Yes, More Baby-Led Weaning

A lot of you were intrigued by baby-led weaning.

Furthermore, some of you raised some very good points and suggestions about baby-led weaning and feeding babies, in general.

So, I thought I'd answer the questions you all had and point out some of the things you all lent to the conversation, too.

***

Lindsay: Do you all steam your veggies?

No, not all of them. I steam a lot of things - sweet potatoes, peas, green beans, broccoli, cauliflower, squash, zucchini, and other veggies you can't eat unless they are cooked. I also roast some things with garlic and onion and give those to her, too, like asparagus. When I feed her beans, I cook them in water or stock and herbs. I scoop them out of whatever we're eating, too, so they are seasoned with whatever they were cooked with, like soup or chili. There are some things I give her both raw and steamed, like carrots. And then there are things I just hand her raw, like green peppers, cucumbers, and avocado.

Karen: The apples Ella eats..are they cooked so they are softer, or are they just regular apples?

I give Ella raw apples. Sometimes I cut her slices from them. Sometimes I take a bite out of the whole apple and just hand it to her - we call this "starting it" for her. And man alive. She can chow down on a whole apple like a champ, two teeth and all. However, I do sometimes bake apples for the hubs and I for a healthier dessert. And I'd have no problem giving her those, too.

Lindsay: Do you take the skin off your apples?

I actually debated this a bit myself. The skin, when Ella first started eating, could sometimes cause her to gag, very little, but still it was a gag, which made this new mama nervous. But I had read that so much of the nutrients for food are in the skin, plus baby-led weaning is all about giving the child the food you eat, the way you eat it. And I don't peel my apples. So yes, Ella gets the skin.

And you know what? She's never choked on it. If she gets a piece of skin too big to swallow, which has happened, she simply spits it out. It's like her little tongue knows, "Oh, I can't handle this!" and she just pushes it right out, all while chewing up the flesh and swallowing it down no problem.

Now, there are some things I do take the skin off of - like cucumbers, mostly because the skin is just too thick for her two baby teeth. And then there are some things I peel after I steam them, like sweet potatoes. That way she gets the nutrients from the skin, but doesn't have to eat it.

Jess: I would be interested to know if BLW children can handled pureed-type of foods later in life. Mashed potatoes, pudding, yogurt, oatmeal, applesauce, etc. Because of my health problems as an infant, I went from a feeding tube to solids. There was no "baby food" for me. My entire life, I have never been able to eat those above items. While I *love* the taste, the texture makes me gag. Every so often, I'll try something to see if I can handle it but within a few bites, I'm on the verge of throwing up. We've always assumed that it was because of my lack of baby food.. Maybe it's not, but it made sense to us. I wonder if there's a similar trend with BLW babies?

I have to admit, I was stumped by this. I've never heard of that happening to a BLW child. But it does seem to make sense that it could.

That being said, when BLW says you shouldn't mash anything up for a baby, that doesn't mean you can't mash something that's supposed to be mashed.

For instance, you can give them yogurt if you eat yogurt. You can give them soup if you eat soup. You can give them mashed potatoes if you eat mashed potatoes. Will it be messy? You bet. But most of them will dig right in because thanks to BLW, that's what they learn to do when food is presented to them. So I'd think, if you truly are introducing an array of foods to your kid, including things of a pudding-like texture (again, because you eat them at a pudding-like texture) then you might be able to avoid this predicament.

Karen: Do you make or buy your banana-blueberry-oat bread? If you make it, what's the recipe?

I do make it. It's an old one I've adapted from a recipe my mom gave me.

You mix together the following: 1/2 cup coconut oil, 2/3 cup agave nectar or raw honey, 2 eggs, 2 mashed bananas, 1 teaspoon baking soda, 1/4 teaspoon salt, 1/2 cup rolled oats, 1 cup blueberries, and 1 1/2 cups flour of choice (I grind up my own oats to make oat flour. But if you're not opposed to gluten, you can just use whole wheat.) Then bake at 350 degrees for 55 to 60 minutes.

***

A lot of mamas commented that they did a partial baby-led weaning, of sorts. They did some purees and then did some finger foods. I think, for a lot of families, this is a great approach.

For instance, Meredith said that her daughter "mostly ate whatever we were eating, but sometimes she ate purees too because sometimes (like when we were out and about or didn't know how food had been prepared) they were just easier for us."

And Amy said, "I guess I'm a mixture of lots of concepts. I was gifted a Beaba and loved it! I enjoyed creating new "recipes" and all that. However, I did a lot of the BLW concepts too, it seems. Whatever works!"

I agree with these ladies, and I don't think baby-led weaning is an all or nothing approach. You can pick and choose the parts you like.

I, for one, think those little squeezable packets of fruits and veggies are a great way to travel with toddlers and not feed them animal crackers all the way there and back. It's healthier, but it's not baby-led weaning.

And that's OK.

Now, some babies may force the issue.

Mrs. B's daughter was not interested at purees at all. And currently? "...Going on 15 months [old], she eats solids great, we've never had a choking issue - and she's been BLW-style eating from 7.5 months - and she still nurses just as much as she did as a little baby - 6+ times a day. It's great! I talk it up to everyone I know," she said.

I do find that a lot of kids who out-and-out refuse the purees, will eat the exact same foods they were turning their noses up at if they are in their puree form. So, for those of you desperately hoping your baby will eat something - anything! - look into this approach a little more.

You'll just be one of those mamas who doesn't get to make her own baby food.

Welcome to the club.

***

As always, any other questions? I'll email you with answers. Thank you all, again, for being so receptive to this topic.

For my original post on BLW, again, feel free to go back here.

Happy Tuesday, everyone!

Baby-Led Weaning: The Lazy Mom's Guide to Feeding Her Kid Solids

When it came time to even think about introducing food to Ella, I'll admit, I had a mini panic attack.

I was incredibly anxious at the thought of her eating anything but breast-milk.

Was she ready? Would she be allergic? How do you make sure she enjoys her food? What can I give her? What can't I give her? How do I know if she's getting enough?

The questions were coming at me from all angles. So, I did what I always do when I'm faced with something big in our lives.

I read and read and read and read everything I could get my hands on. Books. Blogs. Doctoral guidelines. I read about making my own baby-food. I read about what brands had the best purees. I read about what to introduce first and what to hold back on and how many prunes a kid could eat before they'd blow their diaper clear off.

I also read about the concept called "baby-led weaning."

Largely practiced in Europe, baby-led weaning, or BLW, is the child-initiated and-led practice of giving your kid solids. There is no baby food. There are no purees. It's simple and straight-forward and old-school.

Better yet, it involves little to no work for yours truly.

Baby-led weaning tells you to, in a nut-shell, give the baby what you're eating (mostly.) You don't have to be a short-order cook, prepping for baby, separately, and then the rest of the family.

It's the lazy woman's way of getting her kids to eat.

As a woman who constantly marvels at how mamas who use bottles go through all of the hassle of making and cleaning them, especially in the middle of the night - and who has honestly said before, "I breast-feed because I'm lazy. I don't have to pack food, and I never have to wash bottles," - this was right up my alley.

Now, baby-led weaning really isn't anything new. A lot of moms gave their kids solids in this manner and just didn't realize it had become an en vogue parenting technique. My own mom said, "Hey! I did that! I just didn't know it had a name!"

Caveat: It's also not something for everyone, at least according to my estimation. I do have some hard and fast lines when it comes to parenting. But this is not one of them.

By and large, this has worked for us, though I don't follow protocol exactly. In general, Ella and I work best if I take her lead; we nap, eat, nurse, play, and do everything according to her cues. She has set her own schedule, and it works great. I am a believer that the child tells you what they need when they need it, and baby-led weaning, for us, is an extension of that.

BLW is also a proven way to protect a healthy nursing relationship. And preliminary studies show that kids who are introduced to solids via baby-led weaning aren't picky eaters in their toddler and childhood years. Both of those facets are very important to our family, as I hope to nurse Ella for another year, if she wants to, as well as invite her to join in on family dinners filled with lots of flavors and foods; picky eaters don't fair too well in this family, let me tell you.

So, with that being said, let me compile our experiences with baby-led weaning, along with all the research I read, and explain the basic tenets of BLW, along with how we modified the technique to work for our family.

***

Honestly, when you really get to the core of baby-led weaning, you realize how brilliantly simple and hands off it is.

Literally, I kept researching, wondering where the hang-ups were - what, exactly, made this so tough? Introducing food was supposed to be a chore! - and I couldn't find them. A few simple rules is all baby-led weaning really is.

1. No mush

There are no purees in baby-led weaning. You present the food to the child like you would eat it - spices and all. You can cut it up if you choose, but you shouldn't mash up a banana, for instance, or blend steamed carrots or veggies. Give them to child in a manageable form that you would (and should) eat.

