(Don't) Let Them Eat Cake

I make no secret of the fact that I live in a lovely community suffering from a longstanding invasion of ignorant asshats (see HERE). So, I should not have been surprised by the most recent local activity but it has indeed caught me off guard. Why did I expect more? Because this issue involves the children in our county and their health.

Graphic courtesy of http://www.schoolnutritionandfitness.com/

Douglas County School District has become the only district in the state of Colorado to opt out of the Michelle Obama-championed new federal student lunch guidelines at the high school level. What a distinction! While I love the general idea of bucking the system and taking a stand, this opt-out represents one of the worst decisions that our should-have-been-voted-out-there's-always-next-time school board has had a hand in.

In response, I had a whole blog planned on the history of school lunches, the current guideline updates, and ways to embrace the healthier changes and fight childhood obesity while teaching our kids to enjoy a balanced meal. I'm going to skip that though, in favor of a Q&A, in which I cast the school board/naysayers in the roll of Inquisitor, and myself as the Voice of Reason. (This casting is totally biased, of course, but that's a perk of writing your own blog.)

A quick background and some resources, if you are into things like research and fact checking:

• USDA fact sheet on the National School Lunch Program
• 2012 NYTimes article on the new guidelines and compromises made by all parties to get the proposal passed 
• Recent Denver Post article on DCSD opting out, complete with comments (and a name you should recognize!)
• Chef Ann Cooper, Renegade Lunch Lady
• The USDA Farm to School grant program
• Adam Sandler's iconic Lunch Lady song 

And now, to the inquisition!

INQUISITOR: The government is overstepping its bounds by dictating the composition of school lunches. What's next? Will we be forced to investigate and evaluate the sack lunches kids bring in the door?

VOICE OF REASON: Public schools are subject to government oversight. With government funds, comes government accountability. This is why DCSD lost its eligibility to be reimbursed for free and low-cost school lunches when it decided not to participate in the new school lunch program. But you know that. And I'm sure you weighed that estimated $167,000 yearly reimbursement (not too many poor kids in Douglas County!) against the $3M a year in revenue that the school district takes in from its in-house Subway franchises. Nope, not even Jared and his giant pants can make Subway sandwiches worthy of our kids in the eyes of the federal guidelines, so losing those fast food chains would have been a hit to the ol' pocketbook. 

What was the other part? Oh yeah, government oversight of kids' sack lunches. That's kind of an inflammatory argument based on nothing, right? Did Rush put you up to this? There is no precedent or law that prohibits parents from feeding their kids a bucket of Cheetos if they want to. Being food stupid, on a private level at least, is totally in alignment with federal regulations. Phew!

INQUISITOR: The guidelines are too strict. Our chef made a pizza that adhered to the guidelines and the kids hated it. And his burrito had to be created in miniature in order to comply. What do you say to that, huh?

VoR: Who decided that our kids need foods like pizza, burritos, cheeseburgers and fries in their daily lunch? Because they like them? If we based our children's diets on what they liked, my kids would eat nothing but macaroni and cheese and Whoppers malted milk balls for dinner. Stop luring kids to the lunch line with empty calories covered in melted cheese. Here's a crazy thought: don't serve pizza. At all. The menus aren't set by the new regulations, just the guidelines. So, and I'm just spitballing here, what if the PTO sponsored a school-wide recipe contest, kids and parents could get involved, and there could be a taste-testing night to raise money for the school? Winning recipes, with nutritional information, could be handed over to the district chef and/or school lunch supervisor and incorporated into the lunch menu. Too crazy? You'd rather stick to selling wrapping paper? Okay, then take ten minutes, harness the power of social media, and call out for help from the world of food and mom bloggers. Provide them with information on cost stipulations and nutritional content per serving and see what those wacky kitchen creatives come up with. Or google it. Someone has probably already done this.

INQUISITOR: Just because you give a kid an apple, you can't make him eat it. We have the healthiest trash cans in the state - the kids are throwing away more than they eat! 

VoR: Until healthy lunches are the new normal, there is going to be a learning curve. Remember turning 21? No? That's because you were blackout drunk. A natural reaction to your new access to the magical world of booze. But your liver couldn't keep up with that kind of routine for the rest of your life, so you adapted and started to drink in moderation at least most of the time. So it will be with our kids. As booze is to a hangover, so too is trashing your lunch to hunger. (Bonus lesson: This will also teach kids a natural consequence that is a direct result of their actions!) It will also help when you stop trying to feed students pseudo-cardboard, non-fat pizza. Again, pizza is now a treat in this new world and not a school lunch staple, so it can be delicious, gooey and full of fat outside of school bounds. For the school day let's find some new recipes, like hummus/cucumber/pita sandwiches for instance, and teach the kids about cucumbers. Involve them in the school garden. If there isn't a school garden, plant one! Seeds are cheap and the child labor is built in, which is part of the reason I myself had kids. I'm sure an inventive biology teacher can adapt a lesson on Mendel's genetics to be taught outside while the ninth graders weed the pea patch. Torn away from their classrooms and textbooks, the kids may actually listen and (holy shit!) become inspired.

