The Great Carrot Escape

                                                                        

    He was a mere 4 years old, I should have expected it, really. Let me start again. In a sunny California town tucked into the foothills of Mt. Diablo, just an hour outside of San Francisco, in a colorful and loud house was the place I was raising my three children. I hadn’t planned on moving away from Canada forever when we left in 2009, it just kind of worked out that way. Life has a knack for placing you where you ought to be. I disliked the dark winters in Canada. I despise cold weather and grey skies, I blamed them for my foul mood and depression, however the reality was, I was lost. It was not until I moved, with my husband and first child, to California, that I began to reckon with who I was. It might have been the distance between my old life and the new possibilities that changed me, or the gurgling and cooing baby that brought me immense joy, or the astounding resilience of surviving life as a whole, up until this point. Either way, I was in California, it was warm, the husband left, but not before making a few more kids. That is really where this all starts. I was now a single mom of three kids, and my youngest son was 4.

    Ivan came into this world ready for battle. I think he had armor on in utero, or perhaps it was simply his fiery Aries nature he exuded with bravado. When he was only a year old he became deserving of the nickname Baby-Smash because he had taken it upon himself to be the sole proprietor of smashing all-the-things, which made him extraordinarily hard to love for his siblings. Luckily for Ivan he was also born with two perfectly placed dimples on either cheek which he seemed to understand how to utilize from a very early age. Within moments of destroying his siblings perfectly built Lego, he would somehow be alive. That says a lot about Ivan. As much as his smashing would commandeer anger and frustration, his sweet smile diffused detonation of retaliation, almost all the time.

    As time went on, and Ivan gained vocal skills, the smashing of all-the-things, morphed into a voyage of articulate rebuttals. If a thing was considered good by Ivan standards, we were in the all-clear. If a thing was deemed not-good, it was in fact garbage in his eyes, and garbage goes in the garbage can. I would often hear loud remarking of a meal gone dreadfully wrong and deserving its trashy grave in the garbage can. In the early years, most things were deemed garbage if they were not screen-time, goldfish crackers, or yogurt with honey drizzled on top. You see, being a mom is a code word for short-order cook. All day long there are grumpy growing, grumbling, gremlins, who look just like you and chase you around asking for more food but hating almost everything you make. It can be quite demoralizing. One redeeming quality about this time in life is that it taught me astounding resilience to criticism.

    In my unshakable glory I was preparing a steak and mashed potato dinner for my three young, precious, budding, creative, beaming lights of joy. As I called for my sweet loves to join me at the table to reveal the delicacy I was presenting for dinner, I heard joyful cheers from two kids, which in itself felt like I had championed the day as a whole. It was not until the third child, the boy, with the dimples, the green eyes and the fiery words saw the steak-which was garbage of course- revealed his declaration of displeasure, that I began to loosen my resolve. The mighty King had spoken, and this delicacy deserved nothing more than a nose to the sky and a turn of the heels away, far away, from the dinner table. Because I am such a resilient mother, I think I mentioned that right, I used all my motherly skills to summon said child back to the dinner table. I recited to my dear sweet child that indeed this would be the dinner he would be eating that night. After some loud exchanges between us, it was clear that my sweet young child had no intentions of eating his steak nor his potatoes. It was at that point I brought out my own fiery bravado and informed Ivan he would be sitting at the table until he ate his dinner. Did I mention he is an Aries? Ivan was up for the challenge. He watched us eat our dinner. He watched us clean up our dinners. He watched us walk away, which turned his dinner into more of a quiet time away from us.

    In the solitude of this moment, my sweet little fire breather felt particularly imaginative. I love that about him. He first began to imagine a way out of this horrid situation he found himself in. He certainly couldn’t just eat his dinner, not Ivan, not today! Ivan got so imaginative he created his get-away plan, and it was fool proof. First, he quietly snuck and got an orange Crayola marker. Next, he feverishly colored his arms, face, hands, and legs, any exposed skin of his would be marked with this gorgeous new hue. Next, he would become very quiet as to allow himself to evolve into a carrot. At that point, the moment he shifts from human form into carrot form, he will no longer be detectable by me or any mere human, and he will be able to roll himself out of the house and escape the tyranny of this awful predicament.

