Cooking and Happiness

 Looking back over my original “Exploring Happiness” post, this topic would certainly fit with “Exploring Interests" -particularly as I've experienced cooking as a source of as well as an obstacle to happiness. I can't say just how long this cooking post has been "stewing" in my brain, but it's been a while.

I got really into cooking this past summer. There was the wonderful Farmers Market, the higher energy levels that summer weather seems to bring, the fact that Peter was sleeping through the night pretty well during those months (see "Sleep Deprivation Revisited" post), but, most of all, there was this book: Sear, Sauce and Serve by Tony Rosenfeld:

This is my favorite cookbook to date. I liked everything about this cookbook: the mix-and-match philosophy, the author's quirky tips and personal experiences, the exotic “feel” to many of the recipes, and the relative ease with which I could obtain the ingredients and make them. A gift from my mother-in-law, I read it cover-to-cover (who does that with a cookbook?). I looked and re-looked over the recipes, meal-planed almost exclusively from its pages, and even made copious notes in the margins. I was on a roll. The “searing” was working, the “sauces” were delicious, and the “serving” with a starchy side was taking our meals to photograph-worthy status. Here are a couple of meals made during this golden period of cooking:

“To everything there is a season” and that certainly held true here. As my excitement over cooking waned and my freezer increasingly filled with frozen pot pies, I started to wonder what had happened. I had been ready to write “cooking” in glowing letters on my list of interests, and, while I wasn't ready to strike it off completely yet, could someone who'd now hardly cooked a home-made meal in weeks really put it on her list of happiness-inducing hobbies? I think so. Here's why.

Isn't almost any interest or hobby a mixed bag? For instance, I love deciding what pictures and decorative papers will look good together on a scrapbook page, and, even more, I enjoy the finished outcome, but I don't particularly enjoy the tedious cutting and gluing or the ache in my back that follows. I like writing and blogging and seeing my written words on the page, but I'll admit that I enjoy starting the post so much more than finishing it.

You get the idea. Now back to cooking. I can't think of anything more fulfilling at a more basic level than feeding yourself and your family. And the sensory delights abound. It's an activity that's got all 5 senses pretty well covered. I love the sizzle when the meat hits the pan, the fresh smell of cilantro or ginger as you chop it, the bright smoothness of a red bell pepper...and we haven't even got to "taste" yet. The downside? Well, most obviously, there's the mess (the universal bane of home cooks everywhere), the times the meal completely flops (which seems to happen more often than you'd expect in my case -when will I learn to stop trusting Indian recipes with their suggested green chili amounts?), all the burning/under-cooking/forgetting-to-get-the-rice-in-the-rice-cooker-soon-enough drama, and, perhaps worst of all, the general sense of disappointment and waste when something just doesn't turn out as well as you'd have expected -in the absence of any obvious cooking faux paux. I just found this quote from the introduction of The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook by Deb Perelman and had to include it here: "I've noticed the nobody hates cooking as much as they hate the roulette of not knowing if their time, money, and efforts are going to be rewarded by a recipe that exceeds expectations. And I'm no different..."  For me, it's especially bad when I attempt to replicate a dish that someone has served me in the past (e.g. “But I remember your mother's chicken and rice tasting so much better than this”). I also get bogged down with meal planning. Does this sound familiar do anyone?: “I've planned like three whole meals already...isn't that enough for the month?”

It would seem that cooking is indeed a "mixed bag" of good and bad experiences. And yet, looking at cooking -or any other interest for that matter- through the "mixed bag" framework doesn't make a lot of sense to me. After all, are there any activities that I enjoy in their entirety -not to mention 100% of the time? Maybe a healthy dose of realism and perspective is in order. But it's more than that. I don't want to view the bad things in the "cooking bag" as, well, bad. After all, we often learn the most from our failures. Or at least I think we could. I think I could (despite being downright crumby at it  now). In fact, I think that learning to do so is absolutely key to happiness. So I'm on the look-out for ways to really internalize this notion. Maybe a way to mentally re-frame these types of minor failures as a “celebrations of trying?” And here's some more food for thought.  A post a friend made a while back on her blog (http://www.afarewelltocant.com): "The difference between doing nothing and something is huge; the difference between doing something imperfectly and perfectly? Not so huge." There's a great accompanying graphic with that goes with this idea:

Is the “bad” always so “bad” when it comes to pursuing interests? What I mean is, would I feel nearly so proud of my scrapbook had I not put in all the time gluing and pasting? Would I get the same thrill when a recipe turned out well if all of my attempts were shining successes? And, what's more, don't we find all kinds of opportunities for humor and narration precisely from our failures? The time I made inedible-ly, spicy-hot Indian nut soup on two consecutive occasions certainly gives me me a story to tell.

