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The Very Thought!

October 25, 2007

question_mark.jpgIn the one and a half years I've been doing this blog, I've grown numb to the offers of the hundreds of spam comments I get each day.

Now, my advertising contract with the fabulous BlogHer precludes me from laying out the specifics of these offers. But let's just say that if, at THIS VERY MOMENT, I wished to engage in a game of naked online poker in which my opponents were an assortment of fake personal body parts of women and recently-become-women of a variety of races—and simultaneously broadcast that game on a webcam to thousands of enthusiastic viewers—these robo-commenters would be happy to show me how. INSTANTLY. And I could probably win, like, $50,000, too, and have guaranteed income for life.

You should see how quickly I can (1) select all, (2) hit delete on that Junk Comments page.

But yesterday one robo-comment finally threw me for a loop.

The promise? "Flush caffeine from your body, instantly!"

Why? Why?? Why would I waste that perfectly good $3.35 latte?

That was the craziest thing I've ever seen. Just plain nasty. The very thought!


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What Do You Eat When You're Alone?

October 23, 2007

redcurry.jpg
This guy I dated a long time ago was an amazing cook. I learned much of what I know about cooking and wines from him and his mother. As my mom will tell you, I couldn't be bothered with learning to cook when I was growing up.

But whenever I was away for days at at time—on a business trip, say—this guy's place would be piled up with KFC buckets and pizza boxes. What in the world?

Fast-forward to today: When The Wonderful Husband is out of town (which, thankfully, is much less now thanks to a new job), fast food isn't what I want. If we've been having a good day and she deserves it, I'll take Baby A on a "date" to a yummy local pizza place. "I'm having some Mommy time!," she'll tell everyone in sight.

But most days, after twelve straight hours dealing with Hurricane A, I prefer to feed her an early dinner and put her to bed so I can relish a little time to myself.

It's then that I cook the things that TWH doesn't like so much, dishes with Asian themes like curry and fish sauce and fresh cilantro, with tons of veggies and maybe some tofu. You can't beat a big bowl of curried noodles, especially when you're free to eat it on the sofa with full possession of the remote control and several episodes of "The Daily Show" on the DVR.

Case in point: the dinner pictured above, consisting of lo mein noodles, broccoli, scallions, finely diced sweet potato, and a home-made red curry coconut sauce with plenty of cilantro and lime juice. I wished for a little tofu or beef to add to it, but veggies were all I had on hand. Oh my GOSH it rocked. It was hard to stuff my face with it while laughing at Jon Stewart and crew, but somehow I managed.

So, no empty KFC buckets rattling around The Bungalow. Sadly, there are no curry leftovers, either.

How about you? What do you like to eat when it's all up to you? Do you reach for fast food, or would you rather cook?


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Princess Meltdown: A story in pictures

October 15, 2007

As a special treat, we stopped into a Great Amercian Cookie Company and got Baby A and, ahem, ourselves cookies. There was a giant floor poster depicting the company's partnership with Disney Princess characters, which are appearing on mini-buckets and kids' cups. The poster looked a lot like this, only even more enticing, if you can IMAGINE that:

cookie-princess.jpg

[image thanks to the Great American Cookies site]

Do you know what that does to a kid who spends her days dressing like this? And rearranging furniture to build "carriages" to take herself to "the grand ball" where she can "find her prince and fall in love and get married"? * mom shakes fist angrily at Disney *

fairy-princess-2.jpg

Oh YES YOU DO KNOW, if you've ever raised a two- or three-year-old.

So even though she got a cookie embedded with yummy colored chocolate drops (which we'd already handed her before she spotted the poster), do you know what kind of shape she was in when we left the store? This kind of shape:

a_cryingincarseat.jpg

In all fairness, that picture was taken a few weeks ago, but you get the idea.

Good thing there was a display of ginormous pumpkins nearby to distract her from her decidedly un-princess-like breakdown.


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Looking for 'Dem Good Apples

October 14, 2007

apples.jpg
Last week, Baby A was "helping" me shop at Trader Joes, meaning each time I turned to focus on something she loaded up the cart with whatever caught her eye—in this case, almond biscotti, a huge package of trail mix, and a pound of French roast coffee.

As if, child. That's about the last thing she needs.

The one contribution of hers I kept in the cart was a paper bag overfilled with smallish but gorgeous red apples. But it was sort of against my better judgment because the handwritten sign above them touted how they were "treated with minimal spray"!

Now, I'm not always careful to get organic apples. Sometimes surviving the shopping experience becomes more important than making sure each item is as carefully selected as you'd wish. Know what I mean?

But somehow having the "spray," however "minimal" it might be, pointed out so plainly, as an incentive to buy, turned me off. Visions of containers of Roundup with little spray nozzles filled my head, with the nozzles pointed straight at my child. It's probably silly, I know. I wash and peel apples for Baby A (also against my better judgment) so there's little chance this one instance of "minimal spray" would get to her.

