A Musical Education



I have never allowed my Kiddo to listen to “children’s” music. I find the very existence of the genre detrimental to the development any type of true musical taste. We do not own a single Kidz-Bopped, Disneyfied, or Nick Jr-ized CD or mp3 in our entire collection. Barney makes my ears bleed. The Wiggles CD we were given somehow disappeared into the garbage before it could contaminate our player. Radio Disney does not exist in our world.

I have pondered why people insist that their kids listen to choruses of prepubescent Brittany-wannabes do covers of songs like “Your Mother Should Know” or “Can’t Buy Me Love.” Are the Beatles original versions (from back in the day when when they were shiny and clean cut) going to harm their kids in some way? It’s bubble-gum pop at it’s finest without any of the over-produced junior glee club revamp.
Seriously?
Most, if not all, moms I know only let their kids listen to this crap. And they will wonder why, in a few years, their kids will rebel and turn into one of the white-bread, gansta rapping minions. They never had a chance to listen to REAL music, to explore the vast options with their listening taste-buds.
My Kiddo has had a pretty wide education: from classical to classic rock, old wave, new wave, modern rock, reggae, and a little heavy metal and jazz thrown in to balance things out. We have elected to skip the classes in hip-hop and country (with the exception of the Black Eyed Peas and the Dixie Chicks, but they don’t really count anyway) because, well, we are hoping those genres are just a passing blip in musical evolution. We also have omitted ANYONE who was on American Idol…just not going there.
When the Kiddo turned four, his favorite song was “The Streetlight Song” a.k.a. “Long Road to Ruin” by the Foo Fighters. He would beg me to play it over and over again, pounding his little fists on the sides of his carseat to the drum beat, singing his little heart out. Who cares if he was singing the wrong words. He was very jealous when the hubby and I went to see the Foos in concert (which was an absolutely awesome show, but more on that perhaps another time). His tastes then progressed to Coldplay and he had the entire Viva la Vida album memorized two days after it was released. He was once again jealous when the Hubby and I saw them live.

I began to notice a growing trend. Parents were bringing their kids to concerts, something that never happened when we were growing up. At the Greenday show, we were pleasantly amazed to find 8-year-olds with their hair punked out and sprayed green walking hand in hand with their parents. During the concert, Billie Joe pulled a kid on stage with him to sing along with the band–how cool would that be! Considering the price of a concert ticket was LESS than the cost of a babysitter, I realized live shows were becoming a family event.
Last summer Coldplay was going to be making a return trip to sunny FLA, and since we didn’t have a (free) sitter available, we decided it might be the perfect time to introduce the Kiddo to the joys of live music. The tickets were bought and he was counting the days until the show…when it was canceled. Bummed was an understatement.
The Hubby and I journeyed to several more shows, deciding that they were a bit inappropriate for a preschooler. Jane’s Addiction with Nine Inch Nails wasn’t exactly fitting, although it was much tamer than we ever imagined. Dave Matthews…nah…I was not ready to give up my freedom to dance (and drink) at that show to be on Mom Duty. We made promises that he would get to go to a concert with us one of these days.
Now the perfect opportunity has been dangled in front of us. Sir Paul McCartney will be performing one of his four U.S. shows just a few hours away. Seeing him has been on my Concert Bucket List since…well, since I was 6. After glancing at Sir Paul’s recent set lists, we bit the bullet, pulled out the AMEX, and bought three lower bowl seats. I find it fitting that the Kiddo’s introduction to live music shall begin with musical royalty. He has always listened to the Beatles (and his favorite T-shirt now sports the Fab Four) but we have just a few days to shore up his musical education. There are probably a few Wings gaps that must be filled in as well.
The iPod is loaded, the bags are almost packed, the anticipation is building…Miami and Sir Paul, here we come!

I am a grocery shopping addict

Hello, my name is Vinobaby, and I am a grocery shopping addict.

There. I’ve admitted it. My coupon clutch runneth over. My pantry overfloweth. I eagerly await each week’s sale flyer, then peruse the goods, carefully circling my favorite buys. The glimpse of an unadvertised in-store special makes my heart race. I clutch my receipts like a trophy at the end of each trip, and give a only nonchalant smile when the cashier says, “Wow, you did great!” And my receipts are long and lean.

Which may be the problem. As a SAHM on a tight budget, trips to the grocery are not only allowable expenditures, but essential. It is the one place where I can leisurely stroll the isles, browsing the new merchandise, filling the cart to the brim with goodies I feel good about buying.