2. No spoon-feeding

While there is nothing wrong with the spoon itself, you should never place food in your child's mouth for them, either on a spoon or with your fingers. When a child can bring the food to their mouth, get it in there, and keep it there, then they are ready for the food. If they can't do that, then they aren't ready to eat that food, simply put. A lot of baby-led weaners use a technique called "loaded spoonfuls," where they hand their child a spoon filled with something like oatmeal, for instance, and let the child put the spoon into their mouth. But, again, it's always child-directed.

3. No clean plates

Actually, there's no clean anything when it comes to baby-led weaning. The practice ascribes to the adage, "Food is for fun at least until 1," meaning that, until your child turns 1 year old, their solid foods are really about the experience, not the nutrients, meaning they shouldn't be receiving much nutrition or calories from them, necessarily. That's what breast-milk or formula are for. This also means that kids are literally going to play with their food. They will smear it, squish it, draw with it. They will put it on their face and in their hair. They will eat some and spit out some and toss aside most of it. They are learning temperature and texture, as well as taste. This isn't a bad thing. This is how kids learn.

4. No choking

One of the scariest things about BLW for me, initially, was the fear that, when handing my child a a slice of green pepper, let's say, she'd rip off a piece and choke. It petrified me. But there's a lot of BLW literature dedicated to this very fear, and honestly, it helped me a ton. Basically, your baby has far less of a chance of choking on "real" food than a puree. Feeding children purees with a spoon teaches them to suck back the liquid toward the back of their throat without chewing; an action that actually puts them at a direct risk of choking. But chewing is an instinct, and it prepares the body to swallow food. So when you give children actual solid solids, they will instinctively chew and swallow. Now, this doesn't mean they won't gag. Gagging is a normal response to a new taste and texture in the mouth. But gagging isn't dangerous. It may be loud and dramatic, but it's not harmful. Nothing is blocking your child's airway, and they aren't turning bright red or blue - a definite sign of danger. Gagging is part of learning to eat; choking, where a child cannot breathe and needs help, is not.

5. No early eating

Baby-led weaning strictly lets the child decide when they are ready for solids. They strongly encourage you don't start even introducing food till a minimum of 6 months of age, when the gut is fully sealed (a way to keep allergies from initiating.) After 6 months, they challenge parents to watch for several other signs of food readiness, like mimicking chewing motions while you eat, the ability to sit up unassisted, and the loss of the tongue-thrust reflex (where a child immediately pushes anything foreign out of their mouth with their tongue) before you consider solids, as well. Then, it cautions you to remember that, during the first year of life, solids are not meant to be a replacement for breast or bottle. They are an addition to them, meaning you will still be nursing and/or feeding your baby a bottle just as much as you did prior to starting solids. All this to say that, honestly, most baby-led weaners don't start eating till closer to 9 months, and even then, they aren't ingesting that many calories from their food. Ella was 9 months when we started, and she was almost 10 months before she really ate anything substantial.

6. No force

If a child doesn't want or like something, then don't keep pushing it on them. Don't make them eat it. If they aren't showing an interest in eating at all, then stop trying and revisit it later. If they gag every time food touches their lips, lay off for a while. If they don't have the ability to bring it to their mouth, get it in there, chew it, and swallow, then don't panic; present them with the option, but don't expect them to eat anything. Trust me, when they are ready, they will eat.

***

In the beginning, I was a Doubting Thomas myself. I sat pouring over these articles in European journals and Web sites going, "This can't work! There's got to be something else! This just can't work!"

I didn't believe Ella would ever eat anything, as I presented her with white beans, peas, avocado slices, and carrots. She just had no real interest, and she very rarely put anything in her mouth and actually ate it. Sure, she had a grand old time finger-painting with sweet potatoes and smashing pear in between her fingers, but eating any if it? It was a rare occurrence.

Honestly, I started to have visions of myself raising an exclusively breast-fed 6 year old, and as pro-boob as I am, I was none too happy about that thought.

And then, all of sudden, about a month ago, she ate.

While she didn't just stop smearing the food around or trying to give it to the dog, she did start to put more and more of it in her mouth.

It was adorable. She'd very rarely gag, but instead, she'd put bits and pieces in her mouth, chew, and occasionally even say, "Mmmm!"

Now, she eats all types of beans and peas; she eats carrots, avocados, and squash. She eats every veggie imaginable and every fruit, except for bananas, which she never even gets in her mouth, as the texture freaks her out, it seems.

She'll eat things cooked in garlic, onion, cumin, oregano, paprika, and even chili powder. She likes things raw, steamed, or cold. She'll eat apples and plums whole, and she'll gnaw away at a whole carrot or chomp down aggressively on a stalk of roasted asparagus.

Finally - finally! - she's started eating.

Honest to goodness, she's still only at one meal and a snack a day, where she probably ingests 1/8 to 1/4 cup food total. She nurses just as much as she did before, and other than little pea skins or broccoli pieces sprinkled in her poopy diapers, life is exactly the same.

She has never had purees or mashed food in her life. She instead gets her veggies and fruits sliced and sometimes diced; she likes to gnaw on big pieces, as well as put little bits in her mouth, so we vary the size, making sure it's easy enough for her to handle, while also not posing a choking hazard.

That being said, we are not 100-percent purists when it comes to baby-lead weaning. We do a few things differently, too.

1. She doesn't eat exactly what we eat

Ella is still not eating meat or eggs, not even fish yet. While I will introduce egg yolks and fish probably next month, I know these mega proteins can be hard to digest for an exclusively breast-fed baby, and I want to give her tummy a little more time to adjust before springing them on her. In addition, when she does eat off my plate - for instance, today I made a saute of peppers, onions, and Navy beans for lunch for myself, which she ate - I do not salt my food while cooking anymore. If I want salt, I salt it at the table. I don't want to introduce her to too much sodium too fast. The same goes for sugar. Other than the natural sugars found in fruit, she doesn't get anything that has added sweeteners of any kind in it.

2. She doesn't eat grains

This is a choice based on two different approaches I found that have nothing to do with baby-led weaning. One is the fact that grain-based foods are often linked to a plethora of allergies, and because allergies run in my husband's side of the family, I figured we'd be safe rather than sorry, and she won't get anything grain-related, even oats or millet, until she's 1. The other concept I've been reading has been in several different books about how Europeans - the French, the Dutch, etc. - raise kids. While a lot of the concepts I out-and-out don't agree with (apparently, most of the French don't even consider breast-feeding) this one component I do: They introduce grains last, rather than first, like Americans do, with our rice cereals, etc. Delayed introduction of grains is linked to a whole host of benefits, but it's mostly recommended because grains are so incredibly hard to digest that babies just aren't ready for any grains of even a high nutritional value - whole oats, quinoa, millet, etc. - until about 1. Americans encourage rice cereal first, which is actually not nutritionally very rich (even brown rice cereal), and can be linked to blood-sugar spikes and drops. All that to say that, while I can't wait to share my blueberry-banana-oat-bran bread with Ella, we have to wait a month or so.

3. She does follow a few American stand-bys

American pediatricians warn parents away from several allergenic foods: nuts, strawberries, honey, citrus, dairy, and egg whites, to name a few, until the child turns 1. BLW doesn't specify that this is necessary. (Some BLW-ers say you only need to avoid them if your family has a history of reaction, but in general, it's kind of implied that you can go for it if it's in what you're eating.) I don't agree with this tenet, so Ella has not had nuts, strawberries, honey, citrus, or egg whites. And we'll likely wait till she's 1 for those, too. (She'll never drink milk and will wait till she's of school age, likely, before she'll have any other dairy, per our family's history of intolerance.)

***

So that, in and of itself, is baby-led weaning. Honestly, I just beat a really simple concept to death.

Really, it's just all about letting the kid lead and presenting them with a wide array of options straight off your plate.

Like I said, it makes it OK to be the lazy mom.

If you have any questions, please ask. If there's enough response, I will do a Q&A. If not, I'll just email you privately.

It really is as simple as it looks. And I am here to tell you that, so far, for us, it works.

And I haven't even had to use my blender once.

***

Happy Wednesday, everyone.

Questions Answered (Day Two): Ella's Real Name, My Dream-Team Meal, and When We'll Have Baby No. 2

And we're back.

Day Two of of this question-and-answer jig is under way.

If you missed Part One, feel free to read back here. But if you're ready for more, read on.

***

Penny asked me how we picked out Ella's name.

I'm not gonna lie to you all, I've been wondering when this would come up.

Because, while I haven't technically been lying to you about Ella's nomenclature, I have been commiting a sin of omission.

You see, "Ella" is actually Ella's middle name. Now, to be fair, we call her Ella. Day to day, when we're talking to her, we address her as "Ella." When we introduce her to others, she's just that: Ella. We actually call her by her first name rarely, if ever.