INQUISITOR: For some kids, this is their only guaranteed meal in a day, and it is being wasted.

VoR: A truly hungry child will eat the healthy meal. A truly hungry child, who may not have access to fresh produce on a regular basis, will eat the apple and maybe take a second one as well. A truly hungry child needs the nutrition provided by the new guidelines, since a standard piece of pizza may fill their stomaches but leave them nutritionally starving. 

INQUISITOR: Well what about our cooks? They aren't allowed to give seconds, so extra food goes right into the trash.

VoR: Come on, work with me on this one. Lunch rooms must adhere to strict food and cleanliness guidelines, which makes them perfect candidates for donating extra meals to churches and soup kitchens. All that takes is a little coordination and a phone call. If you are lucky enough to live in the Denver area, check out We Don't Waste. I'm pretty sure they'll take the call. 

INQUISITOR: When I grew up, school lunches were delicious. Can't we leave well enough alone?

VoR: When you grew up, school lunches weren't competing with fast foods, and you only had 2 options daily, Take It or Leave It. "Foods" that can be found in current high school cafeterias weren't even invented when you went to school.

INQUISITOR: But what about a parent's right to choose without unnecessary government - 

VoR: Enough! Enough with the justifications and the inflammatory what ifs. The Voice of Reason is going to lose her mind! Seriously, where is the common sense? Even the schools adhering to the guidelines are lobbying to get french fries to count as a vegetable and pizza sauce to count as a serving of tomatoes. If you used all of this loophole energy and transferred it into trying to make the system work, we could have nutritious foods in our schools, kids who have a greater knowledge of where food comes from and how it affects their bodies, and parents would have an ally in the age old battle of getting kids to eat broccoli. Is the new system perfect? Nope. But let's try it and then when we encounter hiccups work towards a logical solution rather than writing off the whole system as broken and tossing it away. Let's not make this about economics and politics and instead refocus on the real message of raising a healthy generation of kids. If we as a community are going to unite and take a stand, let's work together to introduce our children to exotic vegetables and a new variety of spices instead of reaching a point of mutiny to protect their access to a five dollar foot long sub. 

Damn. Being the only voice of reason in the discussion is exhausting. And angry-making, apparently. This issue makes me nuts. What do you all think?

My Little Bronies, Sweet Little Bronies

My boys love My Little Pony, or as Aidan calls it, "Little My Pony." It reminds me of being a kid myself. One summer, for 3 wonderful days, Applejack and I were best friends. Then the neighbor dog got her and turned her into a chew toy. Childhood can be cruel.

Odd glamour shot I stole off of eBay. Creepy say what?

Oh Applejack, I miss you still. What a great toy for a nerdy, bookish little kid like me! Ponies were much like Care Bears in their embracing of individuality, friendship, and celebrating the differences in others. Every pony was unique. Aside from the commercials that branded Ponies as "girl" toys, they were perfect.

When Jude developed his current obsession with the Ponies, I couldn't have been happier. Until I went to get him a few for Valentine's Day. All I can say is, WTF Mattel? What have you done to the Ponies??

In my day, those cute sturdy little ponies definitely sported Disney eyes and super shiny manes, but they still looked like ponies. As a refresher, ponies are short, stout, kid-sized.

And THIS is the current rendition of My Little Pony and Jude's favorite character Twilight Sparkle:

Notice anything different, on this current "girl" toy? How about her super slender physique? Her giant bedroom eyes? And, most telling, her lack of a muzzle?! It's a pony! This one looks part anorexic teenager, part squirrel.

Suffice it to say, I'll take Ponies over Super Heroes (less "Hulk smash!" more "You're my best friend!") but if I had had daughters instead of sons I'd be writing Mattel some hate mail. According to the show, friendship is magic...but so too is food, the innocence of childhood, and a pony with enough snout to breathe and legs sturdy enough to keep it upright.

(Un)Happy Meals

So, like all good parents, we decided to take McDonald's away from the kids a few weeks ago. Kids love that!

No, we didn't do it because it is so gloriously unhealthy. Let's face it, sometimes we all need a fat burger and some fries. We did it because we felt like hypocrites when we were feeding the chickens organic fruits and veggies and allowing our kids to consume the flesh of a thousand sad cows in one filthy bite. And, that's how I sold Jude on it as well.

I talked to him about the difference between happy animals - like our chickens, and the cows we see in the fields around our house - and the cows and chickens who live their lives like this:

Harris Ranch feedlot

"Free range" factory farm chickens

And I have to say, I'm proud of Jude's response. He didn't freak, like I'd anticipated. Instead he wanted McDonald's to change their policies so that he could return to their burgers and, more importantly, their toys. He asked if we could go home, after our stop at animal-friendly Good Times (free range beef and Humane-certified chickens - it can be done!), and write Mr. McDonald a letter. He wanted me to put it in his mailbox. So, by the power of the internets, let's see if we can get it there. (He was dictating, hence the reference of himself in third person.)