Now, I don’t mean for it to sound as if I am on a leash (tight, studded, or whatever you may imagine). In our household, I actually control the money, bills, and all expenditures with an iron fist. But I know at least once a week, depending on how many stores I hit, I can swipe my debit card absolutely guilt free.

In fact, I am quite proud of my receipt totals. I was a coupon clipper and bargain hunter extraordinaire long before it became trendy. I saved my Mom’s expired coupons as a little girl. In college, once I actually started buying food myself, I rediscovered the value of those little pieces of paper (hey, saving sixteen bucks back then was giving me a lot of beer money). Once I had my Kiddo and our income was cut in half, my monthly savings enabled me to stay at home with him.
Checking the totals at the end of each trip became a high. How much did I save compared to spend? I don’t meal plan or create weekly menus or any of that crap. I buy what I know we like that is on sale. If our favorite brand of pasta sauce is on sale BOGO, I stock up and buy ten jars. Pasta is on sale too? I have a coupon, so each box will be almost free–I know I have eight boxes at home already, but how do you pass up 19 cent pasta? I know they will be used…eventually…
I never know what is for dinner each night until about 5 p.m. and I decide what I am in the mood for. I actually like to cook. Sometimes dinner is a culinary masterpiece straight out of Gourmet, sometimes it’s dolled-up Hamburger Helper, but whatever I may want, the ingredients are most likely well stocked in my pantry and freezer.

I suppose this addiction may be at least partly genetic. As I was growing up, my Mom’s overstocked pantry was something I would show my friends for shock value. They may be scrounging up anything in the fridge not covered in mold for dinner, but in our house there was a selection of every mix, can, or box readily available for a home cooked meal. Want cake for dessert? There were at least 6 different boxes of cake mix (and coordinating frosting, of course) to choose from. We would joke that if there was ever a hurricane or Armageddon, the party would be at our house.

My Mom is also the only person I am aware of that ever injured herself with this addiction. She opened her packed (yet amazingly organized) freezer one afternoon and a frozen quiche fell on her foot. When I came home I found her crying on the kitchen floor with an ice pack on her foot, waiting for my Dad to take her to the E.R. for an x-ray. Horrible daughter that I was, I just couldn’t stop laughing, and later had a great time telling everyone how my Mom broke her foot. Alas, now I can wholeheartedly sympathize with her plight.

Ever girl needs a hobby, right? I just happened to make mine more productive than say scrapbooking or knitting. Every week is a new challenge, trying to make the bill go down and the quantity of bags go up. And we get to savor the end result. I’ll take some Boursin and Prosciutto Stuffed Chicken with a side of Truffle-Scented Mushroom Risotto any day over a crotchet toilet paper cozy.

Yesterday’s total was a whopping $36.92 with a savings of $77.98. Not too shabby. The only problem was my cupboards were full to the brim and my freezers were overflowing. Ugh oh. But we have saved so much over the years that I get a bigger, brand new energy efficient freezer next month for my 10th Anniversary present. No diamonds for me–practical gifts thrill me.


Now off to the pantry. What shall I make for dinner tonight…?

First Published Piece of the Year!

The travel essay I submitted to the Orlando Sentinel was finally published! I believe I had to wait a few weeks for it to be in print because they happend to have another feature on Costa Rica the week I submitted mine. It’s just an itty bitty article and they shortened it even more than I had hacked it down to (a mere 250 words)but still, I am so excited–can you tell?

Being There: Costa Rica,   Orlando Sentinel   3/7/2010

Now I say FIRST published piece this year…that means I have to get moving, get motivated, and get writing.

Time to read = tools to write?

“If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.”
Stephen King

Okay, Stephen, easy for you to say. If you still manage to kick out a 1,000 page best seller every other month while leisurely reading away your afternoons, you must have some type of time machine. Or work in two dimensions. Or have a ghost writer.

I am not so lucky. I have none of those things. But I do have an antsy 6-year-old telling me each morning, “I’m bored. I want to do something fun today…” My fun would be sitting at my desk all day, my fingers flying over the keyboard, cranking out another 2,500 words.

His idea of fun is Chuck E. Cheese, Aquatica, or inviting a half dozen kids over to terrorize my house. But it is summer break and he will only be little for a little while longer. It won’t be too many summers from now when he will be running away from me, not wanting me to run with him. So I shall quietly enjoy my Mommy duty and do my best to quit my kvetching.

