Coconut Oil is Bomb Dilly

You guys, I love coconut oil. So. Much. I buy it in big tubs and use it up at an alarming pace. I’m not eating it all – although you should eat it and cook with it. You really, really should. It’s good for your heart, supposedly promotes weight loss (I had to put the “supposedly” in there because people are getting a tad crazy with the claims – it can help, but it’s not magical, yo!), helps reduce blood sugar levels, and converts straight to energy. So eat it.

But I also use it in almost all of my skin care products. That I make. In my kitchen.

What? The girl that claims she doesn’t cook (I may or may not. It is *possible* that I botch it up and act clueless so people don’t expect much. Shhhhhhhh. Low expectations are the key to happiness.) makes her own skin care products? You bet your buns, I do! I’m like a mad scientist in the kitchen, cackling like a….witch? crow? hyena? What cackles?  ← I  write these things with the intention of correcting them later to make sense, but then I DON’T. Because there are so many more important things to be doing with my time, like fantasizing about Adam Levine calling me from a payphone. P.S. he hasn’t.

Anyhoo, back to the homemade skin care products….eventually. But here’s a peek at them so you know they actually exist.

As many of you know, I suffer from a lot of health issues.  I’ve found that I have a lot of sensitivities to chemicals – especially synthetic fragrances. They make fibromyalgia flare-ups worse and cause immediate migraines. Just ask Toby about the “air freshener incident” that recently occurred in our household. It resulted in me gagging, holding my shirt over my mouth to breathe, and dramatically announcing my impending death every time I walked upstairs. For a week.

Obviously, I didn’t die. But there is a danger with the chemicals in our products.

Your skin is permeable and allows everything you put on it to absorb into your bloodstream, which is why you shouldn’t put anything on it that you wouldn’t eat. I looked at the ingredients list of my favorite lotions and deodorant and it didn’t look appetizing. So, I’ve gone all natural – natural beauty products, natural cleaning products, and I’m (gasp!) not even dying my hair. You guys, I haven’t seen my natural hair color in almost twenty years. But, I can tell you that it is 75% grey. Toby says I’m going to be his Silver Fox.  I’m thinking I will be more like a Yellow-grey Mongoose, but what the heck.

Now I have some favorite beauty products that I’ve made with a coconut oil base. Coconut oil is moisturizing, antimicrobial, antifungal, antibacterial, yummy smelling and soothing. These are my favorites (pictured above) in no particular order:

•      Awesome, minty, scrubby toothpaste.
•      Lemon-y lip balm that moisturizes and gently exfoliates.
•      A body moisturizer that gives you wicked soft skin.
•      Coconut oil deodorant. (I stuck my armpit in Toby’s face for weeks to test its efficacy)
•      Ginger-lemon sugar scrub. I use it head to toe and it’s phenomenal.

Here’s the deal. I’ve borrowed some recipes and made them my own. There is something about substitutions that make me giddy – I just can’t leave a recipe alone.  So, if you want to know more about any of these products, let me know and I’ll get you a recipe and instructions. Bottom line: coconut oil is bomb dilly and you all should be using it. And eating it. And writing long-winded, rambling posts about it. And then go read Crunchy Betty’s post about awesome things you can do with coconut oil, because that girl has done it ALL. And she makes me laugh.

Now, please excuse me while I go carve “I heart medium-chain fatty acids” into my desk.

Evolution of a White Trash Garden

 

Do you guys remember my original White Trash Garden?  When we first moved into our apartment, we thought we’d only be here for one year. MAX. I was dreaming of giant raised bed vegetable gardens, but decided to make do with the materials (garbage) and space (a paved carport) we had on hand during our one short year in the ghetto.

The original White Trash Garden, sharing a small strip of the carport with my motorcycle.

Fast forward four years and….we’re still here. My garden remains a little trashy – but it’s somewhat evolved. Just like me.  I still drink wine out of the box, but now I totally use a glass.  My garden is still most comfortable with a Rainier beer in its hand, but it’s now contained in an old garden cart and can be moved into the sun during the day.

Behold the evolution!

The evolved White Trash Garden, now available for walks on the beach and drive-thru dining.

Herbs, peppers, spinach, lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, cabbage, broccoli, peas and some unknowns (I planted some from seeds and sort of forgot what they were. Luckily, I love surprises).

The floor of the garden cart is grated (like the sides). I covered the bottom and sides with weed fabric, and attached it with zip ties. There are about 3-4 inches of small rock in the bottom of the cart to help with drainage and the rest is filled with potting soil.

32 Months of Crazy up in Here!

Little Bear,

Good grief, kid! Do you ever stop talking, flirting, destructing, licking, kicking, or laughing maniacally?  In a word, you are VIGOROUS. You play vigorously, you eat vigorously, you hug vigorously, and I swear you even make sleeping look like a full-contact sport.

You are now 32 months old, and 32 forms of awesomeness.

This past month has been C-R-A-Z-Y.  We went skiing. We went logging. You were in the world-famous Swallowfest parade.  We decorated Easter eggs, got all fancy for Easter service and participated in a couple of egg hunts. You went mountain biking for the first time. You started some serious potty training (Yay! I get to talk about pee and poop on my blog! Who am I kidding? I always talk about that sort of thing. BOOBIES!!)

The month got even crazier from there. On our way home from your Papa Bear and Nanny’s house, we hit a deer. No one was hurt, but it totaled the car. Now, when we get in the car you keep saying, “Deer should stay off the road. Deer stay in the DIRT!”  And I totally agree.  Hey deer, for the love of all things good…please stay in the dirt!

A few days later, your dad went down on his motorcycle. Again, we were very blessed, and he was ok. It was a good wake-up call for all of us. I was thinking Daddy was all magical and stuff for having never gone down in his many, many years of riding. It happens. This is why we wear helmets, SON. So quit whining and put on the proper gear when you ride your bike.

That same day, we bought a new car and the next day your daddy and I left for Mexico on a dive trip. PHEW! On the road to relaxation. Except…your mama has some anxiety issues. And leaving you behind for a week just about did me in.

Little Bear, you OWN me.

I feel naked when you’re not with me, and there’s an ache in my heart. Don’t get me wrong, we still had a blast. But we were constantly thinking about you, talking about you, showing everyone pictures and videos of you until they threatened to throw my camera in the ocean.

Your dad and I – two painfully frugal people – paid $5/minute to call you from Mexico. MORE THAN ONCE. Dude, if that isn’t a show of Crazy Love, nothin’ is ;)

When you say things like “Look at the beautiful trees, Mama. I just want to HUG them,” I feel like I have won in the game of life. When we get to daycare earlier than usual, and there isn’t the usual fanfare of tiny friends hugging you, helping you with your coat and shouting “Wopah’s here! Wopah’s here!” you look at me questioningly, and ask “Where my kids?” as if you’re The Fonz. It makes me laugh. I can give you a topic and you will make up a song about it. When I call you dude, or buddy, you say “No. I’m Mama’s BABY!” It melts my heart to hear that coming from my stretched out, skinned kneed, constantly growing boy.

You will always be my baby.

Little Bear, you make every day an adventure and you keep me my toes by switching back and forth between a sweet little dimpled cherub to a midget terrorist at record speed. There are very few things that make me happier than hearing you say “I love you, mama” in your sweet little voice, or hearing your laugh when I’m tickling or teasing you. You are the salve to my frazzled nerves. Which is weird because you’re also the cause of those frazzled nerves…but I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

I’m proud of you beyond measure and I love you to the moon and back, Roper.

Love,

Your Mama