Food Day!

I have long been a fan of an amazing and wonderful organization called the Campaign for a Commercial-Free Childhood. It seems that every time there is positive movement in the kids’ entertainment world (such as Disney’s admission that Baby Einstein is not educational), the CCFC is behind it.

Food DayTheir latest missive to their supporters is about Food Day, something I hadn’t heard of before. It sounds like a great idea that many parents could learn from. From CCFC:

CCFC is proud to be a supporter of the first annual Food Day!  We hope you’ll join us today in celebrating the power and possibility of food as we work to create a healthy food culture.  Here are four great ways to get involved:   

1. From potlucks to film screenings to special farmers’ markets, there are thousands of Food Day events around the country today.  Visit foodday.org to find an event near you.

2. Cook with your kids!  Check out these great Food Day recipes: http://foodday.org/why-eat-real/recipes.php

3. Take a stand for children.  Join our friends at Corporate Accountability International in telling McDonald’s to stop junk food marketing to kids.

4. Tell Congress to support the Eat Real Agenda, a six-point plan to fix America’s broken food system including ending junk food marketing to children. You can read the entire agenda and send a message to Congress by visiting Moms Rising’s website.

I wish we didn’t have to have a “food day” in this country. Wouldn’t it be great if people just understood how to eat? If parents taught their kids healthy eating habits that they’d learned from their parents? Unfortunately, somewhere along the way our culture lost this essential parent-to-child transmission. There are kids out there being raised by people who never ate home-cooked meals, and who have no idea that their health problems stem directly from  the “food products” that were marketed to them in lieu of real, wholesome cooking.

It’s time our country fixed this problem. We’ve fixed plenty of other problems, so it seems like this one, which is really only about fifty years in the making, should be pretty easy to undo.

The problem is, the money is on the other side. And in this country, money is speech. Money is power. Money is why when you’re in the grocery store trying to buy real ingredients to make into real food, all your kids notice is Spongebob on the salty, fatty, nutrition-free product on the next shelf.

All parents owe a debt to people who spend their lives yelling at people who have no interest in listening to their message, except when it comes pre-lubricated with campaign donations. Every day is Food Day in my house, and it may be in yours as well. But pass this on, in case this information can change the lives of other children in your community.

How about just considering us people?

I spent much of the morning sitting in a local bank, opening a new bank account for the new homeschooling cooperative — the Discovery Learning Center — that is now a corporation (and on its way to being a nonprofit).

Doing things in banks always takes longer than it should, doesn’t it? This is why we didn’t bring our children. There we were, four homeschooling moms, out to create something really great for our kids. I know that at least two of us have master’s degrees, and that we are all clearly over the age of consent. We’d brought all the paperwork. We had our act together. There was nothing about us to suggest anything but the obvious: four smart women starting a nonprofit.

When, then, did the young man helping us feel the need to refer to us—not just once, but repeatedly—as “girls”?

The first time he said it I only paused a second before pointing out, “I think we’re all women here.”

When he was off at the photocopier, we discussed this weird tick he had.

“I have to wonder,” said one of the moms. “Does he refer to male business owners as ‘boys’?”

I’d been wondering that myself.

“Most of us are old enough to be his mother,” said another mom. “I know I am!”

I certainly was.

“Perhaps,” I suggested, “he’s not from around here. Most kids these days speak in a much more gender-neutral way.”

When he returned, one of the moms asked him, without embarrassment, “Where are you from?”

“Santa Cruz, born and raised,” he said.

Well, there goes that theory.

Feminists talk about the difficulty of reaching the “post-feminist” generation. Young women these days think that all the wars have been won. They think there’s no point in making a ruckus like their moms and grandmas did. Or at least, that’s the way it seems.

But really, “girls”? When I told my husband, he said to me, “I do hope you started to respond to him with ‘young man’!”

Alas, my irony-generator was out of operation. I just thought it was so weird.

Think about it: a few men starting a nonprofit corporation go in to start an account. The young female banker looks at them suavely, her face in a carefully insinuating sneer.

“So, what can I do for you boys today?”

That’s something from movies, right? Could you ever imagine a woman treating men—even more, men twice her age—that way? Or even a young man treating a group of men that way?