    As I walked around the corner from my kitchen to the dining room, I saw markings, many distinct markings. When I called Ivan’s name and he turned his face to look at me; I was shocked. His face was placid. His eyebrows held high, his lips relaxed, he was holding as still as possible to see if his plan had worked. Would I be able to detect his completed metamorphosis into the carrot form? His face was not as perfectly colored orange as I am sure he believed it was. In fact, around his eyes were just a few misshapen circles, some random circular and oval patterns on his cheeks and a little Crayola had made its way into his blonde hair. For a moment I looked at him, then the silence was broken with simultaneous laughter as we both could not contain ourselves another moment. The great carrot escape plan ruined; the beginnings of creative genius had begun.

Katie Vaino

on forgiveness

 on forgiveness

Maybe forgiveness is softly spoken in, "I'm sorry" 

or mixed into cookie dough and new memories.

But when did I edge my way out of the joy?

What did I sacrifice until I succumbed?

I heard echo's of words trying to be spoken,

the great Siren's song, luring me to the shore.

The barnacle covered crags of my weather worn heart,

too tattered a thing to endure.

But her bosom was soft,

and I needed that.

Satiate my wounds, cloak me in things that sparkle,

things that remind me of the stars I am born out of.

He said, "The dead are done with their declarations" (Radar)

I heard, "What words have I yet to live? What memories have I yet to create?

What papers have I yet 

 to honor my soul in?

Lend to me just another moment, just another chance,

to shed my unbearable truths and show you how I used to shine.

Before all of this, my sparkle was bright.

Before all of this. Before I would fight.

Before, the dust swirled and danced, melded and molded

and formed, into me.

Let us add the eggs, the butter, the sweet

sugar. Let us make something new.

Let it taste as good as it feels

...to forgive.

Katie Vaino

Works cited

Radar, Dean "History", www.kenyonreview.org,

 https://kenyonreview.org/kr-online-issue/2017-julyaug/selections/dean-rader-763879/

The Cabin

 The Cabin

Okanogan Lake

Queela's nose aflame, intoxicated by the first scent of that sweet lake air.

A tepid afternoon would break with the cracking of lightening before the first rumbles of thunder trembled through the valley.

We would witness the dark clouds roll in, majestically, bringing with them whipping waves, turning our peaceful lake into a torrid body of water, white caps crested on each wave and the wind sprayed cascades of water across the sky.

It was in these moments I would rush to the water, with my siblings, screaming with excitement to ride the wild storm.

I felt free in those waves, I felt alive.

It was holy.

Katie Vaino

Katie Vaino 2020, honoring my mother.

Mother Mountain

Mother Mountain

On the trail We become,

Wanderer,

Remembering the grace shared by the ever changing faces Mountain reveals.

Two feet do not fail me.

Our hearts endure trepidation, to ascend the deep roots carved into a mountain.

The mountain simply holds us, our becoming, in the heavy fallible parts diluted with sweat and tone.

Laughter overcomes,

Complete awestruck,

To witness with our own eyes the vast views only achieved by honing our inner strength.

It is moments on the mountain we earn by loving her so.

Katie Vaino

Grandma's House

 Grandma’s House

 

 

The long driveway, barking banter, the arrival

Gumboots awaiting our growing feet in every size

Container’s, saved and waiting, ready for the journey to the swamp

The long walk, which spot first? 

The barren lands of the fire-pit?

The cold-room, to shuffle aside preserved foods to find a salamander.

The smell of musky earth and Grandpa’s old tools.

The barn, sawdust piled to the sky. 

Flinging our hearts first.

The pond. 

Unbroken waters.

Eyes gleaming, a croak,

A flicker of a water skeeters gliding gracefully, skillfully across the expanse

Water beetles bobbing to the top, swift with the net

Hello sweet dragonfly larva, chomping at the bit to devour another tadpole

Frog jellies, wiggling beans, laugher and giggles

A garter snake, a prized catch, we holler to the gods at this conquest

Grandma addled the eggs, mother goose is away

The bell chimes, our voices are named, summoned from another land.

Time for dinner.

That old smelly bar of soap, rinsing swap smell off small curious hands.

Beets, pickled beets, Grandmas pickled beets.