Dear McDonald's,

Jude and Mama don't like your food because you be mean to your cows and chickens. Please be nice to them because you guys be really mean to your chickens and cows. Jude misses your toys and Jude loves animals. He cares for them very much. And when we get goats Jude will be very nice to them and not be mean so they don't head butt him and kick him in the face.

Thank you very much for listening to this note.

From,
Jude and Mama

Ashes to dust, dirt to trees

I crossed a parenting milestone this week when Jude, 4 years old and urged on by the deaths of five of our chicks and my grandpa last fall, asked me if everyone dies.

This is one of those moments when the world stops and you know your answer will have lasting effect. I am about to shape my child's first impression of death.

"Yes buddy," I say, "everyone dies."

His face crumples as he says in a tiny voice, "Oh no, even me?"

My heart shatters. I want to say, "No, no not you. Never you. By the time you get old they'll find a cure for death and you and me and Daddy and Aidan and your Granny and Grandpa and all of your family will be together always." I want to cure death so that it doesn't keep my son up at night. I want to avoid the upcoming trips in the car, when he is at his most open, during which he'll ask if his best friend Sammy will die. As endearing as it is I don't want to be present when he asks if Barack Obama will die and then, upon my answer, sobs out the words, "But he's my favorite president!"

This is when other parents are able to turn to Heaven and let their children know that if they are good, and go to church and say their prayers, then after they die a loving God will welcome them to Paradise and they'll all live happily ever after, amen. I want Heaven to be real now, just as I wanted it to be real at my grandpa's funeral when family members spoke of my grandparents being reunited in Heaven and dancing together for eternity. I want to be able to tell my child this story too. I want to believe.

But I don't. The best I can do is save my son from the devastation of growing up and thinking that I lied to him in this moment when he needed me most. I step away from the temptation of the story that I know will stop his crying and I carefully revisit the narrative that began a few days prior with the death of our first chick.

When we die, our bodies turn to dust. This dust then turns into dirt, and the dirt becomes a tree. Or grass. Our bodies help new things grow. He asks if my grandpa has turned into a fruit tree and I feel no qualms with skipping over the blasphemy of caskets and embalming and tell him yes, Grandpa Cyril is a fruit tree. Probably apple. For the moment this calms him, and he sleeps.

The conversation does not end here, and I am certain we'll be revisiting the topic for a while. In classic Jude fashion, he has declared the Circle of Life dumb. But I feel my shoulders release just a fraction when he tells me that even though he hates dying, he loves that he will become a tree. I love it to. I realize that talking through death with Jude, enlightening him on this grander scheme of decay and renewal, makes me more comfortable with the idea as well.

I promise Jude that as he gets used to the idea of dying it won't seem so scary and he won't think about it as much. I also promise that I'll do my best, years and years and years from now, to make sure that my tree is planted next to his tree and that our leaves will always be touching. It's a picture that we both need to hold on to.

Some people think that Atheists don't believe in anything. This is untrue. I believe in easing my son's pain while still telling him the truth. I believe in the Circle of Life, as dumb as it may be. I believe that death seems far less terrible when our bodies give way to new growth. I believe in cremation and in taking these fertile ashes somewhere special to scatter, or bury, and thereby create hallowed ground through regeneration. I believe that my children can grow up to view death as a natural progression of life, to cherish the time that we are together, and not to fear our eventual demise. I find comfort in these beliefs, and I hope that Jude will too.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda

I had a professor in college who wanted to eradicate the word "very" from the English language. His reasoning? If a writer had to resort to using it, then their adjective wasn't strong enough and they needed to pick another one. He was very smart.

I would also like to kill off a word. Not an obvious one, like "moist" or the love-to-hate-it "panties." The word on my chopping block is much more fraught with the poisonous nuances of guilt and shame. It's a word that I hope to erase from my vocabulary in order to lift a shroud from my life and protect my children from its dark and foreboding presence. So who gets voted off the island, sent to swim with the fishes, goes down for the big sleep?

Should.

I hate it.

Is there anything more crippling to the present moment than niggling thoughts of what you should be doing? Reading a novel when you should be starting your taxes. Checking in on Facebook when you should be writing a grant proposal. Going to a movie when you should be seeing live theatre. Eating a brownie when vegetables should be on the menu.

And the constant running list. The shoulds that always live in the background. I should:
do yoga
take the kids to the library
learn Spanish
make a grocery list
hang the pictures stacked in the closet
answer that email I've been avoiding
get a haircut
fold the laundry
sweep
buy a broom
replace batteries in all the dead toys
make a Goodwill drop
create a filing system to help out next year's taxes...

In reality, there is no such thing as a should. It is a bogus construct designed to instill unrest. Nothing is ever good enough when there is something more that should be done. Well, fuck you should. I declare you null and void.

And really, outside of this random rant, there is no such thing as a should. There is doing, and not doing. So how to kick should to the curb? Time for an action plan.