But. Still.

Then tonight I noticed that McDonald's recently sent its moms panel on a tour of one of its apple growers and processors. Take a look at their journals and video—it's pretty interesting. Of course, there's nothing negative. You wouldn't expect it. But it's a fascinating look into (1) the power the Mom Demographic wields today and (2) just how much McDonald's can influence its producers. Let's put it this way: If McDonald's suddenly came out and said it would buy only organic apples from now on, a big fraction of U.S. apple production would shift to organic.

What's your take? Let me know.

And while we're at it, here's a hypothetical: If you knew McDonald's offered organic apples, would you be more likely to buy your kids the McDonald's Apple Dipper snacks or side dish?

I would.

Oh, the minimally sprayed apples? They're crispy, sweet, and delicious. But I think we'll buy our next batch from the local farmer's market, where I can ask the grower how they're grown. We get some awesome Pink Lady apples around here.


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No Blanket Necessary! Virtual Nurse-In at Quick Serve Kids

October 10, 2007

Today is the Great Virtual Breast Fest, sponosed by the League of Maternal Justice. All too often, restaurant managers (not to mention other guests!) have been part of the backlash against moms who get the need to feed while they're in a public place. Case in point: this recent incident at a Kentucky Applebee's.

The restaurant said it would keep blankets on hand? Are you kidding me? As soon as babies are a few months old, they yank the blanket off of their faces. Any parent knows that. And, really, why the blanket? Would you like to eat with one on your head? Can I put blankets over the heads of adults who chew with their mouthhs open? Or cackle at the table? 'Cause those things offend me.

The way I see it, kids have to eat, too, even the youngest among us. And though I doubt any mom *plans* to have to breastfeed her baby at a restaurant—I certainly didn't—sometimes things just happen that way, and better a contented baby than a screaming one any time.

That's life. Everyone needs to deal with it. I definitely fall into the If-you-don't-like-it-don't-look-so-hard camp. It's extremely hard to actually see anything private unless you stare really, really hard. So don't.

Because Baby A weaned almost a year ago, I can't participate in the nurse-in. But to celebrate the cause, I've gone back through saved email messages to find some nursing memories. Wow, these make me sentimental. Who would have guessed something so mundane as Feed the Baby would have so many emotional aspects?

Here's an early one, written to my brother and sister-in-law, when Baby A was just about three months old:

she is undeniably darling. last night when i was nursing her to sleep, she unlatched and looked up at me with the sweetest smile. i talked to her about what we'd done during the day, and what we'd do the next day, and that daddy would come home, and she just kept smiling and staring into my eyes. then she drifted off. it was SO heartwarming. things like that make all the hard, repetitive stuff worthwhile.

like the poop bomb she unleashed this afternoon all over herself and the bouncy seat.

I couldn't have been more serious about the "hard, repetitive stuff" line. To me, those infant months were so incredibly difficult, and the depths of sleep deprivation (and maybe a little PPD in there, too) nearly slayed me. (Oh, wait, that was the whole first two years of her life. I'm better now. Really. Swear.)

Knowing I was contributing the stuff that made Baby A grow so quickly was an emotional lifeline for me. No exaggeration. I'd look at her and think, Well, at least I'm getting that part right. At least I can do that. Some days I think nursing sustained me as much as it did her.

And here's a bit from a message I sent to family members and close friends on October 5, 2005. Baby A would have been sixteen months old:

Well, I've thought I've heard a two- or three-word combination here and there, and I know she uses "Baby" and "Me" to refer to herself, especially when she is hungry, but tonight Ava looked me in the eye and said, clearly and sweetly and unmistakably, "Me nurse." Wow! I think that counts as her first sentence.

Awwwww! I couldn't have chosen a better first sentence.

And here's a clip from a few months before that, when my girl was just about to turn one. My sister-in-law asked whether A. was still nursing. Simple answer: yes. But the spirit grabbed me, and I wrote this where one word would have done:

yes, she is still nursing about four times a day, but often we will skip a time if we're busy or away, or if she falls asleep in the car. sometimes she'll be really brief or refuse a session after a couple sips. it's funny, she has her own way of doing it, too. she arranges my hands where she wants them (usually *off* of her, emphatically!) and props her top foot up on me a certain way. i love it. it is such an amazing way to sort of reconnect with each other physically and emotionally, which is nice now that she's becoming more independent.

soon i think we'll be down to two or three times a day, and it will probably dwindle from there, i imagine. at twelve months, she can start having cow's milk. i will probably start giving her whole milk at lunch instead. i know it might sound silly to go on about it, but besides growing and giving birth to her, nursing is the most wonderful thing i have ever done. i will really miss it whenever it ends.