Fresh rolls, the fork hits the plate

The crickets play their nightly serenade

The clock ticks, the bumble-berry crumble served hot, the ice-cream melts quickly

Hungry eyes devour the sight while waiting for the last to be served. Begin.

She makes tea, earl grey

The murmur of adults at the table.

Just enough light to take one more journey outside

The cats start arriving, not intending to be the dessert of coyotes

The Earth here holds childhood

Sinking into the mud

Settling into the soft breeze

Nestled into the trees.

 

Katie Vaino

 

 

Worthy of Beauty

Worthy of Beauty

        It was a cracking in my skull, as if someone had thrown me against a cement wall, that woke me up on March 10th 2019. It was a morning like most mornings over the previous few years I had awoken to. Around five o’clock the previous night, the first bottle would pop, or the first shots of vodka would hit my glass, and it was numbing time. At first, it was just meant to take the edge off, the edge off of being a single mom. The edge off of being alone. The edge off of being far away from my family, and what felt like a Universe away from my best life. I was angry, I was sad, and each glass I poured took me further and further away from the truth I desperately wanted to be a dream, my current life.

     I couldn’t understand at the time why God would expect me to be able to handle raising three kids on my own. My best shot would be to find a partner, but who would want a used up, mom of three, who could barely hold herself together each day? These words created the sad Universe I had developed for myself, not one full of hope and wonder, but one where self sabotage and escape had ruled the decision making for the majority of the previous few years. It was somewhat criminal, the kind of hell I would put myself through, and in many respects it is a million miracles and God who kept me alive during those years. 

 

     It was a small wonder, that this particular morning and this particular headache were the last I was willing to endure. There was just the right amount of self hate and physical anguish that shifted me in a new direction.  There are moments where God shows up in a whisper, in a decision that is different from others, and in this moment on this morning, I chose to never wake up with this pain again. I promised myself on this particular morning, that I would never drink again, and in fact, I would lead my life in a direction of self love. God cracked through the headache and heartache that morning, to give me a glimpse of something new.

 

     Giving up my addiction to numbing pain meant that I had to start to feel it. No one really prepares you for this brutal truth, and it takes on a new level of learning how to survive the pain of life. Rather than numbing my pain while harming my body, now I was healing my body and spirit, but letting the pain of my past exist. I opened up the shadows I had so faithfully drank away, and held space for them to hurt. Memories of my childhood started to flood in, and I began the long and never ending journey of shadow work. Shadow work is when we turn towards the things we so desperately want to avoid because they cause us a degree of pain. Healing is extraordinarily messy. Even messier than the hungover woman with the cracking headache. 

 

     I placed my healing in newness. Rather than my typical choices of drinking and dancing, I instead spent endless hours roaming Mount Diablo with my mountain sisters. We poured our hearts out on the mountain, and the mountain, unphased and unchanged by our outpouring, held space for our healing. The mountain, and my sisters, began to raise a new woman. We would hike, regardless of weather, to reach new summits,  discover waterfalls and explore new trails. We paused along each journey to simply take in the wonder of how impossibly beautiful this mountain, and life truly are. On many occasions we would stop at Twin Peak’s to marvel at the sunset and how our lives were changing, hear the wind howl through the canyon and whisk through our hair. I felt so alive, I felt like I could spread my wings and take flight, flight into the life I truly wanted. It was in these moments that I was shedding a skin of weathered and worn pain, and freeing myself of burdens I had held onto, unknowingly. 

     Right around the celebration of my first year of sobriety, I read an essay written by Cheryl Strayed from her book tiny beautiful things. In this essay, Strayed writes to her former self, “One hot afternoon during the era in which you've gotten yourself ridiculously tangled up with heroin, you will be riding the bus and thinking what a worthless piece of crap you are when a little girl will get on the bus holding a string of two purple balloons. She’ll offer you one of the balloons, but you won’t take it because you believe you no longer have a right to such tiny beautiful things. You’re wrong. You do.”. I read this essay three times in a row. In these words Cheryl Strayed expressed something so undeniably true that nothing could prevent the waves of tears that would release each time I turned my gaze back at the page. What Strayed reminded me of is how I turned away from loving myself all those years, not believing I was worthy of living a full, beautiful, abundant life. But I was wrong. I do. 