1. Question the reasoning behind the should.
Why should or shouldn't I be doing something? Outside of this moment, does anyone besides me care about the implied morality of what I am doing? Sometimes all it takes to release an old idea is to face it head on. So screw you, Nancy Reagan, I didn't always say "No" and I turned out just fine. 

2. Drop the guilty implications of should.
What is the point of "I shouldn't be doing this?" Whether it's polishing off a box of cookies or robbing a bank, either stop the action or at the very least don't ruin it by adding shame. Savor those cookies. Steal those dollars. Be in the moment. Then go for a walk or split the take with a favorite charity. 

3. Break the habit of should.
Sometimes I think I use a should for no good reason other than making myself unhappy. Not on purpose, just as a lazy form of ennui. Case in point, everyone's favorite "I should exercise more." This is not an action item, this is a way to feel less than while still watching TV. Which is lame. Let my jeans chastise me by being too tight if they must, I don't need to add insult to injury. I'm back to the idea of "do it, or don't." Exercise, or don't. Thinking on the should of the matter results in a whopping nothing. And some of the shoulds are even more mundane. Alone, "I should start packing for my trip" may not be that big of a deal, but left unchecked it can multiply into a giant list of actions that a better person would be taking while crappy ol' me just plugs along. Enough! If a giant fist punched me in the face every time I said "should," I'd stop saying it pretty quickly. I'm smart like that. Time to extend that same self-preservation skill to my general happiness and sense of worth. 

4. When saying or thinking the dreaded should, take a moment to reset.
If I "should" be sending an overdue birthday card, am I able to stop what I am doing and crank out the card? If yes, do it and move on. If no, either decide not to send a card and live with that, or decide to send the card as soon as I am able and return to the task at hand.

5. Let the "should cycle" die by not using it with my kids.
It's pretty easy to rework a "You should share with your brother," into "If you don't feel like sharing then you can go to your room and play by yourself for a while. But if you'd like to play together I'd love to have you stay here with us. Your choice." No guilt. Lesson imparted. Child retains a small sense of control and dignity.

Man, I should have made this list years ago!

Parenting. Whoa.

"They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to but they do.

They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you."

~Philip Larkin, from This Be the Verse

We all know that no one escapes childhood unscathed. Even those of use with "good" parents enter adulthood with our own particular brand of baggage courtesy of mom and dad. Reflecting on my own childhood is one thing, though. Knowing that I am now actually messing up my kids in my own special way is a totally new level of hell. It's enough to make me crazy.

My head is constantly full of conflicting advice and parental chatter. For example, when I can't help but kiss Jude 1000 times in a row, will this someday be construed by a therapist as a disregard for boundaries and an invasion of personal space? Because I prefer to carry Aidan in public instead of allowing him to walk, am I introducing a lifelong dependency on his overbearing mother? How long do we let the boys bathe together? One is a better sleeper since we used the "cry it out" method and the other still wants to be rocked to sleep...is that okay? If I let Jude pick out his shirt but force him to wear socks, am I sending mixed messages? Will my boys be vain if I keep telling them how cute they are? If I tell them when I'm proud does that teach them to value my praise above their own feelings? And by taking them to a political rally, will I be ensuring their future experimentation with Republicanism as a form of rebellion?

I need a drink. (Can I drink in front of them?)

It's a lot to deal with. Larkin ends his poem with the sage advice "Get out as early as you can, And don't have any kids yourself." Well shit. Since it's too late to exercise my right choose the only option I am left with is to celebrate the highlights of my parents' careers, forgive them their shortcomings, and hope that one day my boys will do the same.

I give you:

Stuff My Parents Taught Me That Didn't Fuck Me Up 

(...an ode of sorts)

1. We are your parents, first and foremost. You won't always like us but we won't let this stop us from protecting you.
2. If we mess up, we'll apologize. Even if it's years later. We're not perfect. 
3. We will have dinner as a family whenever possible without the crutch of TV, books or magazines, or any electronic device.
4. From school plays to soccer games, one or both of us will be at all of them.
5. You are responsible for cleaning your own room. Live like a pig or don't. 
6. Crying is an acceptable response to any situation, even for the boys.
7. Dark humor is totally appropriate.
8. If you ask us for help we'll give you all we've got.
9. No R-rated movies until you're old enough. No violent movies or video games in our house ever.
10. We don't care what your friends' parents are doing. Please refer to #1.
11. Until you come of age, you cannot drink in our home. We're not those parents.
12. If you drink at someone else's home call us for a ride and we won't freak until the next morning.
13. If you are going to curse, fine, but you better watch your fucking mouth at school and in front of your grandparents.
14. Graduation from high school is mandatory. After that you can figure out what's best for you.
15. You can ask us anything and we'll tell you the truth, even if it's painful and ugly.
16. We have no expectation of your adulthood other than wanting you to be happy and not to hurt others. 
17. Life will be easier if you marry someone who likes your family. 
18. If you get lost and refer to it as an adventure you'll either learn to take things less seriously or develop a lifelong distrust of the word adventure. It's up to you.
19. What is is. If you can't change it, then you can at least control how you react to it.
20. A good credit score will help you in life. You'll learn this one way or another.
21. You can always move home.
22. No matter what, even if you grow up to be a murderer, we love you. 