I have still been getting quite a satisfactory amount of writing done (thanks partly to the Hubby taking over kid duty when he can). Yesterday I cranked out another 2,500 words. Last week, 6,500. Kiddo was partially in school three days though. I think my summer goal will be 5,000 words per week. Let’s see if the words keep coming…

But since I have started kicking out the pages, I have notice that I am having a very hard time reading for leisure. I am so focused on my own storyline I can’t be completely sucked into someone else’s. Two weeks into this month and I have read one easy novel. That is crazy for me.

I am spending too much time analyzing sentence structure or how exactly the scene was set up or the author’s use of point of view. I want to be rereading my old AP English and college journalism textbooks to brush up on all of the grammar I have completely forgotten. But I need to keep reading.

Stephen King says so.

March

Momzillas–Jill Kargman
Split Image–Robert B. Parker
Lamb–Christopher Moore
Bahamarama–Bob Morris
Every Day in Tuscany : Seasons of an Italian Life–Frances Mayes
House Rules–Jodi Picoult

April
Deception–Johnathan Kellerman
Flirting with Forty–Jane Porter
The Girl Who Chased the Moon–Sarah Addison Allen
Just Breathe–Susan Wiggs
The 19th Wife–David Ebershof
Deliver Us From Evil–David Baldacci
Odd Mom Out–Jane Porter
The Blonde Theory–Kristin Harmel

May
Island Beneath the Sea–Isabel Allende
Innocent–Scott Turow
Dead in the Family–Charlaine Harris
Heart of the Matter –Emily Giffin
All We Ever Wanted Was Everything–Janelle Brown
The School of Essential Ingredients–Erica Bauermeister
Fever Dream–Preston and Child

Life is what happens when you are making other plans…

“Life is what happens while you are making other plans,” the sage John Lennon once commented. I’m starting to think I have been a secret contestant on a reality show and there is a hidden camera following my every move, and somewhere out there, my trial and tribulations are providing some belly-aching laughs for someone…
I have had every intention of posting several times a week. I intended to be at least two chapters into my novel. Instead, no posts, two scenes. I have found that when I am utterly and completely angry and frustrated I just can’t write. Perhaps I could fill some notebook pages with unreadable angry scribbles and I have filled many a tear-stained pages in years past, but now, as a “responsible adult,” I don’t seem to have that luxury. Chances are, if things are so bad I am kicking walls, I must then go about the cleaning, fixing, and calling, in a vain attempt to fix the problem.

Some things I have learned over the last few weeks:

1. 10 to 15 foot magnolia trees do not fit well into the back of a mid-sized sedan. You would think common sense would tell you that, but noooo, we had to try it. After standing it up, wrapping rope around the car as if we were trying to tie a deer to our hood, we were actually going to attempt to drive about 2 miles home. Then the car broke.
2. We were parked in the loading zone in front of the main entrance to Costco on a packed Saturday afternoon with a humongous tree hanging out of our car…which was dead. We tried to start the car. It just clicked and died. And the brake stayed locked. Not good when you have one of those funky new keyless ignitions and have to press the brake to start the car. After some frantic calls to the dealer to find out if we needed a tow or a battery we had to untie and unload the tree, buy a new battery inside, beg the manager to find some tools somewhere, return the tree, and get home to safety. All with a hungry, cranky 6 year old running around and constant comments from the shoppers coming and going. Always have jumper cables and tools in the trunk.

3. I deserve a maid because washing machines hate me. We are now on…new washing machine number three and have had two repairs as well, all for the same problem…in two months. It was just “fixed” again two days ago, and every time I go to start a load I am in a near panic state hoping the damn thing will start. Washing machines should not cause you to take panic attack pills or send you to marital counseling. Maytag owes me a case of wine, at least.

4. While we are on the topic of laundry, crayons do not do well in the dryer. I opened the dryer last night to find my clothes tye-died and splotched with bright blue. And the inside of the dryer was the shade of my pool. Frantic googling followed. I concocted various crayon stain removal recipes and caught quite a cleaning product fume buzz whilst scrubbing the inside of a hot dryer. All pockets will be checked for crayon nubs in the future.

5. Beauty schools may be a fabulous deal, but a three hour haircut…really? Four hours, when you count drive time. Yes, I got a hand massage, scalp massage, shampoo, blow-dry, and some entertainment watching the uber-trendy students practice their cutting edge stylings all for the bargain price of $12, but…wasn’t counting on another day down the drain…

6. There are no simple projects. I just wanted to level the soil in my vegetable garden. Just… Instead the retaining wall crumbled, and we were once again loading way too much into a little car (12 foot long logs) to make repairs. Saturday we get to play with concrete in an attempt to reinforce the wall we rebuilt. All for some fresh tomatoes and herbs. It will be worth it in a few months, I know it will…

7. MRIs are not for the claustrophobic…unless happy pills are involved.

And now, my future calendar is full, but I WILL find some time to do what I want to do, I NEED to do…in between life getting in the way.