 

     Each day that I wake up, headache free, ready to live my best life, I remember the whispers of God that morning. That I deserve to wake up feeling free, feeling strong and alive, feeling worthy of all the tiny beautiful things life has to offer me. My life was not meant to be a constant stream of sad stories and torn apart memories. My life is meant for me to fully show up into the woman who not only survived all the hard things, but flourished because of the way she grew from them. 

 

Works cited:

Strayed, Cheryl. Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on love and life from Dear Sugar. New York. Vintage Books Original, 2012.

 

A love story, one year of sobriety

In celebration of my first full year sober I wrote this essay. I hope it touches your heart, and opens a floodgate to deep self love and compassion for your individual, gorgeous, journey in life. Love Katie

I Chose Me, Finally.

I sat there, the moment was slow, my belly felt the churning of anxiety, my heart felt the sinking sensation
of defeat, and I realized I have found myself in the leading role of another toxic romantic relationship.
You see, I was married for 9 years to a man who I first believed was one of the kindest, gentlest humans
who I had ever met. I believed I was safe, I believed he loved me, and I believed when things began to
change that it was somehow my fault. This pattern of finding myself at fault is a common thread, one
taught to me by my mother, and my mother’s mother. I believe we, the strong women, all women,  want
so badly to see the good in other people that we make it almost impossible in our minds for them to harm
us, and therefore we find a need to internalize blame in order to try and redeem others peoples failing
qualities. 

When I met my husband, I knew on our first date that he was the man I would marry. I could see myself
living a long beautiful life with him. I fantasized about the beautiful children we would make together,
and the fulfilling life it would be. I played out this fantasy so much that when darkness started to arise in
the relationship, red flags which were more like burning bridges, became background noise to my ever
present image of the perfect life I had seen in my mind. It was during this time that I stopped fully
accepting reality and became much more interested in fiction, because fiction was safe and reality was
not. Little did I realize this is what trauma does to us, this is how we cope.

It would be many years of living in this ever evolving fantasy mixed with reality. I learned to be a
professional people pleaser in hopes I could shift the reality more towards my fantasy. If I was a better
person, he would be kinder. If I made the house cleaner, he would be more relaxed. If I was more fit, he
would find me more attractive. If I created a wonderful social life for us, he would have friends. Little
by little, I lost pieces of myself. Like watching the flowers wilting on a rose, trimmed from her stem to
simply enjoy her beauty, I withered without my connection to my essential source, myself.

When the marriage ended I remained the wilted rose. Full of shame, left alone with three very young
children, in a Country that was not my own. I began to drink so that the paid didn't always feel so painful.
You see when I pressed the bottle to my lips, oftentimes I would find a smile, a lover, a wild night of
movement and joy and the feeling full aliveness. The next day the aliveness was gone. The lover had left.
The dance was over. It was me, in my pain, in my illusions, full of hopelessness.

On one particular night of quenched thirst and aimless swaying on the dance floor, he grabbed my
hand. I looked at him, his beautiful dark skin, deep eyes, full lips, strong shoulders and towering
figure. I was butter. That night turned into weeks, then months of laughter and dancing and child like
joy. But then one day, there was a shadow, and that shadow began to grow. I started to see the same
darkness I once had experienced with my ex husband, and I started trying to rationalize evil deeds,  again.
I found how I must be at fault, how I deserved this treatment, and ultimately stepped into the same
feelings of unworthiness I had finally escaped. From one lion's mouth to the next, I was gripped by my
jugular. You see, when my heart gets involved, I lose all rationale. 

My next move was to run. I began to avoid, block, delete, and yet the lion would find me again. I was
the prey that was bleeding out, leaving a trail for my hunter. A part of me wanted to be hunted and a part
of me wanted to be free. There was something intoxicating his hunt, there was something I craved about
being wanted, even by the exact thing that would kill me. I had to accept that deep down in my being, I
had needed this to happen again. I needed the push to choose a different path, that did not lead me back
to the lions den.

It was a morning in March, after a late night bender of bad decisions and blood poisoning that I looked
in the mirror, at the sweet girl that had her heart broken too many times. I looked at her with so much
love, so much sadness, so much desire to help her change, and I promised her I would not drink again. I
promised her that together we would feel all the feelings that we kept escaping from. I promised her that
this would be the last morning waking up with the headache that claimed the full day in bed, and the
piercing pain of hiding her greatness in bad decisions. This would be the day that self sabotage was no
longer an option. I chose me, finally.