That last one is a direct quote. Thanks, mom and dad. 

Save our sons

As another tragedy rips through Colorado, I feel heavy with the weight of loss. My heart breaks for the families who lost a loved one. I hurt for a community who will understandably second-guess a trip to the movies, or the grocery store, or the mall. I am overcome with anger and sadness and fear.

My anger quickly focuses on our nation's loose gun laws. How any informed citizen can possibly believe that the Second Amendment, drafted in the 1790s, blindly authorizes the modern-day purchase of firearms as powerful, precise, and dedicated to destruction as the 3 guns carried by James Holmes on Friday morning is beyond my comprehension. I am shocked by the opinions being expressed by certain Republican congressmen and average American citizens - some of them my friends - who feel that the number of lives lost in the Aurora theater could have been reduced if at least one of the theater patrons had been armed and able to take down the shooter. The confusion, smoke, darkness, and panic in that theater created a combat zone, and I am of the opinion that most gun-carrying citizens are not trained to keep a level head, let alone a steady aim, in such a situation. 

My sadness falls on the victims, their families, and the survivors who will be imprinted with this tragedy for the rest of their lives. The stories of loss and heroism coming out of that theater gut me. My grief extends further though. I feel an excruciating pain for the mother of James Holmes, and this is where my sadness gives way to fear. 

Before he became the mastermind behind Friday's massacre, "Holmes" was simply James. Maybe his family called him Jim. Or Jimmy. He was an honor student, an attractive young man, a boy who regularly attended church and was a counselor at a camp for underprivileged children. Even further back, twenty years ago, he was a darling little boy showing no indication of what was to come. It is too easy to look at James' picture on the news and speak of his cold eyes, his diabolical intelligence, his malicious intentions. That makes him "other." It insulates us as average citizens, normal everyday parents, from the idea that he could have been son to any one of us. My intention here is not to excuse the actions of James Holmes - far from it - but to open a dialogue on how we can protect our own sons from this tragic fate. 

Because it is always the sons, isn't it? The boys who grow into men that funnel their brokenness into mass destruction. James Holmes is the latest iteration of Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. Of Jared Loughner. Of Seung-Hui Cho and Nathan Dunlap (no, we haven't forgotten). There are more, of course, but this short list represent 67 deaths and that number contains enough loss to prove the point. 

And my point is this, how do we save our sons? How do we teach our boys to find outlets other than violence for their pain; to seek help before it is too late? Because this is my greatest fear. Not of being the victim of a random act of terrible violence, but of raising a son who is capable of carrying out such an act. I am a realist, and I can only assume that the mothers of the young men listed above used to look at their sons with the same love and adoration that I feel when I look on my own. Before they were monsters, they were little boys just like mine and yours. So what are we, as the mothers and fathers of sons, to do?

I don't pretend to have answers. I expect the antidote to this nationwide infection of violence will be multi-layered, involving a combined effort of stricter gun regulations, increased awareness of and access to men's mental health care, and collectively analyzing our country's common use of death as entertainment. 

On a grassroots level, I believe that parents are the first line of defense in preventing future tragedy. I don't say this to lay blame on the parents of the shooters I've mentioned above, but rather to place an active burden on myself and the other parents of young boys across the country. We can make a difference. We can honor all of the victims of violence in America by doing our part to raise emotionally intelligent men. Here is my plan:

1. No guns in our home, real or toy, period. Does my 3-year-old turn his wooden hammer into a "shooting machine"? Yes, and I let him. I adhere to the idea that "boys will be boys" and do my best not to overreact and make guns enticing by way of making them taboo, but I can't in good conscience aid and abet his introduction to realistic toy weaponry. And on days when he plays superheroes and "makes all the bad guys nice" instead of shooting them I feel like we are making a positive impression. 
2. I will closely monitor the amount of violence that I allow into our home. My husband and I don't watch adult TV shows while our children are awake - even the baby - because we want to limit their exposure to adult situations as much as possible. And we are constantly adjusting our guidelines based on how our toddler reacts. Recent, seemingly innocuous, cartoons that have been taken out of rotation include Kung Fu Panda, Tom and Jerry, and SpongeBob SquarePants. 
3. I am going to teach my sons that it is okay to cry. Tears are the easiest, most basic release that our bodies offer for strong emotion. My dad is a great man who can get choked up at the mere mention of his children or his grandsons. I love this about him. My husband can cry tears of both joy and pain, and this was one of the primary reasons that I knew he would make a good father. In our house, we will never tell our boys to buck up and stop crying. 
4. My husband and I will strive to see our sons as they are and (hopefully) not as we want them to be. We will not hide our own fears, failures, or imperfections from our children in the hopes that they won't feel the need to hide their perceived shortcomings from us. 
5. We will watch over the emotional health of our sons with the same care that we apply to their physical wellbeing. Just as we monitor a cold to make sure it doesn't become an ear infection, we will keep close eye on a temper tantrum to ensure that this lack of control doesn't become a way of life. 
6. We are stocking our parental tool kit by reading. Not online chat room reading, but actual books written by authors with credentials to help us in our endeavor. Currently on the nightstand you can find "Becoming The Parent You Want To Be" by Laura Davis and Janis Keyser, and "Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child" by John Gottman, PhD. 
7. We are increasing the emotional tool kit of our toddler with books as well. The classic "Hands Are Not For Hitting" by Martine Agassi, PhD and "When I Feel Angry" by Cornelia Maude Spelman are great in that they teach valuable lessons on acceptable responses to strong feelings. These books open up a dialogue with children while you read so that talking about anger couldn't be easier. Most importantly, both texts emphasize that feeling like you want to hit or hurt someone and actually doing it are very different, which is a key lesson at any age. 
8. We are redoubling our effort to actively listen when our oldest son is upset and to help him voice his feelings. We've recently been introduced to the idea that it is much more beneficial for a child to validate a fear of the dark, for example, and help work through it than to simply tell him there's nothing to be afraid of and go to sleep. This is an oversimplification, but the idea is to listen to a child's words and not dismiss or belittle their feelings based on our grownup understanding of the world. 
9. Finally, I will always allow my sons access to mental health professionals if they have problems that are beyond my ability to help. Together my husband and I will teach them that asking for help is a sign of strength and not weakness. If they cannot ask for help, we will ask for them. 

Yes it's a long list, and I expect that as I continue to learn it will continue to grow. But it's worth the effort. It represents a promise not only to America but also to my boys and the men they can become. 

Motherhood, or "When life throws a pie in your face"

Two nights ago I took off my bra and half a french fry fell out. Par for the course with my monstrous baby-induced rack. It hoards things. But I'm not alone, right? Every mom has a collection of day-to-day moments that humble her. If you show me yours, I'll show you mine. I'll even go first...

I wash my hair so infrequently right now that it actually started to dread. I had to cut a piece out.

I was on a conference call last week when Jude got my attention, and everyone else's, by yelling out "Mom! Booger!" so that I could wipe off his picking finger.

Gabe went in to give Aidan an open mouth baby kiss and our son picked that exact moment to spit up. (Fatherhood is humbling too.)

Along those lines, Gabe once caught Jude poop with his hand during a middle of the night changing when he didn't have a fresh diaper at the ready.

Continuing on the poop train, I looked down yesterday and discovered fresh poop on my finger. I still have no idea where it came from though I am quite certain it didn't come from me. (Honestly, I don't know if that would be better or worse.)

Finally, and I'll leave you with this one, I went to rinse out a diaper this morning, pointed the sprayer the wrong direction, and full on bidet-ed myself in the face.

It is 4 minutes until noon. By the time you read this, I'll be drinking. Cheers.

Hip-hip-hippie Hooray!

Okay, we are two and a half months in to our diapering adventure and drumroll please...we LOVE the cloth diapers! Instead of merely using them a few times a day, we use them 90% of the time. They are adorable, easy to use, and create so much less waste. It's also wonderful not to drop $50 on diapers every time we go to the grocery store. The absolute best part? Look how cute my baby's bum is. (And here I thought we couldn't improve on perfection.)

These diapers are also ideal for summer, when no one wants to wear any extra clothing.

I'm glad we did a trial before going whole hog on this thing though. If you'd like a recap of our initial investment, the original blog post is here.

RESULTS:

The Good.

The GroVia hook and loop diaper shells are the best. We've tried both hook and loop (or "velcro" to normal people) and the snap shells, and velcro is the easiest and most like the disposables we were used to. They are also the fastest to secure on your kid, and this is key in winning the 7-month-old Wiggle Olympics. They are comparable in bulkiness to a disposable diaper (bonus!), so Aidan's clothes still fit.

The snap-in Soaker Pads are super. They are lined on the backside so that they trap moisture and help control leaks. They also produce less laundry than I expected since you simply unsnap the liner, toss it into the dirty clothes, and reuse the shell. Paired with a reusable organic Booster Pad (a versatile new addition to our arsenal), they can last for a few hours between changes. The soakers do take a lot to dry though. I flip them inside out, put them through a full cycle, and then let them air dry as well if needed.

The disposable Biosoakers are a nice standby when all of the soaker pads are in the washing machine. I've also used them on short excursions when I anticipate a diaper change but don't want to be stuck carting a used diaper around. (Gross. I am not that mom.) A note of caution, while these disposable inserts look similar to disposable diapers, they do not retain as much moisture and will leak if not changed in good time.

In general, since cloth diapers are not as dry for a baby as disposables, I do recommend the Bummis fleece liners or a booster pad so that something dry is against the baby's skin. If we leave a wet diaper on Aidan for any amount of time he gets a bit of a rash from the damp.