Her first name is my mother's name, as well as his mother's name. (Yep. Our moms have the same name.) As my mother-in-law passed away when my hubs was 11 years old, naming Ella after her was a tribute that was important to him. And my mother, though living, is just as important to me, too. So Ella's first name is in honor of her two grandmothers. (Which is fitting, as she looks like both of them.) It's also fitting, considering both the hubby and I have Irish heritage.

Anyway, we chose Ella as her middle name because we both liked it. We were one of those couples who picked out baby names when we'd been dating but weeks. Ella was one of the two girls' names we both loved instantly. Of the three names we liked (two girl, one boy), Ella is the only one that doesn't have any meaning - familial or emotional - behind it.

It was, simply put, pretty, and it blended very well with her first name, which does have familial and emotional meaning behind it.

Which, I'll be honest, I'm not publishing on my blog.

My husband and family aren't comfortable with it, so it's just one of those things I don't fight them on. Suffice it to say, Ella is really and truly Ella. Since birth, that's what we've called her. It's just that her birth certificate reads something slightly different.

Speaking of Ella, Callie Nicole wanted to know when we were going to give her a sibling, i.e., when we would like to start trying for Baby No. 2.

I'll be honest, I am just now starting to be able to envision having another baby. Up until about last month, I really struggled with the thought of dividing my attention between Ella and another one.

But as Ella grows, I'm beginning to see it's possible. And thus, with that realization, the hubs and I have been talking about it.

It's a little bit tricky, being a military family, as my hubsters has to be home to make a baby. So, looking ahead at what we "think" the Navy will have in store with us for the next year or so, we'd like to start trying at the end of this year, when Ella will be about 18 months old.

Maybe. If timing works in our favor. Which is a big "if."

Doesn't mean we won't get pregnant sooner than that. Things happen.

And it doesn't even mean we'll get pregnant when we want to. That happens, too.

In a perfect world, my kids would be 2.5 years apart. But no one's world is that perfect. So, who knows? Let's just say I wouldn't expect a pregnancy announcement on this blog any time this year.

Callie Nicole also wanted to know if I could live anywhere in the world, where it would be?

Honestly, I think the No. 1 thing that makes me a half-way decent military spouse is the fact that I never envisioned living in any particular place. I wanted a family and a home. I didn't much care where that family and home would be.

So, sure, living in a town like Paris would be great. But have I envisioned it? Not really. I guess I don't really have a preference where I live. Just as long as Ella and the hubby come with me.

I do, however, dream about the amazing vacations we could take. And Crazy Shenanigans asked that very thing. She wanted to know where I would like to visit if I could pick anywhere I'd never been to before.

I'd like to visit anywhere in Central Europe. We talk about a family trip to Hawaii. And I envision back-packing through Ireland with my family and then visiting Italy - both countries that are important to our heritage.

Callie Nicole also asked if I had siblings, nieces, and nephews...

...which I do. I have two brothers - both younger than me, one three years younger and the other six. The older of the two just got married, so I have a sister-in-law. And the younger of the two just got engaged, so next year, I'll have another sister-in-law. It's on my other side that I have nieces and nephews. Both of my hubby's older sisters have kids; together, they've given us three nephews and one niece - all of whom are amazing and adorable and so much fun. They're currently located in Arkansas and California, and we hate how far away we are from them.

Lastly, Callie Nicole asked if I was a dog or cat person.

As the giant dog on my sidebar as my witness, I am on Team Canine.

I've only ever owned dogs, and I love them. Though I'm not anti-cat. I just don't feel the need to own a cat. I don't feel that connection like I do when I look into puppy-dog eyes.

Maybe, if it was the right cat, I could be converted. But to date, a few cats have tried, but none have succeeded.

Next up, my Name Twin over at Lessons in Light and Life, asked me, if I could eat one meal for the rest of my life, what would it be?

This, my friends, is a tough one. I just like food so. very. much.

I truly can't decide. Which is why I'm going to have to go all whackadoodle and mix and match.

I'd have stove-top popcorn, sushi (a spider roll, preferably), my grandma's homemade eggplant parmesan, Bang-Bang Shrimp from Bonefish Grill, and guacamole.

And that's my narrowed down list, my friends. You wouldn't believe what I had to leave off.

And now, Crystal wants to know what my hubby's family thinks of my blog and lifestyle.

Honestly, I don't know how often, if ever, my in-laws read my blog. I haven't mentioned it to them a lot, and they aren't really that concerned with my writing, paid or unpaid. Which is fine by me. I adore my in-laws, and I'd rather not communicate with them via a blog.

As for my lifestyle, well, that one is a little bit harder. Partially because the word "lifestyle" makes how we live seem so far out there that it's not anywhere close to normal.

Which, honestly, isn't the case. We are pretty mainstream, other than a lot of our health and nutritional decisions. Which my in-laws are perfectly aware of and very supportive of.

My sister-in-laws have made very similar decisions to me as far as parenting goes, and as their children are a bit older, they helped pave the way when it came to things like extended breast-feeding, organic diets, and selective vaccinations.

And over all, my in-laws are respectful of other decisions we've made - like co-sleeping, baby-wearing, delaying solids, etc. - because we've had honest, open conversations about them with those choices, and because they know we are doing what we think is best for our children.

My mother-in-law raised four children and is a wealth of good information. But she is also extremely respectful of me as a mother and my husband as a father and our autonomy as parents.

I am very blessed to be married into such a great family.

Speaking of how we raise Ella, The Crummy Chronicles asked if Ella was eating solids yet.

And the answer is...

...kinda.

Now that Ella is 9 months old, we've started introducing a bit of solids. Just a bit. (Still keeping in mind that she's prone to allergies, so we don't want to shock her system.)

We are using a method called baby-led weaning. I'm going to write a post on it on a different day, but to summarize, it's where you give babies straight food, just like it's prepared for an adult (without sugar or salt, of course) and not pureed. You never spoon-feed with baby-led weaning. You allow the child to feed themselves.

It's a method that is known for helping to sustain a healthy breast-feeding relationship, as well as keep children from being picky eaters.

It's also a method that's known for being messy and largely inconsistent at getting kids to ingest actual calories before age 1. (Intentionally so, mind you.)

Which is fine with us, as Ella is getting plenty of nutrients from breast-milk.

So, for now, once or twice a day, she gets a few pieces of a veggie on her plate, sometimes steamed, always cut so she can pick them up and hold them.

So far, she's done avocados and carrots. And she's probably ingested 1/2 a teaspoon each time.

She loves the food, as in she loves smearing it and playing with it and offering it to the dog. She eats very little of it, which is normal for a baby-led-weaning kid.

For now, it's about the experience, the texture, the learning opportunity. Which I can tell is working because, as I sat on the floor eating a plum while she played around me yesterday, she crawled up, pulled herself to standing, leaned in, cupped a hand around my plum, and took a bite out of one side while I was chewing on the other.

So, she gets it. She's just not really ready to eat that much yet.

Now, after yesterday's post The Crummy Chronicles also wanted to know how I decided what resources were credible and which weren't, especially when it comes to the Internet.

Honestly, I trust very little of what's on the Internet. If I'm curious about something I read, I look for a citation, and if I can, I go and read the actual article/piece of research the person is citing.

I much prefer books, documentaries, etc. When it came to breast-feeding and vaccinations, I checked out every book offered at the birth center we attended. I also ordered some online - from both sides of the argument. (I purposely try and read research that is for AND against the way I lean. I do the same thing with politics, too.)

And, when I'm reading a book, I also pay special attention to the references in the back of the book, and I look up articles cited, etc., there, too. (Many of these articles can be found online, but they also can be found in print in reputable scientific journals.)

Also, because I worked as a journalist for so long, I'm not above calling up so-called experts - pediatricians, professors, what have you - and interviewing them about things, especially if they are going to actually treat my child for something.

Now, Web sites run by government agents, etc., I do consider fairly credible when it comes to basic statistics and definitions. But other than that, I prefer an actual academic text or a person.

And, last but not least, a few of you asked me if/how an unvaccinated child could attend public school.

This is a tough one to answer, mostly because I know some about this, but not a lot, as Ella isn't of school age yet. (And because it can differ from state to state.)

From a personal perspective, I don't worry about this too much, as a) we don't know where we'll be stationed when it comes time to send our kids to school, and b) we haven't decided if we'll be a public school, private school, co-oping, or home-schooling family yet.

But I do know it's a concern for both vax-ing and non-vax-ing families alike, regardless of your educational choices, so I probably should dedicate more time to the topic.

I do know that almost every state has at least two kinds of waivers, which allow non-vaccinating children to attend public school, no questions asked.

One is a medical waiver, meaning a child isn't healthy enough or has a condition which can be worsened by a vaccine. And the other is a religious exemption, meaning your religion takes issue with the vaccine or ingredients used in the vaccine.

Now, some states have a third exemption, a philosophical exemption, meaning that you object to vaccines based on a decision that you don't have to explain other than the fact that it's your belief and choice not to vaccinate your child.

If the state I lived in had a philosophical exemption, I would sign it. But most don't.

