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The fall season is gaining momentum and with it, the return of television premiers. As an unabashed lover of TV, I can honestly say that fall is one of my favorite times of year. Yes, I enjoy the vibrant colors and crisp smells of autumn, but I also love the mind-numbing pleasure that an hour or two in front of the television can deliver. Even though I am an avid reader, at least I used to be before I had but twenty minutes of alone time each morning to sit with a book, my brain is too harried by evening’s end to absorb actively anything not imagined on a 27” screen. It’s an excuse, but it’s also the truth.

I waited, almost impatiently, for the premier of Kid Nation. For those of you who are not familiar with this highly-anticipated reality show, let me explain the premise. Forty kids, ranging in ages from 8-15 years, are left alone for 40 days to revive a ghost town in an isolated city of New Mexico. Even before the show aired, it received criticism for its apparent disregard for the safety of children. Program previews showed kids hauling heavy carts, lighting fires, tending to animals, and bickering amongst themselves. Of course, I wanted to see what all the fuss concerned.

The first episode aired with 36 kids debarking a bus in the middle of nowhere. They were greeted by the host, an amiable big-brother type, and told to wait for the arrival of their leaders. When a helicopter landed with what contained the members of the town council, the group was surprised to see not four adults, but four other children, an equal split of boys and girls, handpicked for their demographic representation of the group.

The kids were then instructed to haul heavy loads of supply and various animals to the town, far-off to some, but I’m guessing not more than a mile down the road. As the cameras followed the kids through the town, the audience became privy to the fact that this was not a real ghost town, but an elaborate set contrived by the producers. To the kids, however, it was real enough, and I am sure there were plenty of them who believed the town was once inhabited by miners, prospectors, bandits, and every other type of pre-modern city dweller. In any event, buildings and props were staged. Obviously.

Emotions ran high as some of the youngest in the group began to experience the pangs of homesickness, and who can blame the few for shedding tears? I’m an adult, and I am sure I would miss my family fiercely if I had to go without their kisses and hugs for forty days, too. Groups banded together, however, with cooperation and sportsmanship being challenged in true reality-TV form. As a prize for completing their task as a group and on time, the kids were awarded additional outhouses to accommodate their number of hineys.

At the conclusion of the episode, the council awarded a gold star, worth $20K, to one of the girls for stepping up to the plate and preparing meals for the masses, one that consisted of a gooey mess of overcooked pasta. Also at that time, all of the children were given the opportunity to go home, only one did.

Not very long ago, I came across a blog entry in my Google Reader in which the author summed up the show as “disgusting.” She sited this article by the New York Times, which questioned the possible violation of personal safety as well as child labor laws. Just as adults are bound by a reality-TV contract, so, too, are children and their adult guardians. What topped the cake, however, was a comment left by one of the readers:

“I think the people who thought of this show are sick, the people who gave the green light are idiots, and the parents who allowed their kids to be on are the worst of all. Everyone involved should go to jail for child endangerment as far as I am concerned.”

So here it is. Obviously (according to that commenter), I am one of those sick parents who would allow her child to be taken advantage of, to be purposefully placed in harm’s way, and who should be locked away for child endangerment. Give. Me. A. Break.

First of all, Kid Nation is nothing but a television show whose creators, like other reality-show creators, are masters at producing and editing and contriving. Never once were these kids actually left alone. In fact, an interview with the kids post-show revealed that there were more adults than children (according to one of the council members). Moreover, while there may have been injuries, they were minor and treated immediately by professionals. As far as the contract is concerned, of course there are going to be confidentiality agreements put in place to protect the integrity of the show. Likewise, some kids are going to be portrayed as the star, the do-gooder, the vindictive plotter, the whiney brat; that’s what makes reality TV.

I have a feeling the kids were not just randomly chosen, either. I suspect they were chosen based on their strengths and weaknesses, as was evident by the revelation that many had grown up on farms, apprenticed in a butcher shop, or helped with construction. I’m sure some of these kids were chosen, as well, for the simple fact they have never milked a goat or been forced to clean up after himself or work in a group or stepped outside a sprawling city.

My opinion of the kids is this: I couldn’t be more impressed by their bravery, smarts, wit, or compassion, and I would gladly allow my eight-year-old to take part in the show. They handle grown-up tasks and responsibilities with grace and dignity, much better than most adults, and I find myself in awe of them.

You couldn’t get me to slaughter and clean a chicken. That’s for sure.

Kid Nation can be seen on CBS, Wednesday evenings at 8 PM eastern. You can also visit the website to learn more about the show and watch full-length episodes.

 Learn how to contribute an Up For Debate article.

Notice I did not say child-led weaning. Although I firmly believe that weaning should be a mutual decision betwixt both babe and mama, whenever possible, there are occasions when gentle encouragement should be used. If my toddler daughter had her way, she would be attached at the breast for the next two years and stuck in my bed throughout elementary school. 