Katie Vaino March 10 2020

Whole Hearted

The gift of age is my soul reminding me gently I have a limited amount of time here. I have been trusted with the task to again tackle the deep seeded roots of pain that this life has chosen for me. My task is to love. To be of service to others.

Through deep healing and peeling away each layer I am scratching the surface of the magnitude of power we each have winthin.

I have prayed for healing. I have prayed for release of pain. I have fantasized about a strong goddess, unapologetic person who is capable of every dream....lead with deep purpose that is truly meaningful. I have dreamt of what it is like to matter greatly, to effect positive change and hold the hands of those who want to see a better us. A safe space to lay our truth out and sift through the confusion until we can see, ahhh...it was always love all along. I am love. And then I realized, I am that woman.

To live with our whole heart.  This takes massive courage. I have learned that my biggest challenge is fear and holding myself back from living from a place of joy. I have come from a place rooted in pain, a place where my roots became rotten and no matter the spiritual growth I experienced, I was still coming from a shallow base that couldn't connect to the abundance awaiting me.

I grew new roots. I found my roots in my friends, my spiritual leaders, my mentor, my teachers, my children, the teachers of the past and present. The seekers who look for a deeper truth, a deeper meaning in life. A sense of purpose and an understanding we are spiritual beings who posses a body but we are not this body. I found abundance in the source, the soul feeding waters we can replenish ourselves in. The kind of love and support that gives me the power to see my potential, to take the leap of believing in myself. To see myself as others see me. I have been guided by angels, living in the form of people, of animals, of rich culture, of fresh air and the natural beauty of the forest. The ever reliable movement of the waves and the gentle hug of the breeze.

My vibration is strong and it use to attract wanted and unwanted energy. It was a magnet to all things. It was not until I realized my value, the respect I deserve...that if you want my time you must value me, be a trustworthy person, a person of integrity...and I will be that in return. If these basic agreements cannot be made, then I will not give you the gift of my time. From making these agreements within myself I have watched people fall away and new ones arrive. The intention has been made.

My daughter was born suffering. Her eyes revealed it all. I saw her pain and felt I had failed her. I saw so many tears and from birth she would look at me screaming and hurting. I wondered why God would give me, a broken woman at the time, a child who so badly needed her own spiritual healing. How would I ever be enough to help her rise up above this place. No one could touch her, or look at her besides me. She would burst out screaming if her Dad tried to hold her to give me a rest. She couldn't sleep...this went on past a year. She is now 7 and has made leaps into divinity of her power. She is my living angel. It occurred to me today that her witnessing my deep healing is a part the story of her life. From my own healing I am able to support her from a new place of compassion and strength. She is the most powerful being I have ever met and perhaps my deepest purpose in my lifetime is to help her see her own magnitude. Rise up my child, my sister, my teacher my goddess, my mother....for you are all things.

The piece of advice I will leave you with today is show your children your growth. As I was packing them up to leave for school and hustle into our van, my daughter was moving slowly and I ended up screaming at her to hurry up. I am not, I repeat...NOT a morning person. Once we were on the drive I deeply apologized. I told them that my response to them in a negative way has nothing to do with them, that is me struggling. I tell them how amazing and perfectly THEM, they are. When people respond to them with anger in any way, it is that person struggling with them selves and to never take it personally. Do not take on the burden of others. I am far from perfect, I make mistakes all the time but I own them, explain them....teachable moments all day. Give them the gift of seeing we are always growing, always trying and we want to help them even while we battle our own demons.

Love,

Katie

I loved you too hard

A thought passed my mind as I peruse a very confusing and interesting time in my life. Can you love too much? I know, your immediate reaction is NO. Of course not! But hear me out. What if the direction of your love is to someone or something that cannot accept the bountifulness of your love light. What happens then? What do you do when you love so deeply but cannot fully share it, or even receive it to the extent you give. Is that ok? Is that wrong? I am at odds in my life battling over the idea of no expectations. To give love and pour it out into the world, with no expectation of it in return...but do I not deserve it all as well? And how do you suggest I not smother the ones I love. You see, not everyone I know loves the way I love. Its like their love cup fills all the way to the top when mine is a quarter way full. Do we have different capacities of love, or are we fighting the belief we deserve the love? And honestly, what is love?  