Which brings us to what's a gray area, to my understanding.

Techincally, it' s mandated that our children need to be vaccinated to attend public school. But it's also mandated that tax-paying citizens have a right to send their children to public school and that children can't be turned away because of race, religion, creed, etc.

Which is why many non-vaccinating parents will tell you they have managed to get and keep their kids in public school. I've heard that many schools have individual waivers you can sign, stating that you are aware you're breaking the law.

But honestly, I'm not sure. I know that there are non-vaxxed kids in public school. I also know I've heard of parents suing to get them there. But I know that's not the case for most.

I'm sure someone out there is more informed on this than I am. (Please speak up, if you are!)

But for now, that's my best answer. And I'll keep you posted as I learn more.

***

That was fun. I have to admit, I enjoyed that more than I thought. Thank you for asking such great questions.

And thanks for taking such an interest and reading my answers.

Have a wonderful Thursday!

It's Organic

I was a healthy eater before I became an organic eater.

After all, I've always liked whole grains, brown rice, lentils, green veggies, and fresh fruit.

I used dairy, fats, and meat sparingly, and I always bought lean cuts, etc.

But still, things kept nagging at me.

How cattle was raised. How chickens were cooped.

How the food we ate was filled with protein. And hormones.

How the vegetation I munched on was filled with vitamins. And chemicals.

And this was after I had read all the research linking certain pesticides, chemicals, and injected hormones - all things used in United States food sources to grow and produce our figurative meat and potatoes - to behavioral issues in children, to infertility, to cancer, to autistic-spectrum disorders, and to a shortened life span.

While Americans were busy fighting fat and calories, we were ignoring other hidden factors that were killing us faster than (and sometimes aiding and abetting) obesity.

And I knew it. After all, I'd seen the documentaries. I'd done the research.

And, yet, I hadn't made the switch.

I still bought the cheapest eggs. The most affordable cuts of meat. And the veggies that had been sprayed with God knows what but were distinctly cheaper than the shelf of food tucked away in the corner of our grocery store that cost an arm and a leg simply because they were labelled "organic."

Why? Why the heck did I ignore what my mind and heart knew to be true?

Cost. Price. The almighty dollar.

Committing to a locally grown, organic diet can be ridiculously expensive.

And, as a young single woman and then as a newlywed, I thought, without a doubt, that I couldn't afford it.

So, I didn't. I dismissed what I knew and moved on.

It was only later, when the hubs and I started talking about having kids, that I remembered all that research I'd read. On how my fertility could be affected by the hormones used to plump up our chickens and how my baby was more likely to have behavioral disorders and issues if she was exposed to too many pesticides both in and out of the womb.

So, I did it. I made the jump.

We are, according to my estimations, a 90-percent organic household. All our meat is locally grown/grass-fed and/or organic. Our dairy, which we eat very, very little of, is all organic. And about 90-percent of the produce and grains we buy are organic.

It was, and still is, surprisingly easy for us to maintain this lifestyle. And, trust me, we don't make a ton of money. In fact, we are on the strictest of budgets.

So, it makes sense that I get asked a lot about how we do it. How we afford it. How we finally made a change that, dollars-and cents-wise, seemed to guarantee we'd be a bit more broke at the end of the month.

Today, I wanted to share with you a few of my tips. For those of you who asked. And for those of you are considering making a few switches in your food sources. I promise you, it's easier (and cheaper) than you think.

***

1. Make it a priority

When it comes down to it, and you're staring at ground beef that costs you $3 a pound compared to $6 a pound, it's hard to turn down the cheaper item, even if it's not as good for you.

To resist that cheap temptation, you first have to make eating organically a priority. You have to budget for it. You have to decide you want to do this for your body and the bodies' belonging to your family members.

Remind yourself that eating this way will cost you less in health-care. Remind yourself that it's a pro-active step toward a healthy lifestyle rather than a re-active step, like medication, radiation, or hormone injections. Remind yourself that your child will be more successful in a classroom, social circles, and as an adult.

Do what you have to do. Decide why it's important to you. And then repeat that to yourself over and over until you believe it.

It's easier, then, to cut corners in your budget elsewhere, or accept the fact that you may have to say good-bye to your deli-cut turkey and ham, which just happens to be filled with cancer-causing nitrates and nitrites.

Realize it's a gift you're giving your family and yourself, and then go make your shopping list.

2. Buy in bulk

Our local Costco carries organic beef, chicken, blueberries, carrots, juices, chicken broth, cheese, milk, nuts, rice, butter, pasta, canned tomatoes, oatmeal, etc. And my membership there costs less than $60 a year.

But I can buy organic, grass-fed beef for under $4 a pound. And I can buy organic brown rice cheaper than I can buy plain rice at a regular store.

Bulk stores take planning and time, granted. After a trip, I divide up my meat into meal-sized portions, store my grains in air-tight containers, and freeze what veggies and fruits we can't eat quickly enough.

But it's worth it, as many bulk stores are realizing the market they have with organic-minded shoppers and are offering deals on things that regular grocery stores are charging upwards of $2 to $3 more a unit for.

3. Find a local source

Our farmer's market always has vendors boasting organic produce. We even have a meat guy, who takes orders for what you want one week, and bring back steaks, ground beef, and sausages all made from locally raised, grass-fed cattle the next.

Almost every city I know has some kind of co-op, where you can pay a certain amount of month, and a farmer will supply you with a box of locally grown produce. (Some co-ops incorporate dairy, eggs, and meat, too. And there are dry-foods co-ops, where you can buy grains, cereals, etc.)

Local sources cans sometimes be a bit more expensive than a grocery store, but it's still cheaper than many health-food sources, and it's always locally grown. (Even if food isn't organic, locally grown food normally has less chemicals and pesticides used on it, so it's a better option than those carrots grown in Guatemala you'll find sitting on your grocery store shelves.)

4. Use coupons at health-food stores

I love me a good health-food store. But man, are they expensive.

In fact, I partially blame the snooty, better-than-you-because-my-cereal-costs-7-bucks-a-box mentality of chains like Whole Foods for the reason eating healthy and organically has gotten such an expensive rap.

Still, you can find bargains at most health-food chains.

I, for one, use coupons. The stores often have booklets of them throughout the aisles, and you can also find them online.

Also, sign up for any rewards program they have. You'll get e-mails about deals and sometimes, at some places, build up points.

And always ask for discounts. Our chain health-food store offers a military discount, a senior discount, and a student discount. With coupons and our military discount, I've bought grass-fed steaks for less than I'd pay for a cheap, hormone-injected cut of meat at a Super Wal-Mart.

Lastly, use a health-food store as a last resort. I only shop at them when they have items I need that I can't get anywhere else or when I have coupons I know will get me a steal. Other than that, I leave my organic hunting for stores elsewhere.

5. Don't count out big business

I mock Wal-Mart, and really, I'm not a huge fan.

But they, too, are hopping on the organic band-wagon. Last time I was there, I found organic lettuce, spinach, cereal, garlic, and eggs.

Other grocery stores are following suit.

So scout them out and ask a store representative what organic product they carry and where they keep it.

6. Find an organic buddy

Sometimes, it's cheapest to buy organic product in the largest amount possible. Especially if you're buying into a co-op or at a bulk goods store.

But most of us probably don't need 50 pounds of organic quinoa.

So find someone to split it with.

Sure, you'll have to divvy it up yourselves, but you'll be saving a boatload per unit (and you'll never have to buy quinoa again.)

***

Honestly, my grocery bill is not the cheapest out there. But it's also nowhere near as expensive as other people's I've seen, organic-minded or not.

I promise you, you can do it. Even if you're only switching out a quarter of your groceries for more locally grown, organic items, you're going to notice a difference in how you feel, and you'll reap the benefits of well-grown and-raised food.

Before you know it, it will just become a way of life.

It will become second-nature.

Organic, if you will.

***

Happy Wednesday, everyone!

A Grown-Up Girl Scout

I wasn't allowed to be a Girl Scout when I was little.

My mother spouted off some nonsense at the time about them being "dis-empowering" for women and lacking sound moral values and educational perspectives.

Which is shocking, considering she's probably the very woman who started the heavenly trend of putting Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies in the freezer to up their delicious-ness.

But unless we're talking about Thin Mints, my mom was simply not a fan of the Girl Scouts.

So I remained what felt like the only little girl around who watched her friends traipse off to troop meetings with Brownie badges and super-cool green sashes and skorts, while I played with my little brothers in the front yard and avoided Barbie dolls - another childhood rite of passage my mother poo-poo-d, as she felt they hindered the development of positive body image and self-esteem in young girls.

Come to find out, years later, my parents main reason for saying no to the bi-yearly Girl Scout invitations I received was financial. They simply couldn't justify the expense it would take to keep me in Brownie badges and super-cool green sashes and skorts, especially considering I was already heavily involved in a gymnastics team and other extracurricular activities.