One final thought on cooking. Cooking is special in that, unlike other hobbies that can generally be put on the shelf for long periods of time (e.g. scrapbooking) cooking is a daily necessity and therefore also a chore. So I've been thinking about ways to keep cooking more on the interest side of that line and less on the chore side. "Out-to-eat-Fridays" is one idea I really like. Lobster diners are not necessary -an $8 take n' bake pizza or a $6 box of take-out from Wok on Wheels will suffice. I also like the idea of having a simple but healthy schedule for meal planning during my not-so-into-cooking phases...but more on that to come.

Sleep Deprivation Revisited

People warn you that having a baby will change your world. And it's true. Within the first year, you find that you have adjusted to your baby in oh-so-many ways. The way you travel (or don't), the way you spend time with friends (again, or don't), they way you spend your days, the way you interact with your spouse, the way you shop, decorate, plan, and think. And let's not forget the way your clothes are always stained. However, not all these changes are bad or even unwanted. For instance, playing “Chase Peter” with Dave in the evenings is a huge improvement on watching Netflix (ok, so we still watch Netflix). And even the less-welcome adjustments are accomplished in a relatively short period of time; e.g. by the time baby #2 comes along, I'll already be pretty used to the fact that it takes twice as long to get out the door to go anywhere, that making it through a three-hour church block becomes akin to winning a “Survivor” challenge -just to give a couple of examples.

So why the urgent warning? What's the one adjustment that you just never really adjust to? I'm sure you've guessed it. Sleep deprivation. I'm not talking about the kind of sleep deprivation I experienced in college --you know the hardly-sleep-during-finals-but-then-go-home-on-vacation-and-crash kind. I'm talking about sleep deprivation of the chronic variety. I'm convinced that this type of sleep deprivation takes a toll on memory-making ability because most of last winter is a blur to me. To illustrate, at a friend's Christmas party this weekend I asked Dave, “What did we do with Peter at this party last year? Was he upstairs in his pac-n-play?” A moment later I realized just how absurd that was. Pac-n-play? Last winter Peter didn't even know what a crib was! He was actually in our arms fussing most of the time, but I'd somehow managed to forget that part.

So, memory disclaimer given, I remember things getting quite a bit better when Peter started sleeping in his crib around four months old. There were still the 1-2 nightly feedings though, and weaning him off of those (don't ask me when) was rough. But then...sleep. Marvelous sleep. I'm talking sleeping through the night without interruption more than half of the time. But then, what it is that all the baby books tell you? Just when you think you've got it figured out, everything changes -or something like that? Sometime after Peter learned to walk, we've been treated to regular nightly wake-ups. Again. A couple of times we've forgotten to turn on his space heater and he's woken up with cold little hands and ears, but, usually, we have no idea what his problem is. Is it over-tiredness? Night terrors? Anger at not knowing how to go back to sleep or just wanting to get out and play? Hunger? Inconsistent parenting? -i.e. Sometimes taking Peter out of his crib when he is inconsolable and other times (like last night) turning off the monitor and shutting the door because the exhaustion simply overpowered the guilt? The world may never know.

Now let's add to the mix...wait for it...insomnia. Why already-sleep-deprived people should suffer with insomnia makes zero sense to me. Tossing and turning and thinking, “I should be asleep right now. Now's my chance to sleep. I'll be grumpy if I don't sleep. I should be asleep...” all night long as your mind completely refuses to “turn off.” Again, zero sense. Often insomnia strikes me after a wake-up with Peter, leading my sister-in-law to conclude, “I think your insomnia problem might just be Peter.” Maybe. I hope so. That's got to be at least part of the equation.

I've documented some possible symptoms of sleep deprivation for your amusement.

Possible signs of sleep deprivation:

-A sudden lack of charity towards your spouse: “Fine, I'll get up with him, but you'd better not even think about going back to sleep!”

-Irrational anger: “How could you do this to me?! It's 5:00 and you said you'd be home early!”

-Distorted sense of time: “How can it be 4:05? I swear I looked at the clock half-an-hour ago and it was 4:00?” Or, alternatively, “Wait...two hours have passed since I sat down to mindlessly watch Baby Einstein?!”