February Book List

Even amidst all the chaos of the last month I still managed to get some reading done. I only tried to re-read one novel, Carrie Adams’ The Stepmother, and, of course I was two pages into it when I realized I would be stranded at the playground for an hour with nothing new to read.

The Help–Kathryn Stockett
The Swan Thieves–Elizabeth Kostova
Bad Mother–Ayelet Waldman
Brava Valentine–Adriana Trigiani
Dirty Girls On Top–Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez
See Jane Write–Farrin Jacobs and Sarah Mlynowski
Baja Florida–Bob Morris
Altar of Eden–James Rollins (technically only 1/2 beause it was just too much like a bad sci-fi channel movie and I had to stop reading)
Testing Kate–Whiteny Gaskell

Now if only I could make myself write in proportion to my reading…

Some Progress…

Amidst all the ridiculous laundry drama, I managed to get some writing done yesterday. I went through all of my notes, my many pages of scribbles, notated napkins and sticky pads. They are now organized in a leather binder and I have officially begun my journey.

While trying to get a true feel for my main character I decided that the page of notes and the character description sheet just weren’t enough. She felt incomplete, I just couldn’t get inside her skin, her mind enough. I sat down an wrote a three page character biography for her, ending just when the novel should begin. I understand her more now and her personality and motivations are a bit clearer to me.

Maybe next week I can actually make myself get started. I need to decide how to motivate myself, how many words per day my goal should be, and how to FOCUS. I keep reading that your first draft, especically of your first attempt, is usually utter and complete crap. I need to accept that I will not be writing Shakespeare, I am not a literary genius. I am just an out of practice wanna-be writer with an idea who was told that she had some talent once upon a time. I just need to get it all out on paper (or screen as it is now) and go from there. Edits and rewrites are not worries now, STOP MAKING EXCUSES AND JUST DO IT!

Maybe starting Tuesday…

Launrdy Day From Hell…Part Deux

Today I was supposed to spend all morning getting serious about organizing my novel notes and setting some goals. It was penciled in my calendar. My notes were waiting in a discombobulated pile on my desk. I had read more “how to get started” chapters in three of my writing manuals. Then it struck again…

…The Washing Machine From Hell.

I was staying home to write, so I could sneak a quick load or two in between segments, right? Wrong. Very, very wrong. The damn thing is broken, again. So all my creative strength was then channeled into keeping myself from taking a golf club to that possessed piece of crap. Then I had to call the company and manage to keep the swearing in check and the tears of frustration from streaming.

Do not by a Maytag. Ever. The cute little commercial about the bored Maytag repair man is a colicky crock of horse manure.

I spent a lovely–no livid–morning at a laundromat. If I had been a bit less angry and unfocused I could have used the place as a character study. I finally found a vacant chair, popped in my ear buds in an attempt to have Jack Johnson soothe my seething temper, and opened my book to pass the time. But I couldn’t help looking around–between the screaming kids and worries that someone would steal my clothes I couldn’t concentrate. I noticed that no one else was even attempting to entertain themselves. They sat quietly watching their clothes turn round in their driers, paced the narrow corridor between the noisy washers, or just stared vacantly out the window. What were they all thinking about? Jobs? Lovers? Kids? Dust bunnies? Quantum physics?

More drama was still to follow… Wednesday afternoons are usually spent at the playground around here. School gets out early and the Kiddo has an extra hour of energy to expend. Since it was a bit chilly today (even here in the Sun Belt) the pickings for playmates was pretty slim. There was only one other boy there and Kiddo waltzed right up to this little giant (even thought he was a foot taller and twice his weight) and asked him to play. Great, lovely, I can once again try to read and decompress while I keep an eye on him. Then this big kid starts hurling rocks at the squirrels. Big rocks. And he had quite an accurate arm. I yelled for Kiddo to get over here and stood up staring in disbelief as the little giant’s mother just watched while she yakked at an obnoxious level on her cell. Kiddo went back and told him to stop, he was being mean. He laughed and grabbed a bigger stick. The mother just watched. I HATE confrontations, and truly had my fill this morning. Not in the mood to go head to head with this oblivious mother. Kiddo and I left after we told the little giant to cut it out. First squirrels, then dogs, then people… I expect to see that kids mug shot in the paper in a few years…