So no Girl Scouts for me; my mother remained stalwart. (Something that can't be said for Barbie dolls, which I did eventually play with, but only because people gave them to me as gifts. My mother would never knowingly support such big-breasted children's toys.)

Anyways, luckily for me and my mother, I escaped my Girl-Scout-jealousy days relatively unscathed.

I grew out of my desire for badges and sashes and skorts, with my empowered female status and good, moral values in tact.

Adulthood hit, and well, here I am.

A fairly decent replica of my own mother, in fact.

Except for one little thing.

When leaving the grocery store, Target, or a neighborhood park at this time of year, I'm drawn to them.

Like a moth to a flame.

Just like when I was a child, I cannot resist their super-cool green sashes.

And before I even know what I'm doing, I'm shoveling out $3.50 for one box, $7 for two, or - gasp! - $10.50 for three boxes of what they're selling.

Girl Scout cookies.

Oh, yes, I'm big talk, what with my nutritious, organic, homemade foods and my ability to drink carrot juice and eat lentils seven days a week.

But as soon as I see those 10 year olds in their jaunty green berets, it all goes flying out the window.

I buy thin Mints, and Samoas, and Peanut-Butter Patties.

I contemplate the Lemon Cremes and the classic Shortbreads.

I even consider the Dulce De Leches or the fairly new and ambiguous Thank You Berry Munches.

I'm an addict.

Or, rather, I'm a little girl again, so desperately wanting to be a part of Troop #42B.

And I'll buy my way in if I have to.

Box after box after box after box.

Forget empowering women. Forget good morals and educational aspects.

I'll trade it all in for a box of Samoas.

Somebody pass me a jaunty green beret; I want to be a Girl Scout.

***

I've been told that, after my time, the Girl Scouts were re-vamped, changing their methodology and mission statement. A regional representative back in Florida actually informed me that they did so to cater to little girls with mothers like mine - they wanted to make the program more grounded in morals and female empowerment.

If only I'd been 10 years younger.

Luckily, these days, I can relive all those Brownie-badge dreams by buying their cookies - a delicious substitute, I might add, for my very own Girl-Scout skort.

Happy Thursday, everyone!

I'm in Love with a Cake Mix

I have to admit something.

Something that may, in any circle of most grown American women, make me hated.

But it has to come out. Because the truth of the matter is, without this little personal tidbit about me, you won't realize how much my world is being rocked right now.

You see, my deep, dark secret? The thing I hate to tell other women?

I don't have a sweet tooth.

Seriously.

I mean, I like cookies. I'm OK with cake. And candy's nice.

But you know how lots of red-blooded American women are all "Oh, I'd kill for a rich piece of chocolate right now?"

Yeah, I've never said that.

I simply don't crave sweets.

Sure, I occasionally eat them, but I don't ache for them with every fiber of my being.

I'd rather eat popcorn. Or potato chips. Or (gasp!) a hot wing.

I like salty foods. When I'm deciding to indulge, I'll often have a second helping of pasta and skip dessert. I prefer my calories that way.

As my friend said, "You eat like a man."

And, in a way, I do. (Though that means my husband eats like a woman because he's got the biggest sweet tooth I know.)

Anyways, I was really OK with this. I was super-happy being a savory-over-sweet girl.

And then, I got pregnant.

It was like a light-switch flipped.

Now, all I want to do is spend my time around sweet things. And, of course, subsequently stuff them all in my face as fast as I can.

Literally, I've become so obsessed with the idea of pastries and cream puffs and soft, fluffy cake that, last week, I actually cried real tears begging my husband to go buy me some cupcakes. (As it was midnight, he declined, but at least he humored me.)

I was watching TV yesterday and actually moaned out of sheer desire when a Dunkin' Donuts commercial for new cocoa donuts blasted across the screen.

My hubs peered back at my quizzically, muttering, "You? You want a donut now?"

Yeah, I don't even like donuts normally.

And I swear to you, right now, I'd kill for a dozen donut holes faster than you can say "glaze."

So imagine my consternation when the midwife, who'd previously been begging me to "eat anything you want, anything you can possibly keep down," realized I'd started to gain some of the 20+ pounds I'd lost from morning-sickness back and thus warned me not to eat too many carbs and avoid putting weight on too fast.

It was like a nasty trick. I wanted to punch her. And not just because, at that very moment, I was dreaming of buying a Funfetti cake mix and eating it all by my lonesome later that night.

It's because I am normally paranoid about things like gestational diabetes, processed sugars, and pre-disposed obesity.

I mean, if you all realized how strict my diet is day-to-day, you'd think I was seriously insane.

All this to say, my guilt and my intense desire for something sweet had both come to a head and clashed.

It was only made worse by the fact that my husband proceeded to chomp on a sugar cookie later that night while I tried to console myself with a handful of raw almonds.

Oh sweet heavens, I wanted to slug him.

Meanwhile, visions of Funfetti were still dancing in my head.

However, I persevered. I told myself, "You are stronger than the sugar cravings. Do not walk down the Valentine's Day candy aisle at Target. You are stronger than the sugar cravings."

And me and my baby belly waddled away.

And then I started making dinner last night.

I needed a relatively obscure kitchen tool for my soup, so I began digging around in the upper echelons of one of those cupboards that holds things you rarely use.

Like my waffle maker.

I eyed it while I was pushing the blender aside.

And then, I remembered:

As a child, when we were far too young to be taken out on the town on weekends, my parent used to make cake batter - chocolate, vanilla, spice - and then pour it onto the waffle-maker. Three minutes later, we'd each have our own cake waffle, which we'd top with fruit and ice cream and, on a particularly wild night, chocolate chips.

It was, as I now recall it, a genius feat. I'd never given my parents enough credit.

Just like that, I'd forgotten all about the fiber-filled, protein-packed, vegetable-rich soup boiling away on the stove.

All I wanted was a cake waffle.

(And the little personal trainer inside of me reminded herself yet again why she doesn't let me keep errant boxed cake mixes in the house.)

Still, we ate my darn soup. It was good.

I guess.

Not that you could tell, as I stared glumly at it and banged my spoon against the bowl angrily.

It just wasn't a cake waffle.

I wanted a cake waffle.

I wanted a cake waffle more than I loathed myself for wanting the cake waffle. Which was a lot, by the way.

Sure, I could almost hear the baby girl inside of me muttering, "Please, mommy, all that processed sugar isn't good for my developing system!"

But in that moment, half a bowl into my veggie soup, I didn't care.

Which is why, even though tonight is a Friday night, we're staying in. And I'm making cake batter.

You fill in the blanks.

***

Honestly, part of my problem is I simply feel out of control. My blood sugar is all wonky, and I either feel like I'm not eating enough or I'm eating too much.

I am afraid of excessive weight gain during pregnancy. I don't want to do that to myself or my baby. But also, if I don't eat enough, I've now started to find myself woozy and light-headed. It comes on quickly, too, and that hasn't happened to me in years, really.

I swear, this pregnancy has literally made me crazy. And it's made me super sympathetic to people who struggle with intense cravings and food addiction.

I do find myself literally obsessing over things like peanut-butter cookies.

And I don't like that. Not one bit.

It's also made tons of my old body-image issues come flying back at me. Though that's a whole different topic for a different day. Far too serious for a Friday, I tell you.

Anyways, here's hoping I don't end up with a 10-pound baby. Or gestational diabetes. Or a fixation on cream-filled desserts.

There's got to be a middle ground.

Let's just hope my baby brain can find it.

***

Have a good weekend, everyone!

A Bum Full

My husband and I eat dinner together almost every night.

It's a constant.

But where we eat dinner is not.

Sometimes, we eat at the table, like normal folks. Other times, we eat on the porch, al fresco. And still others, we climb into bed and indulge in cups of soup and a DVD, all lazy-like.

And, yet, more often than not, we end up eating in the living room.

Perched on the floor or couch, crowded around the coffee table, television sometimes on and sometimes off, the hubs and I eat whatever I've prepared that night and talk about our day.

It's not something I'm proud of. Heck, when we have kids, I fully intend to quit eating there all together. We'll eat at the dinner table like real Americans.

But for now, it's our default setting a lot of the time.

Which is why, yesterday, I set the dinner table at the coffee table.

I set out napkins and cups and forks and knives.

Then, I bellowed for my husband, who came accordingly, knowing food was on the horizon.

I fixed him a plate of meatloaf, sweet potatoes and lima beans, then fixed my own. I handed off his plate, and I went to set mine down, too.

But then, I realized I'd forgotten my vitamins, which I take with dinner. So, before setting off for the kitchen again to grab them, I placed my plate full of meatloaf, sweet potatoes and lima beans squarely and soundly on the couch, where I intended to sit.

Hungry, I hastily got the vitamins and returned, excited about dinner and the movie my husband was about to start.

So, without a moments hesitation, I sat right down on the couch, prepared for our relaxing evening.

At first, everything seemed normal.

