Life is a Banquet

Food doesn't take a day off

I am full of excuses for not eating by my new motto (From In Defense of Food: Eat Food. Mostly Plants. Not too much). Of course I couldn't eat well while traveling. Of course I couldn't eat well when recovering from traveling. Of course I could be forgiven for eating badly when I got news that my summer class was canceled. Of course I was justified in eating crappy when I had a long, busy day. Of course it was okay to take the evening off when it was roasting hot. And of course, when I came down with with a horrid cold, it was okay to toss back diet soda and convenience food. After all, I was still doing BETTER with my eating.

I've been reading labels. I've been eating lots of farmer's market food, and more salads. I've been eating fewer refined carbs, but I'm still dabbling. Flirting with this new way of eating, of thinking about food. Dating.

Then it hit me. It's a luxury to dabble like this. The reason why traditional ways of eating are so successful is because traditionally people had NO CHOICE but to eat well. Wow. Smack me with that epiphany again. When our great-grandparents were teething, and their mothers were horking up a lung from a cold, and the cat died, and the heat reached triple digits, food still had to be made. Maybe they ate less, or more simply, but they didn't eat WORSE just because they were having a bad day. In most "traditional" cultures, food was used as a "medicine," but instead of Ben & Jerry's, chicken soup, pickles, rice, toast, Pho, and other dishes were ladled out. 

I live my life like eating well is optional. Aspirational even. Like, yes, it would be IDEAL to eat meals at the kitchen table, but here I am, eating broccoli, chicken, and cherries (all food, thank goodness) at my computer because it's optional. I got Sonic with my brother yesterday because I "needed a break." This wouldn't be so bad except I got Sonic Friday because "my cat died." And Saturday because "it's 101 freaking degrees." Diet Cherry Limeades aren't the devil, but I'm not sure what I'm waiting for before I give them up.

I read about 6 ounce sodas of yesteryear, but there I am with my Route 44 of sugar-free love, letting my 9 month old suck on the limes, and waiting for the time to be right before I kick the chemicals to the curb.

Enough. The time will never be "right," until I decide that it's not OPTIONAL. That eating right WON'T take a day off. If I'm going to EAT like my ancestors, I have to start by THINKING like them.

Inseperable

IMG_3399.jpg
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

See longer post below.

One Without the Other

Twin Bookends
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

Mingy and Mungy were always a package deal. When we first saw them in February of 2004 at the Humane Society, they were these little black balls of fluff, each no bigger than a fist. Freak was still reeling from the loss of his beloved cat who made the journey West with him. We'd visited a number of area humane societies, but as soon as we saw these guys, we knew. The cage said Hunter and Trigger, but we never bothered to sort out who was who because they were BOTH coming home. You could no more separate them than you could serve guacamole without chips.

When Mingy started having his many health problems, Mungy became a bit of an afterthought. Mingy has always been the clingier, needier city, and Mungy has been the independent warrior surfing cat poles through windows, sneaking down laundry chutes, and lurking in window wells. The staff at the vet's office once referred to them as a single cat Mingy Mungy, because they saw Mungy so seldom.

And so they were in our minds. Mingy Mungy. Mingy Mungy dinner. Mingy Mungy where are you? Caylis, get Mingy Mungy. Do Mingy Mungy have water?

Yesterday afternoon, Mungy was killed by a car. His microchip still said Trigger, and when the humane society called (I was also out), we both thought it must be Mingy. But no, Mingy continues to use up his nine lives one by expensive one, and Mungy played all his chips in a single roll of the wheel. It was instantaneous, and he did not suffer.

Poor Mingy is the one really suffering. He keeps looking at windows, waiting for him to appear, and he's not used to cleaning himself, so he's already looking ragged. It seems so strange that Tavy will only remember a Mingy without a Mungy. It's like only knowing Paul without knowing the Beatles.

Rest peace, our good friend. We'll still call it Mingy Mungy hour* in your honor.

*Like Happy Hour, but with canned cat food.

Back

I've just returned from a solo voyage with Tavy to the east coast, and I find I'm drained of all the V8 octane fuel that propelled me through a week away with family.

And the fact that my 8.5 month old just removed her sleeper (zippers are easy!) AND her diaper and is now crawling with said sleeper in her mouth, fido style, means that this is going to have to be ridiciously short. (But as a side note, any one else have a toddler disguised as an infant???? Cause I'm going a teeny bit insane over here).

Eating as expected went to the city in a handbasket while traveling. Now it's time to get down to the business of simplifying my diet back to Eat Food. Mostly Plants. Not too much. And reminding myself that ice cream really isn't a daily part of that equation.

Darn.

Oh and the toddler-baby is now happily stacking my paperback swap books. Naked. Must go. More later.

Parenting, not Inc.

Sock, Medium Rare
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

My latest read is Parenting, Inc, which Clanna found for me (and did the intralibrary loan leg work!) after hearing about it on NPR. If In Defense of Foods was common sense for eating, this is common sense for purchasing. However, unlike In Defense of Foods, I didn't require an intervention following the book. Of course, this is mainly because I seem to be way more broke than the average parent.

Seriously, $5,000 cribs? $49.95 Dior Pacifiers? $360 Toddler dresses? Seriously? Seriously? I love Celebrity Baby Blogs as much as the next housebound-going-crazy-without-adults mother, but I've never drank the grape kool-aid of want-Suri's nursery-right-now-damn-the-mastercard-bill.

I've posted my $100 room makeovers before, and my nearly-free nursery, so the whole book pretty much read like a Church Hymnal for me. When I read that the national average for children's clothing purchases was around $250, I said to Clanna, "Okay. Well they got me there." Then I flipped to the footnotes and realized that was PER MONTH. Clanna and I have a nasty $20 a month cute-girly-clothes on Ebay habit (which she outgrows and/or gets orange goo on 5 seconds after wearing).

And, I admit, the first time she showed interest in a baby toy at the store, I got it. And the second. But only because it was pink and fluffy and on clearance. It's a lot of fun to let her pick something out and feel like she's "choosing." However, she has just as much fun choosing kitchen implements, socks, dryer lint, crumbs, and pet toys.

Her all time favorite toys are the dragon fly she extracted from her Jumperoo, a cornstarch eco spoon, a squeaky silcon spoon, a blue sock, and whatever book I'm currently reading. Big spender. And, unfortunately, she's just as happy naked as she is in haute couture.

However, the take-away message from Parenting, Inc. isn't just that naked, happy babies prefer measuring cups over Baby Phat and Leapfrog Lily, it's that we need to consider our reasons for overscheduling and outsourcing parenthood. I particularly liked this message because it endorsed my very laisse faire style of parenting. Perhaps we're just lazy, but we're not rushing to do sign language, Spanish, or Baby Einstein.

I consider it a successful day when I remember to turn on music for her, and I read to her every day. In fact, the only pang of gotta-have-it that I had while reading the book was the mention of the "Your Baby can Read" DVDs. Tempting.

But, not as tempting as a diaper wetness sensor.

Forget the anti-consumer message, the only take-away point that Freak cared about was that such an implement exists. Not that I'm letting him purchase one, but clearly we each have our own personal bugaboo when it comes to baby purchases. For me, it's wraps and babywearing, and anything on 90% clearance. For him, it's gadgets.

So perhaps, parenting slightly inc. But still, seriously, jewel encrusted Binkies?????????

What's your bugaboo? What do you splurge on? What do you skip?