-Lethargy: “Looks like Ollie's tearing up a cardboard roll under the table again...I should probably go stop him...but that would involve standing up...”

-Decrease in mental executive functioning: “Now what was it that I was hoping to accomplish today...oh look, a Facebook link to a funny clip..."

To Argue...or Not to Argue

I've been thinking about this topic since the day after the election when I had an FB exchange with a life-long friend (really, friends since pre-K) and it's really got me questioning some things. Here's what happened in a nutshell. She posted a politically-charged post, and I disagreed, saying that I didn't think her comparison was appropriate. She then defended her original post. That was about the end of the political part though as she next stated that she didn't post her opinions because she wanted an argument. Her husband joined in, saying that opinions need not be argued. I quickly came back with an opinion of my own: that opinions absolutely need to be argued. My friend then asked why I hadn't learned my lesson from the last time we'd argued on FB some months ago: that we need to “agree to disagree.” That was the gist of it -from my perspective anyway.

During his lunch break, my husband agreed with my stance. He said that every responsible citizen has a duty to challenge opinions that are extreme or potentially harmful. I agreed. By the time he came home from work late that afternoon though, he'd changed his mind. “You violated Facebook etiquette,” he told me. “On Facebook, you only respond if you are in agreement with the original post.” “But why?!”, I asked, pretty worked-up by this point. “If she didn't want to argue, she could have just never responded to my comment!” “No,” he said, “because by that time you'd put her into a position in which she felt that she HAD to defend her original post.” A little light then turned on somewhere deep in my brain. Oh.

What is it about Facebook? Most of us would never walk into a room full of our friends and say, “Anyone who voted for [fill in the blank] must have an IQ of 30 or lower.” Because, what if one of our friends had, in fact, voted for the particular candidate? Somehow though, walking into a virtual room full of friends and making this same comment seems acceptable. (By the way, this was not my friend's comment -hers was much less insulting- this was just another post that I saw floating around on FB the day after the election.) Should it be acceptable? Maybe in anonymous message rooms where you can masquerade as “2Hot4U243,” but on Facebook? I tend to think not. I tend to now think that on Facebook, it's just too personal.

What then, is the roll of debate? In general? In social networking? These are questions too big for me to answer, but I do have a couple of thoughts. First, my FB offense stemmed from my difficulty in accepting that many people who enjoy boldly posting their opinions do not actually welcome a civil debate. Rather, they are surprised, annoyed or even feel attacked by such a response. Even acknowledging that many people do indeed feel and react this way, I had a hard time...being OK with that. Again, the transformative power of FB. In a face-to-face interaction, if I was getting the vibe that my friend wanted me to drop something, I would drop it pretty quickly. I would be sensitive to her body language and other cues. I would be more concerned about her emotions and more aware of the effects of my words. But that's just it isn't it? FB strips so much of this away.

Another blow was realizing that many of these people who do not want to debate may not understand -or, worse, may misunderstand- MY reasons for welcoming and encouraging debate. A friend of my friend suggested that I was doing it to get attention and to prove my superiority. Another friend of my friend quoted the Book of Mormon scripture about the spirit of contention being of the devil. That really gave me pause. Certainly there is a distinction between being filled with contention and enjoying a debate. But that's not the point. The point is that I would hope people wouldn't make these sort of assumptions about me and that I should, therefore, not make assumptions about their reasons for NOT wanting to debate. For instance, my own husband avoids posting or stating opinionated comments because he doesn't like the constant second-guessing of yourself that follows. Others would simply rather spend their time doing something else. My friend's reasoning seemed to be that debate was pointless; We would never convince each other of anything anyway, so why bother?

I would be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy the competitive element of debate or that feeling of satisfaction that you get when you put a period at the end of a well-articulated thought. But my friend's reasoning made one basic, incorrect assumption. I do not debate primarily because I want to change YOUR opinion; I debate because I want to shape, challenge, and develop my OWN opinions. With some exceptions, I do not view my opinions (particularly my political ones) as the solid and unchangeable pillars that will loyally guide me though the remainder of my life; They are based on my current knowledge, experience, and feelings and are, therefore, subject to change. I want to discover my own biases -my own oversights; I want to question and define my own current opinions, and I have found that the best way to do this is through defending and describing them and listening while others do the same. Why not write my opinions in a journal? you might ask. Or just read a bunch of factual reports or journalistic articles? Because, while these things would be good, I do not believe that they can replace the power or effectiveness of a live debate -particularly with someone you know, love, or respect. It's when my sister-in-law explains how her experiences working in a clinic opened her eyes to a whole host of issues that I hadn't even considered. It's when my brother tells about how his first-hand interactions with others led to a change of heart on a particularly sensitive topic. It's when a FB friend calmly explains why they feel the way they do. These are the things you remember. These are the things that open up your heart and mind to whole new possibilities.