I asked my children last year what love meant to them. They were 6, 4 and 2 at the time, so you can imagine the 1 year old wasn't participating. My other two had really wonderful answers. To them love was food, laughs, tickles, jokes, baking, kisses etc. It was all the things that give them that wonderful feeling. So in each of our lives we have formed this idea of what love is and it comes from this accumulation of experiences that make us feel good. So when I bake someone I love cookies and they don't like cookies, they don't understand I made it for them from a place of love. They might consider I was just making cookies and offered them some. To me I made them cookies to show them I loved them.

As an adult have you stopped and taken the time to write down what love means to you? To really look at it in its entirety for your experience. So when times aren't as pretty and perfect as you hope, that you know what love really looks like. To me love is a feeling, absolutely a strong beautiful feeling that gravitates me to people and experiences based on a glowing and lifting sensation. Love is something that makes me smile and energizes me. Love is caring, love is thoughtfulness, love is sacred, love is for sharing, love is respect, love is unconditional, love is powerful and engaging. And even as I write this down I can see clearly how this is not the same love other people might experience. I am sure most of you are familiar with love languages and other ways of connecting based on how we express ourselves. There are so many tools to connect us, but here we are again at the question...can you love too much?

I suppose it comes down to the one receiving the love. If said receiver has hit their capacity of love and now they are receiving so much and cannot reflect the same abundance, it could be really difficult to know that amount of love exists but they cannot feel it. And how do you make sense of that? Really. 

I love to love. 

Love, Katie. 

How to be a model

Have you ever wanted to be a model? And I want to move past the idea of someone who wears high end clothing and has their picture taken. That is a super cool job, in my opinion, however my desire to model has nothing to do with clothing.

When I was 15 years old I was strong, happy, mature for my age and also in the midst of watching my family fall apart. I was driven to be incredible, but hit with devastating bipolar issues. So in the blink of an eye I became the perfect victim. I was desperate for attention and understanding, I looked 25...I was 6' tall and unstable. I would do anything to escape what was happening to me and no doctor could help. It was then that the predators found me and took advantage of me. It wasn't the first time in my life...and certainly not the last. So 17 years later I am still in my mind making excuses for other peoples choices. I am still bottling up and justifying other peoples actions. I am still blaming myself. But it's a lie. Bad people did bad things to me because they saw my weakness and vulnerability.

And here we are in present day. My goal this year is to say FUCK to FEAR because fear has gripped me for so long and controlled so many parts of my life. It has caused me to feel insecure, overreact, judgmental, depressed, angry and so much more. I can see how it has effected most situations I walk into. I have a fear of being vulnerable. I have a need to help other people feel ok about making bad decisions because I would rather take the blame, as I have for so long, to make them more at ease. It's not intentional, it's just that I am finally seeing it for what it is. This time I am standing up for myself and owning my own choices and not taking on others choices.

After I completed yoga teacher training I grew much more whole as a person. I can reflect and respond with confidence. And seeing how I respond recently to being physically violated by a 'friend' and wanting to immediately justify their actions as ok....it caused me to back the fuck right out of my life again. Suddenly all I wanted to do was hide in my room, eat chocolate chips and binge watch shows about strong independent woman. 

I got to chatting with my husband and came to really see what was happening. We discussed my life's purpose which is to give love and make those around me feel lighter and joyful. How can I maneuver in this way when I am being treated in a negative way? How can I truly be my joyful carefree being, open and vulnerable to life's experiences...and also deflect the negativity that comes about. Well that is an entire other lesson and protecting my energy and owning my space which I have spoken about it previous posts. 