"Dwindle from there"? Who was I kidding? We would continue nursing more more than a year and a half after that, until Baby A. was two and a half. Never, ever thought that would be me. But I do miss it. As with so many things in parenting, the baby teaches you things you never would have learned otherwise. For us, it was just so right. But today A. would much rather stick a lollipop in her mouth.
lollipop.jpg

So I'm here in my tiny corner of the blogosphere, supporting as loudly as I can every parent's choice and freedom to feed their babies as they see fit, where and when they see fit. So come on over, pull up a chair, and feel free to leave that blanket in the diaper bag.

When you're finished, considering shoping at Silly Wagon today. Silly Wagon is donating 5 percent of all sales today to the LMJ Missions Fund! You can help fund future League of Maternal Justice missions.


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The Long Arms of...Dads

October 08, 2007

coffeeshop_interior.jpg
See the orange lanterns in this picture? That's the bar at the coffeeshop nearest our house. It offers caffeinated beverages, interesting people, and a speedy wireless, making it one of my favorite places on earth. For a part-time WAHM who doesn't much like to WAH, it's an oasis. An oasis with lattes and pastries, which beats the kind with water and dates any day.

Baby A was ready for preschool early, so we stopped by this coffeeshop to share a toasted English muffin with cream cheese and drinks—milk for her, a double latte for me—before parting ways for the morning. She stayed in her seat for a while, but soon wandered a few steps away to the barstools, hooked her foot into one, and started pulling herself up to the seat.

I was close enough to catch her in case of a wholesale backwards tip-over. But she's climbed up many times before, so I just sat, watching. You know when your kid first tells you, "Go stand over there and watch! I can do the monkey bars all by myself!" And you have to swallow hard and let her, even though you're not sure how well things will go once those little hands weaken and lose their grip? It was one of those moments. (And there are so many, aren't there? Please, SOMEONE, comment to say "Just wait until she asks for the car keys!")

Seated in the chair next to the one she was scaling was the father of an eight-year-old girl. He's quiet, a transplant from San Francisco who rides a skateboard. We first spoke with when our daughters played together the one morning it snowed last winter. They were so sweet to indulge a toddler who was starstruck that a "big girl" would teach her to make snowballs.

To his left on another barstool was the father of a three-year-old girl who is just a few weeks younger than Baby A. He's a part-time barista at this place and full-time high school band drum line consultant. He's also a great artist and a master of fine arts, to boot, whose works are hanging in the shop's gallery right now.

And walking behind Baby A at that moment, on his way to the sugar and cream counter, was a third dad. He and his girlfriend or ex-wife, I'm not sure which, share custody of a gorgeous two-year-old with black curls to her shoulders. He was alone this morning.

So A. hoisted the top half of her body onto the chair, her feet pedaling briefly in the air as she worked her knees up to the seat. The barstool made a tiny screech. And at that moment each of those three dads threw out an arm to guard her. Three hands were suddenly in the air at her back, just in case.

The scene lasted two seconds, but the picture of it will stay in my mind for a long time. She was fine, of course, my surefooted little climber, and I had to fight the impulse to apologize to those guys, or thank them, or something needless like that. They were just doing what came naturally, and that's what was so awesome. They turned back to their coffees, Baby A sat down properly, and that was that.

To me it's all proof that it really does take a village to raise a child. Or, as our friends who own another local coffeeshop like to say, it takes a coffeeshop to raise a child.


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Dunkin' Giveaway a No Glow

October 06, 2007

Dunkin-DozenDonuts.jpg
I really should apologize for that headline. But at least you're still reading.

Passing along a news release from Dunkin' Donuts...if you've bought a dozen donuts or a box of Munchkins and got a Halloween glow stick as a prize, you'll want to keep it away from young children. Here's the word straight from the company:

Dunkin' Donuts Announces Withdrawal of Glow Sticks

CANTON, Mass., Oct. 5—Dunkin' Donuts LLC is voluntarily withdrawing approximately 1,000,000 pink and orange Glow Sticks. Dunkin' Donuts has determined that the glow sticks distributed were not labeled properly to warn customers that the cap and lanyard, when dislodged from the glow stick, pose a choking hazard for children under the age of three (3) years old. The company has not received any complaints or reports of personal injury.

Dunkin' Donuts distributed the glow sticks free with every purchase of a dozen donuts or 25- or 50-count box of Munchkins donut hole treats beginning the week of September 24, 2007, at participating restaurants nationwide.

Consumers who have received a glow stick should take them away from children and discard them immediately. For more information, call Dunkin' Donuts Consumer Care at (800) 859-5339. Consumers also can visit the firm's Web site.


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About This

First came the job: founding editor of a magazine for fast-food industry executives. Then came marriage.

Then came the baby in the baby carriage—and a new perspective on the world in which that baby will grow up.

Now I'm using my fast-food (quick-serve) industry expertise to filter restaurant news and information to other parents. Join me and other parents as we figure out how to raise our Quicksies to make good choices in a world where fast food is part of life.

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