And I sat there for a full 30 seconds before realizing that, oh my, my butt was getting a bit warm.

A bit warm, and, in fact, a bit damp.

Whoa! It was a lot warm! And a lot damp! I realized. What is wrong with the couch?

Then I felt a plate dig into my right cheek.

And it was only then that I realized that I'd landed right smack dab in the middle of my plate full of meatloaf, sweet potatoes, and lima beans when I'd sat down.

I didn't even hesitate, in fact. A tush has never plunked down as firmly as I plunked mine down, right into the danger zone, completely unaware.

Finally, message received, I leapt off that couch so fast that meatloaf flung at my husband, who was already sitting next to me, silently laughing.

My dinner was splattered and smashed everywhere - most of all, all over my butt. It was in every crack and crevice, in fact, if you know what I mean.

I had finished off a plate full of meatloaf, sweet potatoes, and lima beans before I'd even taken a bite.

Talk about dinner going straight to your hips. I'd actually accumulated a meal's worth of calories by sitting on them.

Yum.

Time to move to the dinner table, wouldn't you say?

***

Happy Thursday, everyone!

A Bad Egg

I was a home-schooled kid.

For elementary and middle school, my mother was my teacher. She was also my brothers' teacher.

So it should come as no surprise to you that our education, well, it was an adventure sometimes.

Home-schooling mothers are notorious for their hands-on methods of pedagogy. In fact, their modus operandi is much like Nike's ever-inspiring "Just Do It."

If I had a nickel for every time my mother said, "Why read about electricity when we can build our own circuit board?"

Or "Why learn about colonial times when you can visit Colonial Williamsburg?"

Or "Why study agriculture when you can grow vegetables yourself?"

Come to think of it, this is precisely why, in all of my childhood photos, I'm sporting either a small electrical burn, a mob cap, or a plentiful supply of dirt.

Anyways, our (school) house was all hands-on, all the time.

Which is why it came as no surprise when my mother announced excitedly at dinner one night that we were going to hatch and raise our own chickens.

There we were, stuck smack dab in the middle of suburbia, and my mother was renting out an incubator and buying a dozen chick and duckling eggs. And, being all of 11 years old, I wasn't in a position to argue.

Plus, I thought chickens and ducks were cute. In an abstract, pre-teen kind of way.

Which is how three kids, a mother, and a semi-reluctant father ended up incubating poultry one Florida winter.

First, my mother led us on an exploratory study of chick care, teaching us all sorts of useless facts about creating and growing chick and duck fetuses.

For instance, did you know that, sometimes, chickens incubated outside of hen's nests often struggle to hatch because they stick to their shells?

Well, we knew. We knew that all too well.

Which is why my brothers and I would traipse out to the family garage every day, lift the lid off the rickety incubator, and dribble water over the brown shells - a technique my mother taught us to help the eggs when it came time to hatch.

We followed this process painlessly, wondering and waiting, would we ever get our own bevy of chickens and ducklings? Worried that, once again, this would be a project much like the one we tried the year prior, where I tried to make a to-scale model of the solar system, which ended up being so long that it didn't fit in our house.

In other words, would this poultry project turn out to be another epic fail?

Still, we held on, waiting, watching, dripping water over those seemingly fragile shells.

Until, finally, we reached the half-way point - a moment we'd all been waiting for.

You see, when chickens are half-way through their gestational phase, they are ready to be "candled."

Kind of like the 20-week ultrasound, "candling" basically involves holding the egg in front of a lit candle, lighting the shell to see if the little fetus is growing.

It's an out-dated technique used by farmers to see what eggs still needed to be inside the incubators. If they didn't see the developing fetus, they used to discard the eggs.

So there were we were, huddle around the incubator, my mother a candle in hand. She lifted the first egg, it's pretty brown shell radiant, and held it in front of the candle, and....

Nothing.

Zip.

Zilch.

We didn't see a fetus. In fact, we didn't see anything.

We had a dead chick on our hands.

As children, we'd been warned that the home-owner's average incubation survival rate was only 50-50 at best. So we weren't terribly shocked that we'd found a bad egg. We'd already resigned ourselves that half our flock would never live to be, well, a flock.

So one bad egg didn't scare us off.

Until my mother went a step too far.

Being the hands-on homeschool-er that she was, she decided that this dead egg was yet another prime learning opportunity.

So she took that egg, my brothers, and me, straight into the kitchen and got a bowl.

"This is another fabulous chance to learn, guys," she chirped. "You see, this poor baby chick just stopped developing, so it's dead. In nature, that happens sometimes. But now, we have a chance to see what a real fertilized egg looks like on the inside. We'll get to see, at what point, the chicken stopped growing."

With her justification in place, she hit the egg on the counter-top.

But the shell didn't so much as crack.

So she tried again.

Nothin'.

Turns out, real live egg shells are strong.

Which is why my mother added even more force the third time around, slamming the chicken egg down on the edge of the bowl and opening up the broken shell as if she was baking a cake.

Which, last I checked, she wasn't.

And thank God. Because no recipe I know calls for real, live chicken fetuses.

Which is what came out of the egg when she finally broke it.

Oh, yeah. That poor baby chick wasn't dead. Not in the slightest. It was very alive. Though not for long.

My mother yelled out, "Oh no!" My brothers peered in, murmuring, "Oh, cool!"

And I ran out of the room screaming, "WE KILLED A BABY CHICK! WE'RE THE WORST PEOPLE EVER! GOD WILL NEVER FORGIVE US FOR THIS! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU JUST DID THAT, MOM!"

I then proceeded to wail on for two straight hours.

Poor Mom. Her science experiment had gone awry, and her daughter was crying "Murder!" It's a wonder she didn't ship us off to the nearest public school right then and there.

All the more so when she later learned that you can't always successfully "candle" brown eggs. Turns out that, when you can't see through a brown egg's shell, it doesn't mean the chick is necessarily dead.

Hindsight is 20-20. Not that it did her any good.

Being a melodramatic pre-teen, I wasn't quick to forgive, either, yelling instead, "Why didn't you teach us that before, Mom? Gosh! You're the worst science teacher ever!"

Then, our chicken depression only got worse when not a one of the rest of our fowl eggs hatched at all later that year. We sadly watched their due date come and go without a chick or duck in sight.

It was all for the best, though. Frankly, we all wanted to forget this science experiment ever happened.

So all proclaimed this the "stupidest project ever" and wrote off poultry science as a future career choice.

***

Until you flash-forward 15+ years later.

I'm a grown woman. Married. In my own home. And fall is in the air.

It's yesterday - a Wednesday.

And I'm feeling inspired, so I decide to bake up as many cinnamon-y and pumpkin-y things as I can.

Luckily, I have two dozen, ready-for-use, free-range, organic eggs in my fridge, rarin' to go. Sure, these eggs are a lot more pricey than the regular kind, but seeing as they are hormone-and everything-else-free, I spend the money.

It's for my peace of mind.

Or, rather, it was.

Because, two recipes into my afternoon, I'm baking pumpkin bread.

It calls for two eggs.

I grab one and crack into a small bowl.

And then I go for the second, banging the egg against the side of the bowl, and with the splitting sound, open the egg up.

And, then, I see it.

A vision straight out of my pre-adolescence.

A little, floating egg fetus.

I screamed so loud, I got the sweats. Marvin the Dog ran to hide. I instinctively turned around to yell for my mother.

Except she wasn't there.

Oh, the horror.

I hung my head, realizing that this is what I get for buying my cage-free, fancy-schmancy, organic eggs.

Two dead baby chicks. Their blood on my hands.

Oh, the shame.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a mixing bowl to burn. And an apology letter to write to PETA.

Forgive me, chickens, for I have sinned...

***

I was in total shock when this happened to me. Again. Unlike my childhood experience, this one wasn't alive anymore, but it was developed enough to seriously make me reconsider never eating scrambled eggs again. Cage-free or not, I didn't know there was a possibility that I could get a fertilized egg in my weekly dozen. Seriously, has anyone else had this experience with free-range eggs? Or am I the only one destined to go through life as a poultry axe-murderer?

Anybody? Anybody?...

***

Happy, Chicken-Free Thursday, everyone!

Bean-No

This Saturday, the hubs and I were finally alone.

We planned to spend the morning and early afternoon watching our favorite football teams play.

This basically involved me laughing at my husband as he danced around, yelling and shirtless, watching his Arkansas Razorbacks carry out a narrow, last-second win against Georgia, while three hours later, he found me bellowing at my Florida Gators to "KILL HIM!" as Tennessee scored another touchdown.

There is nothing more entertaining than watching your spouse freak out about something as relatively unimportant as college football.

Anyways, because we were watching our games alone this week, I didn't prepare my normal smorgasbord of football dips and nips. I love my husband, but I'm not going to spend 45 minutes rolling pigs into blankets when it's just he and I in our boxer shorts.