Finally, Bioliners are a must have. They look like a dryer sheet but are much more vital - they contain the poops and make it easy to flush the whole shebang down the toilet. Hooray for that.

The Not-So-Good.

Compared to disposables, cloth diapers in general are much more prone to leaks. A disposable diaper can hold a lot of liquid. In our house we call them 20-lb pee diapers, as in "That was a long day out. Looks like we got ourselves a 20-lb pee diaper here." Because of this, we will continue to use disposables for overnights as well as long afternoons spent running errands. And for car trips. And honestly for any kind of travel. Once again, I am not the mom to cart around a bag of dirty diapers waiting to be laundered. Blech.

Concerning specific products we bought and don't like, I am not a fan of the "all-in-one" style of diaper. The snap closures are odd and hard to secure on a moving target. They are also the first to leak and result in a lot of laundry for a simple pee diaper. I only use these now when everything else is dirty and I ALWAYS pair them with an organic booster pad. Otherwise they are totally useless. These are also the bulkiest diapers of the bunch.

Using a different brand of prefold diaper insert (we tried OsoCozy) is ridiculous. They are way too big to fit in this sleek little diaper shell. They also made my baby look like a fat old man. Not a waste of money though - my baby's a puker, and these make the best spit rags.

Finally, the initial investment is steep but you have to do it. We bought so few supplies to start. It made for a good trial, but not enough equipment to sustain our cloth diaper revolution. We were always out of inserts. I've since upped our count to 2 all-in-ones, 4 shells, 8 soaker pads, and 4 boosters. I'm going to purchase 4 additional shells and another dozen soaker pads and call it good for the next year.

Hot Tips:

We got a great recommendation from a friend and purchased a bumGenius Diaper Sprayer for our toilet to make rinsing poop diapers easier. It will also be useful for cleaning out a training potty when we get there again. And, according to the box, it can even be used as a personal bidet! (Again, gross. If you come to our house and use our bathroom, please do not cleanse yourself with this little sprayer. You will not be invited back.)

Secondly, we bought a Planet Wise Diaper Wet Bag to store the dirty diapers between washes. I wash the diapers every other day and the bag every few cycles. Between bag washings I spritz the inside with Febreze and let it air out. Works just fine. We need to buy another for the upstairs though.

Final adjustment - flushable toddler wipes instead of traditional diaper wipes. We were at a loss - throwing wipes in the trash without the convenient package of a disposable diaper was nasty, and flushing them is bad for your plumbing. Storing the used wipes in a smaller wet bag and tossing the contents a few times a week was a recommendation that I couldn't stomach, and we were NOT going to go so far as to embrace reusable cloth wipes. (My eco-conscience only extends so far. Apologies, Gaia.) Flushable wipes are a lifesaver.

And there you have it. Our little effort to conserve, one diaper at a time.

Eco-friendly Hippie Bums: A diapering adventure!

I am a big believer in the idea that many people making small adjustments can create big change in the world. Time to put that idea to work for us by way of my baby's bum.

I always thought I'd be a cloth diaper kind of mom. (This was back in the day when I thought I'd do two years in the Peace Corp.) Who was I kidding? When Jude was born we said we'd start with disposables and then get cloth diapers once he was bigger. But there are so many options, and we were so tired, and we'd gotten a lot of diapers at the baby shower...and...and...And we never made the switch.

Fast-forward three years.

We now have Aidan, we are once again so so tired, and we are burning through boxes of diapers at an astonishing speed. So in honor of Earth Day, and because I am home now and able to take this on, we are finally embarking on our cloth diapering adventure. An adventure in washable poo!

For $130 I put together a starter kit. It helped that I hit a one-day sale for the GroVia diapers on babysteals.com. (If you are a mom that doesn't yet go to this site daily, you should. It's a frugal brand-whore's paradise.) The rest I bought on Amazon.

In the kit, I have 2 GroVia hybrid shells, 2 GroVia all-in-ones, GroVia bio liners (roll of 200), GroVia bio soakers, bummis fleece liners (5-pk), GroVia soaker pads (2-pk) and a box of 6 OsoCozy unbleached prefold cloth diapers to try as another insert option.

I have also ordered Woolzies drier balls to replace my beloved Bounce dryer sheets.

They were cheapest ($29.99 with free shipping) at drugstore.com. Cloth diapers react poorly to fabric softener, so this was a great motivator to move onto something reusable in the dryer. Wool dryer balls are also supposed to decrease drying time - bonus to my energy bill and a nice bump for Mother Earth.

THE CHALLENGE:
Use cloth diapers overnight as well as replace 2-4 disposable diapers in the day, assuming it's a day we're at home. At $56 for a box of 144 diapers, each disposable diapers runs me about $0.39. If I average 3 cloth diapers a day, then the cloth diapers pay for themselves in just over 3 months. In that 3 months I'll also have kept over 90 diapers out of my local landfill.

Wish me luck! I'll report on our progress. Any tips from parents who have traveled this treacherous path would be oh so appreciated.