So how can I be a role model? I want to uplift people, I want to encourage people to be strong and confident in who they are. I think that's why I needed to write this post. I am writing it because I certainly will make people uncomfortable but I can't waste my life tiptoeing around others who don't like what I think and do. Thats for them to figure out. I will undoubtedly offend people no matter what I say or what I do, because that is how life works. But I can do it unapologetically knowing that I am speaking and living my truth. A great example would be, if you are a Christian, you will inherently piss someone off who does not believe in god. If you are a yogi you will inherently piss someone off who thinks its just a fad. There will always be haters. I just choose not to be one and rather response with compassion. I choose to say...be exactly who you are and live it to the fullest. Even if others cannot choke it down. I am not saying I do so without thoughtfulness. I prefer to move in none-violence and though I sometimes fail, it is a work and a practice. That is the yoga. The asana is just a small limb to the real discovery. And I am headed to New York to do major major asana and delve into the pit of my stomach that is screaming at me to let go. That is the role model I want to be. Right there. Inspiring others to give themselves the freedom to live the most uplifted authentic lives they can. And you will lose some people, because not everyone is ready for the real you, but they will make space for the right people who will help this incredible journey of life we are on.

I refuse to be the victim and I refuse to use weapons in response to the war. I believe that if we can all find ways to find our own peace with our journey, our own truce in the war within, that peace will take over the world. We can respond with love, there is always space to be kind. Always.

Instagram: theopenheartyogi

Chocolate Brownie-Cake Caramel Almond Crunch

This week I am enjoying a ridiculously busy but truly satisfying holiday break with my three children. They are 7, 5 and 2 years old. We are practicing giving without receiving for the pure purpose of giving love. Yesterday we spent the day baking away and dropping off Stealthy Elves gifts. To see my kids taking turn in the rain sprinting to doorsteps to leave packages as little surprises for unsuspecting friends (of their choosing) filled my heart. They were so very excited and hoped they made everyone happy. There was little handwritten notes in each one my two older kids wrote "Love, Vaino Elves". 

Today these little munchkins took on a new task. I asked them to create a recipe. Whatever they wanted, but together. Of course immediately they all agreed it had to be chocolate! And the creation continued evolving as I asked them what else a good recipe has in it. Of course I offered guidance on quantities of each item but I asked them first if they thought we needed lots or a little. I can honestly say, these kids know how to bake! Mad skillz. So here for your enjoyment is an incredibly decadent dessert. Only eat this on a day when you refuse to allow guilt into your eating choices. Or you just want some hella good comfort food;)

Chocolate Brownie-Cake Caramel Almond Crunch

Preheat oven to 350 Fahrenheit. 

Ingredients

Brownie-Cake portion

2 cups semisweet chocolate chips

1 can (14oz) coconut cream

2 tsp vanilla extract

1/2 cup brown sugar

5 eggs

2 tbsp butter

2 cups all purpose flour

1 tsp baking powder

1 tsp salt

Almond Topping

1 cup almonds

1 cup white chocolate chips

Caramel Sauce

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/4 cup half and half

2 tbsp butter

pinch of salt

1 tsp vanilla extract

Begin with a saucepan heated to low-medium heat. Melt your semisweet chocolate chips and coconut cream until blended completely. Add your butter and stir until dissolved. Add in brown sugar and vanilla. Take off heat and allow to cool. In a kitchen machine whisk your 5 eggs until slightly frothy. In a separate bowl sift your flour, salt and baking powder. Once the chocolate sauce mix is cool enough to not cook the eggs add in the sauce with eggs, stir until combined, slowly add in your dry mixture and blend until smooth. It should be right between the thickness of a cake and a brownie batter. 

In a food processor add your almonds and white chocolate chips and blend until desired size. Ours was not as fine as almond meal, we wanted a bit of chunkiness. Sprinkle this all over the top of your brownie-cake.

Butter a 9x13 glass pan, pour in batter and cook on your low rack at 350 F for 25-30 minutes. Take it out when your knife test shows just a little bit of batter on it. You want it nice and moist but not undercooked. 

Once your brownie-cake is finished allow it to cool while you prepare your caramel sauce.
 In a sauce pan add in butter, brown sugar and half and half. Cook on medium to low heat until dissolved, whisking the entire time. It will start to get a little bubbly around 5 minutes then add in your vanilla extract and salt. I keep whisking until it thickens up, just a few more minutes then remove from heat and drizzle over top of your brown-cake and serve right away while warm or even add some vanilla ice-cream if you so choose. Enjoy and Happy Holidays from my kickass baking geniuses!

To my burnt out Mama friends and those who love them.