Which is why, when 2 p.m. rolled around, we were famished.

Scrounging through our pantry, I bellowed out to the living room, "What do you want to eat for our football lunch, hun?"

Largely ignoring me, he mumbled back, "Whatever you want, babe" - a surefire sign that he's not actually paying attention to what I'm saying.

So I grabbed a can of refried beans, some tomatoes, onions, and cheese, and yelled back, "OK, good. Then I'm making my favorite bean dip!"

I was met with silence.

I took this to be a positive sign, so I started cooking.

I was salivating and moving quickly, not having eaten much all day, which is why I startled when the hubs walked up behind me.

He stopped, sniffed the warming pot of beans, and smacked me on the butt.

"Bean dip?" he said, incredulously. "Really? Bean dip? Like you need to eat anymore beans?"

Then, like man in disgust, he waved his hand in front of his nose - the veritable adult-version of "P-U!" - and left the room as if he'd smelled a dead animal.

I paused, realizing what, exactly, this all meant.

You see, it seems romance is finally dead. After almost two years of marriage, I've apparently killed it with my excessive diet of bean dip.

Not that I even hesitated from eating every last bite of it right after my husband managed to insult me.

Because, when it comes down to it, my marriage will last forever, toxic fumes or no. But football season comes but once a year.

So bring on the bean dip. My husband will live.

Or at least as long as we can keep a window cracked during the game.

***

Happy Monday, everyone!

Sweet Memories

We had company this weekend.

Good friends of ours came down from North Carolina for a visit.

It was great fun, and I was going to recap all our long walks and adventures from the past few days.

But then I realized that most of our treasured moments this weekend involved something along these lines:
And, in an unparalleled moment for me, I decided that a picture is worth more than the 1,000+ words I normally choose to prattle off.
Enough said.

Be back tomorrow after I recover from the sugar coma.

***

Happy Monday, everyone!

Inappropriate Hibachi

On Saturday night, the hubs and I ventured out to dinner with another Navy couple here in South Carolina.

Despite the monsoon-like weather we'd had all weekend, it was fixing to be a lovely evening.

We chose a local hibachi grill, and we sat down quickly, ordered beverages, placed our entree choices, and chatted for a little while.

Then, the hibachi chef showed up, pushing a cart full of yummy things and greeting us with "Good evening!"

He got right to work, slicing and dicing and lighting things on fire. He grilled up tasty portions of veggies and handed them out.

Then, he moved onto the rice.

He slapped a bowl of rice big enough to feed a small army on the grill.

Wasting no time at all, he proceeded to fashion the tightly packed rice into what seemed to be a familiar shape.

Then, without a moment's hesitation, he raised up his huge grill tool and brought it down with a resounding smack on the compact rice, bellowing, "Who's your daddy?"

The rice's familiar shape? A big, old booty.

Of course it looked familiar to me.

Still, all self-conscious fears of my rear aside, he kept "spanking" the rice and yelling "Who's your daddy?" for the next minute or so.

We all laughed loudly - and nervously. It was, as they say, a little awkward.

Not phased a bit by our nervous laughter, he offered us all the spatula, giving us a turn at rice-punishing, I suppose, but we declined. (Though don't think I didn't notice my husband considering it.)

I was a little shocked. A little awed.

But not all that perplexed. We were a table full of adults, after all. Perhaps it was a little off-color, but it was all in good fun.

In fact, I hardly considered it blog-worthy, and I only tell it here to warm you up for his next "rice bit," which, in my opinion, is far more egregious. Or, at least, I think so.

You see, after he finished smacking the rice butt around, he then fashioned the rice into the shape of a face, giving it sesame-seed eyes, nose and mouth.

He then asked around the table if we all remembered "George W. Bush."

We all nodded and smiled.

Happy we were on track, he then proceeded to take a bottle of soy sauce and drench the entire white rice face in it, turning the color of the rice from white to a dark tan brown, yelling "Before....and after!"

The table sat quietly, unsure of what to do.

Finally, the rest of the guests chuckled nervously, as if to satisfy the grill master's expectant smile.

I, however, did not laugh.

Mostly because I didn't get it.

I finally had to look at my husband, who explained to me in hushed tones, "The white rice was President Bush, and the dark rice made from soy sauce is President Obama. You know, before and after."

I've always been a little slow.

But, finally, my eyes widened, and I looked at the grill master. I giggled nervously and muttered, "Oh yeah. Now I get it."

He jokingly told me that I'd already had too much sake, though I'd only drank un-sweet tea the whole night. And I joked back with "No, I've just not always with it."

But, once we started eating our "Before and After" rice, I began to wonder, was the grill master's shtick inappropriate?

Was his rice joke a race joke?

Or was he simply noting a fact - that the presidency was held by a Caucasian person before and now is held by an African-American person after?

Granted, I can be a little sensitive toward these things. Regardless of my political preferences, I don't ever think racial humor is funny, whether the butt of the joke happens to be the president or not.

You can say what you want about presidents Bush and Obama, but neither one of their skin colors has ever been an issue for me, though I've had grievances against both men for certain policies and executive practices.

Still confused after dinner, I asked my husband - the Man Who Laughs at All Things Inappropriate - and he agreed that, though it wasn't overt, he felt uncomfortable with the joke, hence his nervous laughter.

We both wondered if it was just the controversial issue - the presidency - that was setting off our warning buzzers, or whether the joke really was in poor taste.

It was all so confusing.

So, I figured, you all could be the judge: Was the joke in the inappropriate? Was the joke downright racist? Or are the hubs and I just being overly concerned about a non-issue?

Help. Please. Before I'm once again become haunted with images of that grill master spanking our rice.

***

Happy Monday, everyone!

Workout Wednesday: Don't Be "That Girl," Part 2

We've all been guilty of a little something I like to call "Over-Eaters' Exercise."

You know. You've had a rough week; you binged one too many times on the chocolate ice cream, and before you know it, every spoonful you insert into your stressed-out mouth is followed by echoes of your mother's voice, chanting, "A moment on the lips; forever on the hips!"

Ugh.

So, you do what any normal, red-blooded, over-worked woman would: You hit the gym a wee bit harder than you did the week before.

You take control; you rally behind yourself, and you burn some serious calories (and hope and pray that chocolate ice cream metabolizes faster than the three bags of potato chips you inhaled the week before.)

That, in essence, is normal. (Even we trainers do it from time to time.)

But around the holidays, a few of us take this kind of behavior to whole new level.

These women, stressed out by the holiday shopping, decorating and eating, are acting out in ways that men would never dream of.

They are all "That Girl," of the holiday variety, bombarding gyms and exercise video Web sites like there's no more tomorrow (except for the next month of holiday eating, revelry, and general mayhem, which seems to haunt - and motivate - their every step.)

So, I give you: Don't Be "That Girl" Part 2: The Holiday Edition. (Find Part 1 here.)

That girl is scared stiff of next week's turkey dinner, with all the trimmings. That girl is getting a tick just from the thought of the three sticks of butter required to make her grandmother's stuffing. That girl wonders how many calories are in one fried onion ring atop her favorite green bean casserole (and approximately how many minutes it will take to burn off said onion ring on the treadmill.) That girl is "Buys-A-Platinum-Membership-to-The-Gym-And-Attends-Every-Fitness-Class-for-the-Seven-Days-Prior-to-Thanksgiving" Girl.

Come on, you know you've seen her. She's there before you; she's there after you. She takes so many spinning classes - in a row - that the instructors have started to call her spot "That Girl's Bike." She's wearing the same outfit three days in a row, and you're pretty sure it's been unwashed, just like her, as she hasn't seen her washing machine or her shower because, thanks to your gym's 24-7 open-door policy, she hasn't been home.

When forced to go to work, that girl wears ankle and wrist weights over her Ann Taylor suit. She does butt clenches at her desk, noted by the fact that she's been steadily moving up and down in her seat for the past three hours, all while filing, typing, closing deals and pumping those wrist weights in a manic, bicep-curl-like fashion.

But fear not, after Thanksgiving, you won't see that girl for a while, at least until January. She's burned out and burned away so many calories that by the time she sits down to enjoy a turkey feast, she passes out in her plate. Promptly.

Still, not all women are obsessively hoping to pre-emptively burn calories before the Big Turkey Day. There's also women who maintain that Thanksgiving can, and should, be healthy - a day where regimented dieters load up on complex carbs and nutrients so that their bodies are prepped and ready for the quick grabs and elbow jabs required for the most serious of Black Friday shoppers.

Yep, it's that girl. She's buying cranberry sauce made with Splenda. She's cooking a Tofurkey the likes of which you've never seen. She's slipping bran instead of butter into the stuffing; she's coating green beans with heart-healthy skim milk instead of cream-of-mushroom soup and fried onions. She's "Determined-to-Make-Thanksgiving-a-Low-Fat-Healthy-Vegetarian-Meal" Girl.