Second, I do believe there is a time to “call it quits” --when feelings are getting hurt, someone specifically requests it, relationships are being damaged, or if it just gets too late to think straight anymore (mind you, I do not always abide by this conviction nearly as well as I should). However, just because you have decided to call a truce on a particular topic or discussion, writing that person off from all future debate, discussion, and compromise seems like a mistake to me; It's an easy enough one to make though in the current political climate (“Oh you're a republican/democrat?...We're done talking”). How can this be a good attitude on Facebook or in Washington? In fact, this extreme polarization along party lines is an issue that concerns me more than the fiscal cliff, more than our broken healthcare system (and that's saying something), more than almost any modern-day political issue. Because, let me wax idyllic here, if we could come together in open, honest, respectful and heart-felt discussion and compromise -acknowledging that we don't know it all and need each others' ideas- I like to think we could work through most any problem. I like to think that.

Pinterest-ing -or Not

To be clear, I enjoy Pinterest. I've found a lot of great ideas. Who hasn't? Of course, I've also wasted a whole lot of time on Pinterest but, again, who hasn't? “If I just scroll down a little further, I know I'll find the world's greatest pin...” Because on Pinterest and in the Blog-o-sphere there's always a better way to do...well, everything. From budgeting, to organizing your pantry, to playing with your baby -somebody has thought of a “better” way to do it. And not only are these ideas at the tip of our fingertips, they are in our email, our FB news feed, right smack-dab in our faces.

The other day I decided to expand Peter's sensory horizons via a Pinterest-inspired activity. I filled a tote with cornmeal, some cups and spoons. Peter had fun banging the metal cups, but when it came to the cornmeal, his sole objective seemed to be dumping the tote (he has discovered dumping). So it became a fight --with me trying to get Peter to play in the cornmeal “the right way” and Peter trying to dump the tote. (Oh yeah, and that “put the tote on a beach towel” idea? Why bother? If you try this type of activity, cornmeal will find its way into the deepest recesses of your kitchen. So just plan on it.)

There was nothing wrong with the cornmeal activity. Peter may have been a bit young for it, but maybe I did expand his horizons a bit. It was just that as I wrestled with the tote while simultaneously trying to keep Ollie from devouring all the cornmeal (have I mentioned he's nuts?) and Peter was screaming at me, I couldn't help remembering the previous day's activity of watching Baby Einstein -Baby on the Go and singing along to “The Wheels on the Bus” together. That was easy. That was fun. That felt entirely natural. The problem was, that in my mind, The Baby Einstein watching thing was just the sort of activity that a lazy parent would do -something a not-at-all-creative mom would do to play with her child. While the cornmeal thing was right down awesome-mom-alley. And I realized that was a big part of why I was doing it.

So I'm here today to tell myself that it's okay. Everything I may or may not see on Pinterest is simply someone's suggestion; It is not the best way -it is not even the better way. It's okay to spend more than $200 a month to feed a family of two. It's okay if my pantry is a mess. It's okay to be a “boring” parent. Simply put, it's okay to do things in the way that comes naturally --especially with parenting. And who knows? Maybe it's even the best way.

Exploring Happiness

Reading The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin, I've been inspired to start my own. I'm not going to call it a project though. To me, the word project connotes a daunting, maybe-I'll-do-it-someday kind of task. A project is also something cut-and-dry, something you can check off a do-to list, something you can dissect, quantify, and ultimately understand. I think happiness is bigger than that. Happiness is, at least in part, a matter of the spirit, and therefore contains an element of the metaphysical, the mysterious, the divine. (I'm suddenly picturing the end of How The Grinch Stole Christmas with all the Whos singing and holding hands.) So, rather than accomplishing a project, I'll simply be exploring happiness. I want to really think, experiment, and write. And hopefully, I'll make a few discoveries along the way.

I've come up with 10 areas that I think are relevant to my current happiness: spirituality, relationships, developing a mothering heart, contentment, kindness, humor, remembering the good, replacing unhappy thoughts, and exploring interests. I'll focus on one each month (I meant to post this on the first of the month). Maybe I should have included an “overcoming procrastination” goal. :) There is also a conspicuous lack of a health-related goal, although I believe strongly in its importance. Maybe it just seemed like too much of a given to be interesting. But it may find its way to the list eventually (note: all things subject to change). And for the last area, exploring interests, I'll actually be tackling one interest per month (e.g. cooking for August, poetry recitation for September, etc.), culminating in the final month.