Really, I’d like to think we were angry, but we were in fact quite amused. Who does that… boy… think he is? He’s a bank clerk, for god’s sake. We’re doing something real, starting something that will benefit our community, and he sits around all day taking two hours to set up business accounts for businesses that make so little money the IRS hardly wants to hear from them.

Half of me wishes I’d said to him what I was thinking, which was something like this: “You are showing yourself to be so small, so weak, so completely lacking in worldliness when you call us girls. Do yourself a favor and grow up.”

The other half of me wishes I’d taunted him: “Thanks, boy, for handling that. Typing that data must have been so exhausting. Perhaps you need to rest your pretty head now a while.”

But the polite whole me of me thanked him and walked out. We’d made our point. The first time he said “girls,” I’d made it clear to him that wasn’t acceptable.

So for the rest of the time, we were “ladies.”

Great. And here’s for the really mind-blowing suggestion: How about just considering us….

…people?

How to take a shower, unplugged

In case you missed it: Having considered the issue, reconsidered it, and considered it again, the American Academy of Pediatrics says no screentime for your babies under two years old. This should be old news, but even old news bears repeating and repeating again as our culture becomes more screen-oriented: Your baby learns nothing from a glowing rectangle, so turn it off!

I remember when I had my first baby, and our decision to turn off the TV and not look back. It happened one night when we were watching our usual Thursday TV: Seinfeld, Friends, and ER. My son was nursing, and he couldn’t stop himself from popping off and watching. That was all the convincing we needed.

I also remember what people said when I told them that we’d decided on no screen time for our baby:

“How do you take a shower?”

Well, I’m here to tell you that for millenia past, moms have been taking showers (or baths) with no problem. Here’s how it goes:

1) Set your child up in a safe location.
Moms in millenia past probably didn’t have play pens, but you do. Or put him on the floor of your bathroom. Snap the baby gate across the doorway to her room. Whatever you do, be sure that he is safe.

2) Make sure your child has something to do.
Long before we had screens, we had blocks. We had mirrors. We had linking rings and squeaky plush toys. The screen isn’t the only weapon in your arsenal.

3) Take the darn shower.
News to modern moms: A little screaming never hurt a kid.

I know, we all want to be the perfect parent these days. Studies tell us that kids need to feel loved. Parenting books tell us that when we neglect our children, all sorts of unspeakable things happen. But folks, this is a shower. This is something you need. You need to feel warm water coursing down your body, washing away the smell of spoiled breastmilk and the drool that your baby put on your neck right after eating creamed carrots.

Here are some ways that you can justify this:

1) If you don’t take care of your needs, you won’t be a good mom.
This is proven. Unfulfilled (and unshowered) moms turn out needy, out-of-control kids. Don’t believe me? I’m sure your grocery store checkout aisle is displaying a tabloid newspaper with all the details.

2) Your kids will learn, at some point, that they can’t have everything they want, and that point is now, during your shower.
Kids with moms who react to their every whimper turn out to be wimpy, whimpering kids. Yes, you should definitely react if your child is about to be eaten by a lion. But a bored child asking for your attention when you’re just getting a little peace in the shower? This is a child who needs to learn about Priorities.

3) Kids whose parents don’t entertain them constantly are more successful as adults.
You heard it here: Actual Scientific Evidence proves that boredom is good for children. Don’t believe me? The next time your older kid asks to play a video game, just say no. Don’t give a reason. Just say no. Then lock yourself away somewhere and say that you have something Very Important to take care of. Then spy on your kids. At first, they’ll gripe, throw things, scream, or draw on the walls. Whatever they do to get your attention. But soon, they’ll realize that you’re serious. This time, you’re really not giving in. Then you’ll see what they’re capable of. Perhaps they’ll start fooling with cellophane tape and end up with a Nobel Prize. You never know.

When my kids were little, I brought them into the bathroom with me. I had special toys that lived only in our bathroom, so it was a treat for them. Any other time, these toys were off-limits. But when I was in the shower, play away! One such toy was a bag of fascinating foam pieces that took forever to pick up and put away. But the kids adored this toy. They also got noisemaker toys (which I hated) when I was in the shower.