It is extremely difficult to remove the guise that we can do it all. Even if we sometimes express how tired we are or unappreciated, we just keep going. But then one day we don't. We burn out. However it manifests itself...through mood fluctuations, exhaustion, depression, anxiety, overeating, under eating, all of the above. Or sometimes it's simple that you can no longer smile a real smile. 

How often I see posts (or post something myself) about how I can not do this anymore. I am waving the white flag. I am done. DONE. And the responses are kind...."I hear you", "I'm having a hard time too", "It get's better, hang in there." and let me add, these are wonderful things to say. I am not considering this wrong. It's just all we really know. Unless its your closest friend and they know exactly what you need, most people just do not know how to help someone.

I have been experiencing one of my worst bipolar fluctuations since being post-partum years ago. So I have felt like a failure as a mother. I have had days I couldn't even pretend to like my children's drawings they so eagerly wanted to share. I couldn't go to the store because I would have to interact with someone even for a minute. I yell, I cry...and I cry some more. I feel such embarrassment and I just wish someone, anyone could help. But you know what, I don't want to ask you. I am past that point. And even if someone says, "Hey let me know if you ever need some help" well where do I begin. First off can you talk to my children, maybe give them some positive energy because I am out. Can you bring me dinner because making kraft dinner is beyond exhausting. Can you not call me to 'talk' so I have to make you feel better that I am sad? Again, this isn't saying that offering help is wrong, its just that it's so hard to ask, really.

So here are things I wish people would do for me when I need help but can't find the courage to ask:

Text and ask what time dinner is and that you will bring something by. Don't knock, just drop it off. 

Text what time they can come grab a kid, or two, or three. 

Offer that you can chat but if a bottle of wine is better, it will be waiting at their doorstep. If they say they are too tired to chat and don't worry about the wine, bring the wine anyways.

See what time school is out, just pick up and drop off a kid. 

Tell them you love them.

Text them you can come by and give a back massage. 

Tell them you are at the store and what do they need.

Leave a flower, or note, or cookies at the door. 

Send a note you love them.

Offer them a girls getaway, even for a night, or afternoon, or a pretend one once kids go to bed.

Offer to whisk them off to yoga (totally impartial here).

Bring them to bootcamp. Sometimes we need a kick out the door!

Check in on them, just a note you are thinking about them.

Do you see what I am saying. Its the proactive approach. Because when you are so exhausted and without joy it can be painful to have to face someone...because they might see your pain. And some people want to talk while others don't. What I need is not what others need, but this is food for thought. In the society we live in, we are left so alone in a sea of people. But once you begin to accept the help, and offer it in return, the more supported you are. And when you feel supported and have the tools to maneuver this daunting task of motherhood, the more likely you can move away from burn outs. We all need so much love.

I am thankful to say that recently I have found more and more support through my willingness to open up even during the darkness. But when you feel good you forget how hard it all can be sometimes. So today as I enjoy the hours of happiness and relief, I wanted to help others understand maybe just a little. 

I am leaving space here. To the mothers, or struggling souls who have other suggestions I will add anything you like. Say what you need. It will come to you when you need it.

Space for you.

Panko crusted turkey meatballs and beet pomagranate salad

These turkey meatballs are very quick to make and they are great to freeze for quick meals. Give them a try!

Meatballs

1lb ground turkey

diced green onion

diced hot peppers of choice

1 egg

2 tbsp soy sauce

1tsp salt

1tsp pepper

(optional add fresh or powdered garlic)

Panko break crumbs

olive oil

In a bowl whisk together green onion, hot peppers, soy sauce, egg, salt and pepper. Once blended add in turkey and mix well. Add in 1-2 cups panko bread crumbs. You want enough so it drys your meat up a bit and helps keep the mixture together. Once mixed heat a pan on medium with olive oil in the bottom. Place 1-2 cups panko breadcrumbs in a bowl. Roll small amounts of mixture into a ball and roll in your breadcrumb until covered then place in heated pan. You can load up your pan and you will notice your turkey balls soak up a lot of oil so you will continue adding oil as they cook so they stay crisp. Flip them once they are medium/dark brown on the bottom. Squish them down a bit after flipping. Once cooked try not to devour them all before sharing with your family. I speak from experience. 

Salad

Chopped beets, mixed greens, pomegranate seeds, tomato, feta cheese and Italian dressing.

Bonne appetite!