She'll slip fiber supplements into your yams. She'll make a sugar, milk, and egg-free pumpkin pie. She'll maintain that all family members submit pre-approved nutritional facts for the dishes they've offered to bring to the Thanksgiving feast. She is, in essence, out of control.

She'll also eventually cave and eat an entire apple pie on Black Friday, instead of shopping, simply because her fiber-filled, low-calorie Thanksgiving left her so hungry and unsatisfied that shopping just no longer seems important.

***

Obviously, I'm kidding here. Most of us really aren't crazy enough to exercise our brains out and swear off all butter during the Thanksgiving feast.

But I do hear some people maintain that they're "going to workout extra hard this week, so they can eat a ton of turkey and the trimmings" when the time comes.

Or I better yet, I hear others swearing off all food made with dairy and animal products right before Turkey Day, simply because they're afraid of what it will do to their waistlines.

So, I'm here to tell you: Don't.

Don't do it.

You deserve a break; your body deserves a break (and some pumpkin pie.)

Moderation and the occasional splurge isn't going to kill you; in fact, in most cases it will make you stronger.

People who over-exercise before an event often quit the gym for months at a time after the fact, simply because they burn out hard and fast. And people who overly restrict their diets, especially when it comes to comforting, special-occasion food, will often end up binging - consuming more calories than they would have originally - if they just enjoyed their original Thanksgiving meal with family and friends.

So, yes, while it is important to eat a healthy, balanced, low-fat diet most of the time, Thanksgiving should be an exception. It's one day a year.

Don't be That Girl.

Drop the Tofurkey and live it up.

***

Happy (Workout) Wednesday!

A little Q&A for Workout Wednesday

Hello dear friends and fellow exercise fiends!

I've had a couple requests for information from a few good friends, so I dedicate this Workout Wednesday to Brittany and Mrs. Potts, who were brave enough to ask me what's on their minds when it comes to health and fitness.

First up, the amazingly sweet Mrs. Potts sent me an e-mail asking the following:

I was wondering if you have any recommendations for shoes. I specifically need training shoes that work for cardio classes as well as fitness equipment, [and] walking shoes....The thing I find with walking shoes is they look all fuddy-duddy. When I walk, I'm going 3-5 miles at a 14-minute-a-mile pace [Go, girl!] so it's not a leisurely stroll. But I don't want to wear something my grandmother would have worn - although I really miss her and mean no offense...Do you have any recommendations or any Web sites you'd send for research purposes?

First off, can we please all carry out a collective groan for the grandma walking shoe? Ugh. Mrs. Potts, we know what you are talking about.

Those puffy, plastic-y looking Reeboks with the Velcro straps? They seem to round into booties the second you put them on your feet? They come in shiny white or dull black, which are only made worse by wearing the a hideous pair of color-contrasting ankle socks (known in some circles, also, as The Grandma Sock)?

My grandma, God love her, does indeed wear these. And she looks adorable and grandmotherly in them.

Fashion-forward, though, they are not.

So what to do?

Well, I'd recommend finding either a trail shoe or a running shoe you prefer. A trail shoe is more rugged, in case you decide to off-road it a bit. A running shoe is lighter weight, but it is designed to support the foot through the steady pound of a run. And neither option will leave you looking like you've strapped on your sneaks just in time for the early-bird special.

Brooks, Asics, and Mizuno (my personal fav!) do these shoes the best, in my opinion. They are pricier, but all they do is shoes. And they know their stuff.

They each make a couple different models, about three different kinds of trail shoes and about six different kinds of running shoes. They all do something a little bit different, depending on what you need. I wrote a another Workout Wednesday post on how to find out what shoe you need a while back, so feel free to check that out for extra help.

Most companies will update their shoes every six months to a year. The make and model - The Asics Trail Sensor, let's say - will stay the same. It will just receive a new number, so the Asics Trail Sensor 2 became the Asics Trail Sensor 3 just this year, for example. It's the same shoe, with slight improvements.

For instance, I use the Mizuno Wave Creation 9. In January, they will update my shoe to the Mizuno Wave Creation 10, which I will most likely purchase, as January is the next time I need to replace my shoes.

Once you find the brand, make and model of the shoe you love, then you should be able to purchase any updated version of it, no problem. (Although, I should warn you, once in a while, they get it wrong. My beloved Mizuno Wave Creations had a bad half-year when they went from the Wave Creation 5 to the Wave Creation 6. Bloody toes abounded and Internet reviews were cruel. Luckily, they fixed their mistakes with the Wave Creation 7.)

Also remember, shoes should be replaced every six months for runners and every 9-11 months for walkers.

Now, moving on to a shoe fit for classes and gym equipment: You'll want a good cross-trainer.

They are designed to handle a variety of movements on a variety of surfaces. I recommend Asics, Saucony, or (some models of) New Balance.

However, if you run at the gym or take lots high-impact classes (like kickboxing or circuit training) you might want to invest in running shoes. Unlike cross trainers, they are built to handle more pounding. (See above recommendations for running shoes.)

As far as online Web sites, I love Running Warehouse. (And they paid me nothing to say that. Sincerely, I love them. All of my own accord.)

They give you a wide selection; they tell you exactly what the shoe is designed to do and who it's made for, and they are slightly cheaper than other vendors. They also give you free, two-day shipping with any order. I buy all my shoes through them, and I have for the last three years. They are uber-dependable.

Hope that helps! Happy (shoe) hunting, Mrs. Potts!

***

Now, my Name Twin asked another question last week that I think a lot of us ponder. I also think that it's important for us to understand it, in light of the current public health issues facing the United States at this time. And she deserves a big hand for bringing to light the fact that a lot of us talk about this issue, but few of us actually understand it. Good work, Brittany! I applaud your bravery!

She writes:

I don't understand why being overweight is a disease. I'm not judging or trying to sound mean, I just really don't understand. I've always thought that your weight is a result of your eating and exercise habits...Maybe some day you could write a post to educate me and the others out there who don't understand.

This is a tricky one. With the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention(CDC) estimating that more than half of American adults are overweight or obese, though, public health professionals, and not just personal trainers, are taking notice.

Now, in essence, being overweight is, indeed, most directly related to diet and exercise habits. Sometimes, however, it can be related to medication and other health-related issues. There are plenty of overweight people who eat right and hit the gym. There are also others who don't. And with a body mass index (the percentage of your body weight that is made up of fat) between 25 and 29 percent, they aren't technically considered to have a "disease" - yet - by the CDC. They do, however, fall into the CDC's category of overweight - a part of the population that is in more danger of becoming obese than those with a body-fat percentage under 25 percent.

Those with a body mass index(body fat percentage) of 30 percent or higher are considered obese by the CDC, and they are the ones who are actually fighting a disease, according to the rather new national guidelines.

Much like alcoholism or drug addiction, obesity is an illness. Most people struggling with obesity need intervention - help of some kind - to beat the disease. And that help does not just come from personal trainers and a gym membership. Quite often, they need therapists, psychologists and medical doctors to help them take the weight off and keep it off. They have to work through emotions, impulse control exercises, and, sadly enough, histories of abuse.

They often work against their own genes, because again, like alcoholism, obesity is genetic. It's a veritable nightmare, actually, as a lot of people struggling with obesity are also genetically pre-disposed to slow metabolisms and malfunctioning satiety complexes (the ability to recognize when your stomach is full so that you stop eating.) In essence, it can be handed down just like sickle cell anemia or Tay Sachs disease, both of which are given to children by their parents, who are genetic carriers for the disease.

Chronic over-eaters also actually show similar brain activity to alcoholics. They build serotonin - feel-good brain chemicals, if you will - by eating, just like a drug addict gets his fill of serotonin from a hit of his narcotic of choice.

Also like other diseases, obesity can be a gateway to a host of other medical issues: diabetes, hypertension, cancer, heart disease, liver disease, strokes, some forms of arthritis, and infertility. And most people suffering from obesity deal with not one, but multiple illnesses off of that list.

In addition, people who are obese are more likely to require medical intervention - rehab, emergency-room visits, doctor care, and medication - than those who are not.

Unfortunately, society is only now coming around to accepting obesity as a disease. But things are changing. For instance, you get a tax break for seeking medical help to lose weight (and you will save money in the long run. The previously mentioned diseases are much more costly to treat than obesity.)

Some employers are also building free weight-loss programs into their employees' health benefits packages. And healthier food choices are becoming easier to find (and in some instances, tastier, too!)

No question about it. Personal responsibility is very important in living a healthy and fit lifestyle. We have to be in charge of what we put in our body and what we do to it.

But battling obesity is not like battling the last 10 pounds we'd all like to lose. It takes a lot more work and hardship, physically, mentally and emotionally.

Hopefully, with public support and sensitivity, we can battle this disease that threatens so many members of our national community.

***

Well, that's it on my end. I love, love, love answering your questions, so please feel free to send them my way! I'd love to hear from you!

Until next week...Happy Exercising!