Yes, at first, they tried to get my attention by crying. This is their biological imperative: they must try to keep Mama’s attention. But it’s our biological imperative to find a way to take  a shower. And we must fulfill that imperative, take the shower, and feel ready, again, to face the world.

Eventually, your child will realize that this is Life. This is The Way Things Are. And your child will give in.

Now, you may have to wait a while. If you have a sixteen-year-old in there with you, pleading for his iPod, I give you permission to give in. Let him have the iPod, go to his room, put his feet up on the wall, and tune out.

If at that point you’ve had to give in, at least you get your shower, what you need, what you deserve, your Biological Imperative.

Enjoy it. You deserve that shower.

Next time:

  • How to sleep through the night.
  • How to eat your own meal without sharing it.
  • How to have one full, complete, and satisfying conversation without interruptions.

The fourth kitten

I am a longtime cat owner. My family always had cats, starting with Kitty Boo, acquired as my oldest sister’s cat when she was small. We also had dogs, but they don’t figure into this much.

Ton
Don't call her Princess

We had a big property, and back then, people generally didn’t get their cats neutered. So we had kittens. Lots of kittens. And in our family of five kids, we all got to have our own cat at some point. Our own cat came when we were in need of a confidant and ally.

I needed exactly that when I was in kindergarten and saw the box of kittens one of my classmates had brought and put in the

courtyard of our elementary school. I ran home at lunch and pleaded. I really, really needed that funny-looking little kitten. My

mom said yes, so I left the school proudly carrying the kitten in my arms that afternoon. Cat carrier? Who needs one?

I hadn’t come up with a name yet when a boy came up next to me and asked her name. I said I didn’t know yet. He said, “Call her Princess.”

Never was a less suitable name chosen for a cat. Through various iterations, we ended up calling her Ton and she became my confidant and ally.

When my son was born we had two cats, the siblings I’d adopted right after I graduated from college. The male soon died, and we had only one cat, which was not a reasonable situation for me. So we got a pair of kittens. When my daughter was born, then, we had three cats, but soon the female of my original pair died, and we were left with two, which seemed just right.

Mauen
Don't laugh! I eventually did grow into my ears.

But one day it hit me that my mother had passed on a piece of wisdom to me. My son, now six and the big brother of the Queen of the Terrible Twos, really needed a confidant and ally. Our fluffy sisters were rather aloof, on better terms with the squirrels than him. So we got him a little orange kitten named Mauen, and the kitten became his confidant and ally.

Now, as a longtime cat owner, I know some cat-owning wisdom. One piece of cat-owning wisdom is that if you’re going to get two cats at once, they should probably be siblings. Another thing I know is that it’s possible to introduce a third cat into a household with not too much trouble.

It’s the fourth cat that causes problems.

Now somehow, we always managed multiple cats in my childhood home without too many fights. Only one or two of the cats would be “indoor cats” for a good part of the time — most of them just hung about the property. And it was pretty chaotic anyway, with a dog or two, five kids, a tank of unfortunate fish, and a bird that was about to die.

We like our house a bit more orderly, or at least we pretend we do, so when our daughter started asking for her own special pet, we kept putting her off. Then we started to weigh options. No fourth cat, I said. Too dangerous. We considered everything else. We’re not dog people. Rats are bad for kids with asthma. She wanted something warm-blooded. Had to be easy to take care of.

And here we are, where I always said I’d never go: Four cats in one house.

Sawasdee
Do I look so threatening to you?

The new kitten, Sawasdee (which means hello in Thai, and thus he’s “Hello Kitty”, get it?) is adorable. He’s half Siamese and a real charmer. He follows his girl around like a puppy, comes when she calls, plays like a maniac, purrs so loud you can’t sleep.

Our adult cats have had the whole variety of reactions. Nisene the surrogate mommy loves him just like she loved kitten Mauen. She lets him play with her long, fluffy tail. Maxine the aloof is pretending he simply doesn’t exist. Kitten? What kitten?

And then there’s Mauen. I thought he’d like having a friend, another boy in the house. Or rather, I hoped. But I bet you know what’s coming: I was right about the fourth cat. Mauen is very definitely not happy.

We’re working on it, but haven’t come up with any bright ideas: Kitty tranquilizers? Meow therapy? How do you make a big orange love muffin love a little Siamese dynamo?