The Same River Twice

I've swiped the title of today's blog from Alice Walker, whom I love, and her book "The Same River Twice: Honoring the Difficult." It's a moving long-form essay on a time in her life when the most wonderful was paired with the most devastating. In the ultimate tribute to grace, she looks back on that tangled period of time with gratitude.

There is an inherent connection, I think, between the awful and awe-inspiring moments in life. Though it's more easily said than done, I'd like to be more like Alice and learn to embrace the difficult. Not just the overtly difficult, but the small disappointments that can build up and drown us if we aren't careful. In my best moments, when I am able to let go of what I thought life would be and simply see it for what it is, I start to glimpse how lucky I really am.

If I can apply some perspective now, when I know what was waiting outside the window after life slammed that metaphorical door, maybe I will be able to more readily wade through difficult waters in the future.

Here goes.

A Letter to My Life

Written with humility, happiness, and hope for the future

Thank you failed acting career. You remain my biggest disappointment. But I learned that there is no shame in throwing in the towel. Sometimes, even though you try your best, things just don't work out. I met Gabe doing a play though, and with the gift of Gabe came the treasure of my boys. There is no sitcom, no Broadway play, no Oscar-worthy movie role that I would choose over my little family. And even though I did not end this journey a star, I cannot discount the small victories along the way. Seeing my name on a cast list, that moment when a character clicks, the feeling of holding an audience captive - these things still happened. Life is long...who knows if or when this path and I will meet up again.

Thank you failed relationships. Thank you Stupid Pete for teaching me how to love someone. Thank you Kirby the Destroyer for showing me that 2 is better than 1, even though you weren't the man I thought you were. If it weren't for the two of you, I wouldn't fully appreciate what I have with Gabe.

Thank you to the four houses that I loved and then lost over the course of 3 months due to bad home inspections. Turns out that the fifth time is a charm! And now that we've left the congestion and noise of the Denver neighborhoods that we were aiming for, I wouldn't trade my big backyard, access to open space, and proximity to my parents for anything. Not even a good English-style pub...

Thank you heart surgery. Nothing puts life and love in perspective more than the threat of loss. Gabe's surgery was 7 months ago, and today it's as if it didn't happen. Except that maybe we appreciate being together a little bit more. And we try not to take the little annoyances too seriously or let the easy moments pass by unnoticed.

Thank you XY chromosomes. I had always wanted a daughter because I am so close with my mom, but this has turned out to be a delightful curveball. I was so sure that both boys were girls! Being wrong has never been more wonderful.

Thank you miscarriage. It breaks my heart to write that, but without you I never would have been honored by the birth of Aidan. And he is worth a million heartbreaks.

Finally, thank you former job for overwhelming me with work and then cutting my health insurance benefits when I was 5 months pregnant. I learned that just because I can function at a high stress level doesn't mean that I have to, and that it sometimes takes an extra push to overcome my fear of change and walk away.

Along those lines, thank you non-profit "dream job" that didn't even call me in for a first interview. I am so happy to be freelancing, spending more time with my kids, and finally being able to work on my own projects at my own pace. I never would have had the guts to land here voluntarily.

And that's maybe the biggest lesson of all.

I don't always know what is best for me. Just because I want something so much doesn't guarantee a success, and success doesn't guarantee that that path will be the optimum one for me. Unexpected pitfalls force change. I wouldn't have chosen any of the aforementioned struggles before they happened, but in hindsight I would not change a thing.

Thank you life. You seem to be working out quite well.

Cooking Science Class

I have to confess that sometimes it's hard to find ways to fill the days with the boys. Well, Aidan still just eats, sleeps and poops, so really it's Jude. We love us some Pixar, but you have to mix it up. I can't have daycare doing a better job of raising him than I do! At least not every day.

Introducing: Cooking Science Class. This is a fun way to fill the morning...and a fabulous excuse for me to bake. Since nursing burns the same calories as a nice fat run, I'm not going to sweat it. For now.

Class #1 was cupcakes. My cookies are great, my cupcakes suck. They never rise correctly and they spread out across the pan in a mess. Frosting helps, but mostly it just pisses me off. Yesterday I stumbled onto the best blog about high altitude cupcake baking. My life is permanently altered.

Perfect vanilla cupcakes!

Perfectly rounded, perfectly dense and crumbly (I don't like spongy cupcakes), perfectly delicious in our bellies. I ate four, if we are going for total disclosure. But to be fair, this was my first satisfying cupcake fix since we left Los Angeles and the magical world of Sprinkles.

Please note the professional frosting. Thank you Ziploc baggie with the corner cut off. You do just fine in a pinch. I feel like I won my own personal Cupcake War. (I watch way too many cooking shows.)

Quick cupcake consumption tip, courtesy of my pal Monica: rip and flip that little sucker. Easy to eat, and you get frosting in every bite.

Ah. It was a successful morning, I have to say. I felt a little Supermom-ish. And I left the clean-up for my husband. Win win.