I need to get rid of all this negativity swirling around me…think of some GOOD things from the last few days….hmmm…I found not one but 2 new bathing suits before spring break, an awe-inspiring accomplishment…I found fun little V-day gifts the Hubby and Kiddo will love when they open them Sunday…my taxes are done and the refund is one the way through cyberspace…and oh, I hear my amazing Hubby pouring me a glass of wine as I type…how did I get so lucky…

It’s off to fold (and read) I go…

Today is officially Laundry Day From Hell. Yes, I know, no one LIKES doing laundry (except perhaps my Mom, but she has some very peculiar hobbies), but attempting to catch up from a week away followed by a week of a broken washer is just unbearable. And the washer is less than a month old. And it was delivered 6 weeks late. I am beginning to believe it is inhabited by a wicked sprite and we are not going to have a very agreeable working relationship.

I know some moms only do laundry once a week. I know some single guys are lucky if they remember once a month when the closet is completely empty (you can only turn those boxers inside out so many times). I cannot imagine forcing myself to endure one entire day of sorting and folding all day long each and every week. I think I would have to call in sick that day. Or run away from home. My theory is that laundry is a bit like cough syrup. You don’t really like it, but it is sometimes necessary in small doses and if you take too much at once you will end up hallucinating or in the loony bin. A much better system for me is one simple load a day. No sorting, no stressing, just dump all the dirty in together sometime during the morning, remember to switch it into the dryer around lunchtime, then the dreaded folding and putting away late afternoon. And usually I treat myself to a few minutes of what I actually want to watch on the telly while I fold–Sponge Bob is silenced while I bliss out to a few minutes of HGTV or Food Network. Everyone has to leave me alone. Then it’s done–no big deal–and the Hubby thinks I am a Domestic Goddess.

But today I have two weeks worth of smelliness and funk to deal with. I haven’t even figured out how many loads–I think if I put a number on the madness I will cry. I will deserve vast quantities of wine and chocolate this evening.

On a completely different topic, I am still trying not to be frustrated by the whole concept of blogging. The Hubby still thinks that all I have to do is post consistently to my blog and tens of thousands of fans will find it and read it and we will be making a fortune within a few months time. Huh? Another friend thinks I should concentrate on making my blog marketable and not worry about writing my novel. Double huh? I see this solely as a way for me to force myself to write, to bring my writing skills out of hibernation, and frankly, to mouth off about whatever I want. No one has to like it. If they do, wonderful. But this is for me.

I posted a few weeks ago about how I can never remember what I have read. I had another unfortunate example of this Sunday morning, on such a scale that I wonder if I should be tested for early-onset Alzheimers or perhaps I am suffering from the long-term effects of having a bit too much fun in college. I thought I finished a book Saturday night and started reading a new one Sunday morning. I was about 20 pages into Elizabeth Kostova’s The Swan Thieves when the talk about psychiatry caused me to ponder if one of the characters in Marian Keyes’ Brightest Star in the Sky had managed to drive her bike into a car after all…wait…did she…? Oh, damn! I never finished the book! I know I was distracted by the Munchkin’s unrelenting commentary as we were watching a Star Wars film fest, but come on…. How embarrassing.

I was very diligent last month and managed to keep a running list of all I read. Here it is…

January 2010 Booklist
Kristen Harmel, The Art of French Kissing
Douglas Preston, Impact
Whitney Gaskell, Good Luck
Audrey Niffengger, Her Fearful Symmetry
Charlane Harris, A Touch of Dead
The Gourmet Cookbook (yes, I read it cover to cover)
Steve Berry, The Paris Vendetta
Lolly Winston, Good Grief
Stuart Woods, Kisser

Agh, the damn dryer is screaming for me…Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to fold I go…

Weighing in on Weighty Issues

There has been a disturbing amount of talk over the last few days about Michelle Obama’s comments regarding her daughters’ weight. These articles are truly beginning to frighten me as it seems everyone is more concerned with her political correctness than the message.

The “how dare she” outcry is grating my few remaining nerves. She did not get up on a stage and call her daughters “fat” as so many over- zealous commentators from the bulimia brigade are claiming. Are we Americans so utterly lacking in self-esteem and proud of our nutritional ignorance that we must automatically assume that anyone who is told their dietary choices may not be perfect is guaranteed a life full of eating disorders?