It occurs to me that we’ve got parallel cats to kids: the big orange love muffin is paired with the boy who needed a friend because his sister was driving him crazy. And the wild sister? She’s found her match in a funny little Siamese boy she’s taken to calling Ton.

What goes around comes around!

More than just clouds

The other day the kids and I were driving along the highway marveling at all the types of clouds we were seeing: cirrus, nimbus, cumulus, stratus! It was an unusual parade of meteorology across our usually tranquil October skies.

I think about my childhood in Michigan and I imagine that some California kids might think the weather people are just downright liars. Different-shaped clouds? Clouds with blue sky behind them? In coastal California, we generally get two kinds of clouds: really low, thick clouds that mist all over us (we call it fog and get it largely in the summer) and higher thick clouds that rain all over us (we call that “storms” and we get it largely in the winter). To see isolated clouds here, to see anything that deviates from solid blue sky or a dense layer of grey something, is pretty unusual. And a real storm?

Sunset photo
Someone named Blair took this photo in Michigan. The range of colors and shapes you see in the sunsets there is really stunning

Where I grew up, there wasn’t much nature to be all that thrilled with. The virgin forests found by the French were all gone. You think California got clear-cut? Where I grew up, there wasn’t a tree over a hundred years old anywhere. And what happens when you cut down forests? You get swamps, bogs, slushy, ugly land with puny, stunted trees. We had a few grand oaks that the farmer who owned our land before us planted, and a few grand willows that my dad planted (and regretted when they got into the water pipes), but nothing extraordinary.

We lived far from the big lakes, and the lakes around our house were brownish greenish muddy. When you walked in them with your bare feet, the squidging feeling was really awful, and it took all my inner strength not to scream, “Ewwwww!!!” and run to find a swimming pool. Too bad they hadn’t invented water shoes yet, or if they had, they hadn’t made it to the Midwest.

What else can I do to slam my homeland? Well, then you had the weather. In each season, you had that perfect day: The gorgeous winter day of glistening snowdrifts and sunshine; the gregarious spring day of rain showers and budding flowers; the glorious summer day of warm sun and slight breeze; and the crisp fall day of a tremendous palette of leaves of every color.

I did say day, a singular noun, yes? The rest of the time you had slush, mud, intense heat, bitter cold, stifling humidity or crackling dryness. I might sometimes complain about the fog or rain here, but I know my complaint is silly.

On two occasions, I have been asked to offer a nugget of positive thinking about Michigan to travelers. One time, my husband was being sent on business to Detroit. I told him to check out Greek Town and the fabulous sunsets. He actually called me on his way to Ypsilanti, pulled over at the side of the highway, stunned by the amazing display in front of him. “This is fantastic!” he said to me.

Another time a friend’s girlfriend was going to grad school in Michigan, and he was following her. A fellow Midwestern transplant, he groaned as he told me, and asked me for something, anything, to ease his pain. Well, I said, this fall when the apple harvest is in, go to a cider mill. Get a cup of fresh-squeezed cider and a fresh donut. It’s unbelievable.

Again, my advice was appreciated.

Of course, I was a miserable child in Michigan, and I’m sure that there are many other things to recommend it. However, my childhood home does rather put this place in stark relief. We are so lucky in so many ways, not the least is our beautiful Monterey Bay, the anything-but-peaceful Pacific, the foothills and mountains, the redwoods, poppies, and banana slugs.

We sometimes wonder if our kids know what they’ve got. They probably think we’re really weird. OK, I know they think we’re really weird, especially when my husband and I pause at a stunning view and one of us spouts our well-worn refrain: “We live here!”

It’s nice, however, to have a day like our day of many clouds, when my daughter and I thrilled at seeing so many of the shapes represented. And then we got one loud crash of thunder in this place that seldom gets a lightning storm. It reminded me of the gorgeous clouds and sunsets of Michigan. The amazing, thrilling storms that sent us shrieking for the basement. The taste of apple cider that no cider mill in California can rival. A hot donut just out of the oil.

We’ve got a lot here, but we don’t have it all. And that’s a good thing, a thing to remind myself now that the sun has returned with our solid, blue skies. Somewhere in Michigan right now, someone is pulled over to the side of the road, basking in a natural glory that we Californians can hardly imagine.

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