1. How it’s going with the gluten.

First of all, I’d like to say that the word gluten sounds sort of slimy and gross. It sounds like it means little globs of Elmer’s in your food. This visual might help you stop eating gluten if you ever need to.

Not wheat. Wheat is a nice word, soothing and delicious. It sounds like a question. Who, what, where, when, why, and wheat. Like something from shakespeare: “From wheat did you come, good sir?”

So that’s why I’m on a gluten-free diet, rather than just cutting out wheat. It’s important to be scientific about these things.

As for how it’s going? I feel at least 75% better on this diet. It’s hard to quantify because really I don’t know how bad I’ve been feeling. I don’t know what normal digestive systems are supposed to feel like. But this feels pretty awesome.

Twice I’ve tried eating some bread, just to see what would happen. And both times I regretted it so. much. But I had to do it, had to know if I really had the resolve to give up some of my favorite foods. After one slice of pizza and the excitement that followed: yes. Yes I do have the resolve.

I keep thinking it would be funny to post my recipes for you every week, and see how long it takes the internet to notice that the recipes are exactly the same. I only eat like four different things. But! They are yummy and it takes away the hassle of having to think about what to make. I hate thinking about food. Food and I didn’t get along for decades. Now we are forming a fragile alliance involving peanut butter, rice, and corn tortillas.

Here is a typical day:

Breakfast:
bacon (the fancy uncured/no nitrate kind, freshly cooked by Kevin, whom I love very much on account of he cooks me all the bacon)
fruit
water
OR a handful of cashews because I’m too busy to eat and too stupid to remember that people who don’t eat don’t get things done good.

Lunch:
a baked potato
some kind of little salad
coke or unsweet tea

Dinner:
lean organic/hippie-raised ground beef mixed with organic salsa
1 avocado
brown rice
maybe some refried beans
shredded cheese
steamed corn tortillas
water to drink

Indulgent snack:
peanut butter (the kind that’s just peanuts and a little salt is my favorite)
hippie cocoa crispies
some brown sugar
all stirred together in a bowl. Then I eat it and pretend it is raw cookie dough.

That’s it. That’s all I eat. Oh sometimes the dinner is all stuffed inside a bell pepper instead of a tortilla, or instead of a potato I’ll eat french fries — but those are lamely subtle variations.

I’ve learned how to eat out. After the whole big thing with Pappasito’s I learned to be quiet. Never EVER announce your dietary restrictions at a chain restaurant unless you are feeling lonely and would like some attention from everyone who works there. Now I just use common sense about what I can and can’t eat, err on the side of caution if I have a lot of stuff to do that day, and go on with my meal like a regular non-freak person.

I’m not calling YOU a freak if you have dietary restrictions. No no! Of course not! I’m just saying that people who don’t are not freaks. See the difference?

So we still go out, only instead of a sandwich I get grilled chicken and steamed vegetables and you’d think I’d be super skinny now but no. Turns out all that crap about exercise really means something.

Oh and! I think I know why I was so sick with both pregnancies. What do you eat when you have morning sickness? A cracker or piece of toast.

So yeah. Fuck gluten.

2. Should I go back to the doctor and report and get a bunch of tests that tell me I can’t eat gluten?
I am tempted to blow it off since I’m doing so well on this diet and no matter what the test results say, the treatment is going to be the same. And I don’t really fit the Celiac profile. Plus — and this is petty — I’m pretty frustrated with the medical field right now. The idea of not going back for a long time sounds awesome.

Then again, it would be interesting to find out if I have Celiac Disease because it can cause other things I’ve had (migraines, fertility problems, chronic crankiness, poor taste in music…) and because we might need to have the boys tested if I do have it.

2. I found a printing company near me.
I feel so guilty when I get to the part where I have to tell the other printers that I didn’t choose them. It makes me want to somehow come up with other print jobs just so I can not make them feel bad. The two it came down to were both so SO nice. I really wanted to use them both, but finally went with the one who has a 100% guarantee and avoids exposing their employees to dangerous horrible chemicals. And it didn’t hurt that the owner of the company came to my house and was friendly to my kids, who show off for company like circus performers.

Whenever a new person comes here — the UPS lady or the building manager or one of my millions of boyfriends or whatever — I greet them at the door. The dog barks to let me know that I just opened the door. Then, while I’m standing there talking to the person, Nicolaus walks up behind me very quietly and holds up his pet bird. He doesn’t say anything because he’d prefer if people would notice and say nice things about her all on their own.

Then Graham walks up wearing minimal clothing and earnestly tells the person, “Just so you know. I’m really good at karate.” It comes off half-brag, half threat.

Then Nicolaus tells the person, “I am rich. I have a lot of gold. I found an 18 karat gold locket at the post office? On the floor? And then another time my mama? Found an earring and she was like pfff that’s probably fake and worthless but I? Picked it up? And it is REAL. Gold. And I also have this nugget? Thing? But it’s not solid gold. It’s just like copper or something, and it’s plated. With gold. I guess I have a lot of gold.” He’s started doing that six year old thing? Where every statement? Ends with a British question mark? I think its purpose is to keep you hanging on their story.