It seems Sasha and Malia’s pediatrician “was concerned that something was getting off balance.” Now, I think those are the words of a responsible doctor looking out for the health and welfare of his patients. I don’t see him forcing those girls to start sticking their fingers down their throats.

Let’s face it. Kids love junk food. Adults love junk food. And most people would rather sit down with a bag of Doritos than a plate of baby carrots any day. How often do we pick something up at the drive-thru because it’s easier or cheaper or we just don’t have the time to make a real meal while we are so on the go and it’s just so much easier than another debate with a 4-year-old about the benefits of eating their green beans. Oh wait, now we can go out and order those green beans fried—perhaps a few more people will consider that a healthy serving of green vegetables.

So, were the First Daughters handed a Slim-Fast and marched off to some Biggest Looser-Style Boot Camp? No. The family made some simple changes. They ate fewer burgers. Water and apple slices were sent in their lunch boxes instead of sugary drinks and chips. More veggies were served at dinner, and oh, the kicker, they put grapes on the breakfast table. Seriously? People are outraged over this? People need to get their heads out of the bottom of their chip bags and get a grip. These are not elements of a “diet.” They are small dietary changes that every household should be making, lifestyle choices that don’t necessarily even have to do with weight and body image, but HEALTH. My kiddo gets apples in his lunch every single day. I am certainly not trying to get him to lose weight, he is skinny as a rail. Oh, wait, maybe the fact that he has grown up eating fruits for snacks instead of chips may be a contributing factor. And he is healthy, which is my primary concern. According to the CDC, childhood obesity has more than tripled in the past 30 years and nearly 20% of kids 6 to 11 are obese. Am I the only person that finds this disturbing? It’s not their jean size that I care about. These kids are not getting a fair chance of a healthy life. And we as parents are responsible.

Apparently, 68 percent of U.S. adults are considered overweight and a third are obese. I have had a horrible week dealing with some of the consequences of an unhealthy diet and lifestyle. I have been trying to cope with the loss of a loved one who was repeatedly told by his doctors to lose some weight, stop eating so much sodium and fat, and get some exercise. My hubby and I have been trying for years to get some family members to understand that they do not need to diet, they just need to make healthier choices. But to them it is all or nothing. You either eat prime rib washed down with half a cheesecake for dinner every night or boiled egg whites. We have several other family members who seem to be boasting about their growing waistlines, and I am fearful that we are going to be repeating this grievous situation again and again. And they are passing these habits along to their kids, which is utterly unfair to them. It does not have to be this way. Honestly, I don’t care how they look in a bathing suit. It’s not about appearance. I want them to lead long and healthy lives, free from high blood pressure, diabetes, and heart disease.

I am also quite fed up with people saying I don’t understand because I am skinny. And usually “skinny” is said with an audible sneer as if I have some kind of wasting disease they don’t want to catch. I was lucky enough to be raised with good eating habits. Growing up we didn’t eat fast food. We had balanced, low-fat meals. Chips were a treat saved for company and the only time I ever had a soda was when I went to the movies–and even then it was a diet. Sure, I was jealous that my friends always had an unlimited supply of Oreos while mine were carefully rationed in zip-lock bags. And yes, when I escaped to college I temporarily went on a junk food binge because I never was able to eat Fruit Loops for breakfast before. But then I grew up and realized that maybe Mom was right all along.

And I understand genetics can be a bitch. My husband has high blood pressure and cholesterol even though he is thin and fit, so we must pay attention to what he eats to combat those nasty numbers and keep them under control. My In-Laws sometimes treat me like a pariah for causing my family great suffering because I don’t always have bags of Lays lining my pantry nor do I feed them real bacon for breakfast each day. Every time I must calmly chant to them, “I feed my hubby well because I actually like him and I plan on keeping him around for a few years. We don’t have enough life insurance for me to feed him crap.” They still don’t get it.

Every child should have the chance to lead a long and healthy life. As parents it is our responsibility provide them with nutritious foods and to teach them them how to make the beneficial dietary choices that will be the basis for what they eat for the rest of their lives. Teaching a child that carrots are a better snack than Cheetos should not send them on the path to an eating disorder, but instead provide them with the habits to maintain a healthy body and mind. I applaud Ms. Obama for speaking out on a subject that too many of us are too scared or too lazy to bother ourselves with. It takes a strong mother to admit she may may not be a perfect parent in a normal life–to admit it on the National stage takes guts I can’t imagine. We all need to step up to the plate and follow her example. Our children deserve it.