Of my three children, Bridget has been the most dependent. I could say needy or clingy, but those words sound too negative. To be sure, I have never viewed Bridget’s need to be around me, to be constantly held, touched, or soothed, as anything but normal for her. Just as Jacob was born rejecting most forms of sensory stimulation, Bridget was born with an insatiable desire for closeness, particularly from her mommy.

I would be lying if I claimed to have enjoyed every minute of sharing my personal space. The truth is, I feel touched out on most days. There is little desire to touch or to be touched by the end of the evening, if you know what I mean. Not only does Bridget still nurse, at almost 27 months, she co-sleeps for at least a portion of each night between my husband and me.

Say what you will; I am sure I have heard it all, everything from the disapproving clucks to the hurrahs of crunchy parents everywhere.

As Bridget is my last baby, however, I have been in no rush to sever the physical and emotional ties that bind us together. Because I have the luxury of working from home, I have not been forced to wean her from my breast prematurely. Bridget and I, for the past few months, have been taking subtle cues from each other, so the transition from needy toddler to independent child has been relaxed and, for the most part, stress free.

There are milestones, which every child must reach, that has the potential to send any otherwise competent mother over the cliffs of insanity. These milestones include weaning (from the boob, from the bottle, from the pacifier), sleeping in her own bed *hopefully* throughout the night, and potty training.

My one thought on potty training is this: I have trained enough children to know that you cannot make them use the toilet; do not even attempt it, because you will lose. Even though Bridget has shown the early signs of being trained, such as waking with a dry diaper and sitting on the toilet, she refuses to go in the potty. She will trot around the house naked and hold it for hours, prancing about and crossing her legs in true stubborn-kid form. Psychologically, however, there is something holding her back from completing the task, and I inevitably get stuck mopping up a pool of pee (thank goodness we have wood floors). How can I be angry with her, though, when she looks up at me with those big blue eyes and says, sawdy mommy. me had axdent.

During the past few months, Bridget has been requesting the boob less often. I no longer proffer it, either, and boob time is usually reserved for sleepy times or the occasional comfort in the light of sibling injustice. Just as her nursing sessions are infrequent, they are short, as well. Gone are the days of infancy when nursing sessions lasted 45-60 minutes. Bridget nurses, at most, for 10 minutes until she’s overcome by exhaustion or revived enough to move on.

Moreover, what of the bed? Some parents absolutely refuse to co-sleep with their child, either out of concern for safety, for fear of spoiling the child, or for the preservation of the marriage. After three children, however, I am willing to get sleep any way that I can. I am sure I am not the only mother who, having put the baby to sleep in her crib, wakes up the next morning with the baby in bed, not sure how she got there. I have had countless conversations with many a sleep-deprived mother who has exclaimed, you sleep walk too? My subconscious has gotten so used to responding to my child’s cries, apparently, I can walk to her room, pick her up from her crib, and bring her back to my bed with never having woken up. My husband, fed-up with the ever-shrinking available space in our bed, once said to me, Why don’t you just sit in a chair and nurse her? That way you can put her back in her crib. Oh, how easy that would be if only I could wake up to do it!

Bridget just got a new big-girl bed, and it appears as though her days in the marital bed might be coming to their conclusion. Although we are not kicking her out (at least I am not!), Bridget is so enamored by her new bed and very own room that she wants to be there. For the first time ever, Bridget woke in my bed last night and asked to be taken back to her own. After almost 2.5 years of having not slept through the night, a good night’s sleep seems within reach. To reiterate, I have not slept through the night in 2.5 years. Years. Longer if you count the last few months of pregnancy when bladder issues force you up every few hours.

Years.

This time is fleeting and precious, however. Why would I ever want to rush through it?

In true form, my oldest children have been vacillating between several ideas for their Halloween costumes. As I *try* to make each of their costumes by hand, this presents a problem to someone short on time. I’ve issued a cut-off date in which minds must be made up; there’s to be no going back.

At first, Hannah was intent on going as an Egyptian Goddess. While in Disney World, my mother picked up a wig fashioned from gold beads made to look like an Egyptian headdress. Each time I look at it, however, and especially when I put it on, I have an irrepressible desire to do the Hustle. Hannah has since changed her mind and is going as, what else, a fairy. Of some sort. (insert rolling eyes and deep sigh). I have nothing against fairies, it’s just that Hannah has been a fairy for almost as long as she has been alive. Try as I might, I can’t convince her to be a witch ~ not even a fairy witch ~ which is why Bridget is going as a witch. (how many more times can I insert the word witch {which} in this paragraph?)