Then Graham says, “You want to see a karate move?”

Then Graham does a sort of violent pirroutte.

Then Nicolaus adds, “I also have a genuine Indian arrowhead…”

And then Graham grabs onto my skirt and acts shy and embarrassed.

“… and I also have an actual BULLET. From. the. Civil. War. Can you believe that a little six year old? Like just a KID would have a real bullet?”

And Graham starts spinning in circles next to me.

“…AND we entered a contest to win a life size statue that is a copy of a soldier from the real, actual terra cotta army. From China. And if we win it? I am going to put it in my room.”

More spinning.

“See my bird?”

In between all of this, I conduct business with the nice person and sign things and answer questions and don’t even bother pretending that my life isn’t completely weird.

3. Now I need to hustle and sell like $2000 worth of stuff in the next 30 days so I can pay for all of the printing I just ordered. So uh… tell your friends to buy some prints, see?

4. YES. The invitation to SciFoo turned out to be really real.
Kevin and I refer to it as the smart people conference. I can’t wait to meet all the smart people so I can personally thank them for coming up with steam-in-the-bag vegetables. Finally! After centuries of working on it, you guys figured out a way to use steam for something that makes life easier.

Is there anything else you’d like me to pass along to the smart people? Or questions you have for them? Lay it on me, and I’ll personally deliver it.

There’s a rhythm to it all. Then we try to do one too many things and everything starts to wobble, then the waves all multiply and suddenly? instead of nice even beats we are surrounded by horrible white noise. It’s like when the washing machine is unbalanced and you run to fix it before it whomps all over the laundry room or explodes or something. No, not like that.

I’m trying to explain how our life gets so stressed and messy and cranky but then we fix it.

The week got better. I think I found a print company, my gross coughing cold improved, we were able to ship giant amounts of stuff to Uncommon Goods, and the dog only peed in the house twice. Three times if you count the one right in front of the door while I looked for his leash. I’m bad at putting things in the same place all the time.

But that’s all logistics and background noise. The kids are the real drummers around here. I went to sleep Tuesday night feeling worried and disturbed by their persistent unhappiness. What are we doing wrong? Are our kids truly that miserable? Or are they that spoiled and unappreciative of the fantastic life that they lead? Do we need to sell everything and go build a straw hut somewhere become a family of onion farmers so that they will learn to be happy? Will banks even approve a loan on a piece of land if you tell them your house will be a little hut made of straw? And mud too, for insurance reasons.

The answer wasn’t that deep or complicated. They needed attention from us was all. We’d been sick and busy doing boring grownup stuff for two days, plus tense and overwhelmed and what do you know? Kids pick up on stuff like that.

So Wednesday I was determined to make the day not suck. Before Kevin left for work we ate breakfast outside in the courtyard. As he left he said, “Try to have a good day.”
I still had the cold and I still had orders to fill, but I made a real point to stop and sit down and make eye contact with each boy. We talked on purpose. And my gosh they have a lot to talk about. We ran errands all afternoon and did our schooling for the day whilst driving.

The car is a great classroom by the way. If you ever homeschool, try carschooling once in awhile. Because there is so much to look at and talk about out those windows. There are signs, people, birds, cars, trees, and the sky to inspire your lessons. Plus your kids are strapped to something and can’t get away. At home that’s considered child abuse. Did you know that?

Anyway, we did math in the car “25 Vogon ships are attacking on the left! Four more coming up on the right! How many missiles do I need to load? That’s right, 29! Okay, I destroyed six of them — how many are still attacking? REPORT!”

And they report the answers while I load missiles and fire them. This goes on until Graham starts averting the actual math component of the game by saying “A million a million Vogon ships just appeared! We can’t count them all, we have to escape!”

Punk.

Thursday was even better. I was less sick, my packing and shipping was going better. The house was still trashed – we resolved to clean it this weekend. Kevin grilled a lovely meal for us all. Days are so much nicer when we all eat lunch together. Then I packed and shipped 200 sets of flash cards, finished in plenty of time to take the boys for a walk and a trip to the playground before bed.

Then we had a Friday. I could breathe without coughing! And I promised the boys no more packing orders for the whole day. That’s hard for me; if there are more than a couple of orders in my inbox I feel compelled to fill them. But! I promised.

Instead the three of us rearranged the furniture in our apartment and watched all the movies we found hidden in the couch. We own Milo and Otis? Wow! And behind the couch – oh my god – it was like a whole garage sale’s worth of stuff back there.

It was a messy, sweaty day spent shoving heavy furniture around and looking at it today I can see that this arrangement isn’t ideal but oh well. The change feels good.

And now it’s the weekend. The weather is nice, we have no annoying obligations. Just two whole days to clean up and rest and get ready for the week.