I also want to periodically post about sources of happiness and obstacles to happiness. Like I was getting at above, I think happiness is big and complex and can't be boiled down to a simple list of “good” and “bad.” But I want to explore (there's that word again) these experiences (e.g. What is it about shopping that makes me happy? Why is having a dog worth cleaning up the cat-poo-throw-up mess? Why do I often leave social events feeling sad? Etc.)

And finally, unlike Rubin, while I don't feel the need to justify the value of this endeavor (I think that “man is that he might have joy” and think most people would agree), I do feel the need to spend a moment on sadness. My goal here is not to eliminate sadness to attain a forced, inauthentic, but constant, level of “happiness.” After all, there is “a season to weep” as well as to laugh. And these not-so-happy feelings represent a valid piece of my emotional make-up. (I love when Gandalf tells the hobbits at the end of Return of the King, “Not all tears are an evil.”) I'm hoping to make some distinctions between the sorrows that are natural and, yes, good, and the unpleasant emotions I trap myself in simply out of habit or because that type of downward spiral has become the path of least resistance. I feel convinced -or at least hopeful- that I can retrain some of those patterns. That I can find ways -from the simple to the profound- to be happier now. And isn't that what everyone wants? So let's start exploring.The good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful, the real. Ready, set,...go!

The Stuff of Parenthood: On Baby-proofing and Beyond -or Not

So we finally put up the stair gate. It took Dave a couple hours of chopping (with a hand saw) and some creative reconstructive surgery (not to mention purchasing a dremel) but it's up.





And now downstairs is pretty safe --as long as we keep the bathroom and pantry doors shut (storing Ollie's food in the pantry was our solution to that particular dog/baby dilemma) and so long as Peter doesn't figure out how to open the kitchen cabinets... Okay. So we've barely begun.

This morning I decided to let Peter play upstairs with me while I blow-dryed my hair (instead of letting it dry into the wild formations that it normally does). Peter was interested in two things: Ollie's kennel and the bathtub. The kennel wasn't such a big deal -although we will someday have to teach Peter that it is not in fact his own personal cave- but the tub was.


You see that little step that Peter would delightedly stand on, and then, not knowing how to climb off, would try to sit back on? You see my attempt to cushion the tile? You see my further attempt to block off the area entirely using our loveseat? (Who has a loveseat in their bedroom? I know.) Well, it worked. Except that then Peter discovered my nightstand and in the whole of two seconds (while I was trying to coax a terrified Ollie out from behind the loveseat - see my post on One Good Way to Traumatize Your Dog) he had managed to slice his fingers on it (you know that thing babies do where they put one hand inside the drawer and then slam it shut with the other?) yeah...


So, it starts feeling like a losing battle. But then, maybe that actually describes a lot of what goes down in parenting. And maybe all parents experience that ever-present voice in the back back of their minds saying, "your baby will self-destruct in five, four, three, two..." Then again, it could just be me.

One Good Way to Traumatize Your Dog. Oops.

We have officially given Ollie a phobic disorder. How did we do it? Starvation? Abandonment? Neglect? No. We did it goofing around with my exercise ball.





Looks innocent enough, right? But now imagine being Ollie's size (< 20 lbs) with this thing chasing you down the stairs at full speed. He must have felt like Indiana Jones in that famous rolling-ball scene. Now just the sight of this thing sends him into paroxysms of fear. I pulled it out to distract Peter while blow-drying my hair this morning (see my post Baby-proofing and Beyond -or Not) and Ollie ran for his life. I found him cowering in the tiny space between the toilet and the wall, trembling visibly. And I wouldn't describe Ollie as a particularly fearful dog. Heck, he used to jump up and try to bite "red ball" (which really was a funny sight - Ollie trying to open his mouth wide enough to get a grip on the thing) back in the day when we used it all the time (no, not for exercise, not for tormenting puppies, but for endlessly bouncing a colicky Peter -much to the detriment of our backs). So we've really done a number on Ollie this time. The only upside is that he won't go near the guest room when we store the exercise ball in there. And the only question remaining is how many long years of psychological therapy will it take to undo the damage? That, and, if this experience is any sort of indicator, who now thinks we are mature enough to be parents? Anyone? Anyone?...