what had caused them, but they all agreed it was an allergic reaction to something and that it was most likely something I ate/drank/medicine I took as opposed to something my skin came into contact with.  

After a week of medicine and discomfort, the bumps were gone and stayed away for months.  Then Easter Sunday I woke up with more hives on my neck.  That was especially fun.  Marks all over your neck are great as a middle school teacher in April when it's too hot (not to mention insanely uncomfortable) to cover them up with a turtleneck or some kind of collared shirt.  After a few days of benadryl and cortisone cream, the hives were gone but the itching remained.  The next Monday I woke up with the craziest red splotch on my neck.  It turns out I had scratched my neck so much in my sleep that it bruised the skin.  Let me repeat: I teach twelve year olds for a living.  I realized quickly that I would need to come up with an entertaining explanation to get my students to quit asking questions, so I decided to tell them all that I fought an alligator.  By this point in the year, most of my kids were used to my sarcasm and knew to just quit asking.  A few, however, bought it completely.  One in particular was a girl who had collaborated with me in various pranks and hijinks and should have known better.  We had the following exchange - 

Student: "What happened to you?!" 

Me:  "Oh.  I fought an alligator." 

Student:  "Huh?"

Me:  "Yeah, I went to Louisiana this weekend." 

Student:  "Ohhhhhhhhh.  Okay.  Wow, were you on a boat or something?"

Me:  "Well, I was at first.  But then I got out of the boat, and that proved to be a poor decision on my part." 

Student:  "Oh man, that's crazy!  Well, I hope you feel better!" 

That conversation pretty much sums up what I love about my job.  

Back to the reason for this blog, though.  I've had a few smaller reactions since Easter, and then a big one again last week.  I still have zero clue what is causing it.  I returned to my allergist who gave me some medicine to calm the hives, but he reiterated that I probably wouldn't figure out the cause.  That wasn't quite good enough for me.  

While I was sitting around throwing a pity party for myself and my lack of complete and utter contentment, I kept reading posts on facebook about this thing called Whole 30.  I looked it up and discovered that it's a diet, similar to paleo, that strives to kind of reset your body.  For thirty days, you don't consume sugar, grains, legumes, dairy, or alcohol of any kind.  Instead you eat a lot of meat and vegetables, along with some fruit.  Initially, I was intrigued but didn't consider it as something I'd want to try.  As I kept reading, though, the developers described how this thirty day reset allows people to find the causes for a lot of ailments, including food allergies or sensitivities.  I decided it was worth a shot and bought the book.  

Then I learned that artificial sweeteners are out as well.  No diet coke?!  I'm supposed to give up everything tasty in the world AND not consume enough caffeine to function?  Yikes.  

Friends, I'm trying it anyway.  Today is Day 1.  Last night I went to Whole Foods to stock up on food for the next few days.  Armed with ingredient lists from a few recipes, I perused the produce section.  I managed to track down ingredients I had previously never heard of - garam masala, anyone?  Check out the bounty of goodness I brought home!

It's hard to whine about no diet coke or splenda when I have this to anticipate. 

I also recently bought an actual salad bowl (you know, so I don't have to serve salad in a metal mixing bowl).  

It's just begging for something crisp and delicious to fill it.  Is it strange that I feel like purchasing a salad bowl is more a sign of adulthood than purchasing a house?  Because I do.  

For those of you unfamiliar with Whole Foods or the general crunchiness of Texas hippies, allow me to share the reading material available in the check out aisles here: 

Raising chickens has become pretty popular in Austin recently, and now it's garnered enough of a following to warrant its own magazine.  Crunchy does not mean unfriendly, though.  When ringing up the mangoes, my cashier asked if I had tried the mango-nectarine hybrid fruit.  (Yep, we're so green that even our fruit exists in hybrid form.)  I confessed that I wasn't sure I had ever even tasted a plain nectarine.  He immediately sent one of the baggers to pick out a ripe nectarine for me to take home, on the house.  

It was scrumptious.  (And I now think that I may have had a nectarine or two in my life prior to last night.  No more than that, though.)

Okay, so a month of super healthy eating might not seem terrible.  Here's the hard part.  

I have to record it allllllllll.  

Technically this is not part of the outlined plan, but if the entire purpose is to figure out what's causing my body to go haywire, I need to keep track of what I eat and any reactions that occur.  Ugh.  Continuing my reign as Least Introspective Human Alive, I am not naturally inclined to think about my day/life/relationships/whatever and how the various elements affect me.  

In order to make this more enjoyable (and hopefully more motivating), I bought a cute notebook to keep track of everything.  Brand new school supplies have always energized me for new projects.  

Here is an example of today's entry - I list each meal and what I eat/drink at the top.  At the bottom I will list any vitamins or medications that I take and when.  At some point during the day, I aim to jot down any notes of my energy levels, hunger/fullness, and any other strange side effects I experience. 

To save me from listing every ingredient I consume throughout each day, I only write the name of a recipe in the meal log, and I started a separate section in the back of the notebook for ingredients found in each recipe.  Here are the two I've eaten so far today: 

So far, the day has gone pretty smoothly.  I enjoyed the chicken and apple hash for breakfast, and was decently full until lunchtime.  Because dairy is off-limits, I added coconut milk to my coffee this morning (and afternoon).  It's the recommended substitute on the plan.  It doesn't make the coffee especially sweet, but it does lesson the bitterness of black coffee enough for me to stand it. 

I anticipate that time will be the biggest hurdle.  Without fail, I always take at least 4 times the listed amount of time to prepare a recipe.  Lunch today was supposed to take 15 minutes.  It took me 90.  Unless that 90 minutes was determined by dividing it up over the 4 servings I prepared, I am in for a long haul.  The meal was delicious, though, and extremely filing.  And aside from some perspiration (standing over the stove in the middle of the afternoon is not recommended) and two broken nails from the vegetable peeler, day one is thus far successful! 

I will continue to let you know how I feel over the next thirty days.  The website makes very bold claims of how incredibly different people feel after a month of cleaner eating.  I have no doubt that I will hit some bumpy days along the road though.  

On a complete side note: you may have noticed two changes.  1)  I think I have it set now so anyone can comment without logging in to an email account or anything.  Let me know if it isn't working for you.  2)  There are now ads on the side of my blog.  Sorry.  I know, I'm a sellout or whatever.  But hey, just remember that any minute income from those ads goes directly toward the supplies necessary for me to have future blog material.  And toward a sharper vegetable peeler.