Jacob had wanted to be a mummy and has since decided to be a vampire. I’m somewhat surprised he didn’t choose to be a devil, as he is thoroughly fascinated with the cartoon representations of good vs. evil, as is portrayed by an angel and devil whispering persuasions into some mishievous cat’s ear. He loves to to carry around my plastic meat fork and proclaims (because he can never remember the word for devil), I am one of those things that goes pop and sits on your shoulder. Tell me why he chooses to be the devil and not the angel? The way I look at it, though, a vampire’s costume should be fairly simple to make.

I like simple. I appreciate easy.

What will you be crafting this year? Send a picture and a brief explanation of your homemade costume(s), and I will post them all along with a link to your site. Entry deadlines are Monday, November 5th, by noon eastern. Why am I posting the pictures the Craftacular Tuesday following Halloween? Well, if you’re anything like me when it comes to sewing, this may be a last-minute project

Leave a comment and share what garb your little (and big) ones will be wearing ~ homemade or not!

If you found this post through a search engine, please visit my homepage.

Awhile ago, I had the opportunity to review The Silly Wagon, an online boutique that specializes in everything cute for kiddos. I noticed recently that The Silly Wagon Blog interviewed mom and jewelry designer, Erin of The Vintage Pearl. Visit The Silly Wagon Blog to read about Erin and enter your name for a chance to win one of her creations, a silver and pearl bracelet. Beautiful!

There’s a meme going around, perhaps you’ve seen it, in which the questions revolve around blogging habits. One particular question asks you to list the number of blogs you read, and there has been one conclusive answer: a lot. Invariably, this answer is almost always amended with, I skim, or, I only look at pretty pictures.

I confess, I skim too. I have over 100 blogs on my reader and most mornings there are over 50 new articles to peruse. For a person whose master schedule permits very little time for blog reading, those numbers become overwhelming quickly. In real life, I have few friends. I am not a contrary person, to be sure; rather, the reason why I can count my friends on one hand is because I am loyal. Spreading my devotion among many is difficult for me, and I would rather invest my time and energy in just a few.

When I first started blogging more than a year and a half ago, I had a handful of blogs I read on a daily basis. I was able to spend more than a few minutes at each blog and make thoughtful comments. As time went on, however, my number of subscriptions rose and the time I was allowed to spend at each person’s site decreased as a consequence. To be honest, I don’t like this new turn of events. I like the intimate connection that blogging creates when you are able to identify with someone halfway around the world in the same predicament as you, and that can’t be forged through skimming. Of course, there are those blogs on whose words I hang. They are my must-reads. Sometimes the list changes; usually it’s constant.

This gets me to wondering, though. Do readers skim over my words? Wait, don’t tell me! Perhaps I don’t want to know. Although I write for myself, I also write for you. We have shared experiences; this, I know to be true. I also write, not so much as hobby anymore, but for a living. I go to work each morning, even though it’s as simple as moving the laptop to my dining room table so I can subsequently watch my toddler daughter (who, by the way, is sleeping in a big-girl bed for the first time as I write this and who, as an extended breastfeeder, nursed only once during the night ~ progress!). 

These are the things that connect us and about what my life is ultimately:

children

breastfeeding and weaning

finding balance

working to help support my family

cooking healthy meals

spending quality time with my family

making it through each day with more than a few pennies to spare

autism/ADD/Asperger’s Syndrom/Sensory Integration Disorder (will I ever know?)

We all write about at least a few of these things, although in different ways. We’re such similar women and moms, and I have to wonder how we can ever support each other if all we do is skim? I feel like I owe it to the those people (that would be YOU!), whose lives I invade each day, to consider them a little more carefully.

The other night I attended my daughter’s third-grade open house in the absence of my husband. I visited briefly with old friends, met new people, and felt completely out of my comfort zone. Although I have no problem expressing my thoughts in writing, the very act of speaking with anyone not included on my mental persons-okay-to-talk-to list, reduces me to a gelatinous mess of nervous laughter, sweaty palms and rambling, fragmented sentences. My husband makes fun of me because I refuse to call for pizza, a simple act that makes my heart palpitate so wildly, I can hear every beat thumping in my ears and feel it in the pit of my stomach.

The very fact that I have handled the intimate details of my son’s medical treatments almost entirely on my own amazes me. How many phone calls have I made to the pediatrician, the psychologist, the counselor, the school district? How many times have I met face to face with these people? How many times have we discussed the very nature of his “illness,” and debated ADD vs. Asperger’s Syndrome vs. Sensory Integration Disorder? I’ve done it alone, by myself, with nary a thought to how uncomfortable speaking to these people has been for me. Advocating for my son is much different from calling for pizza, however; whereas I can fix chicken for dinner if the thought of ordering takeout leaves my knees quaking under nervous pressure, I will hardly sit back idly and let my son fall through the cracks of the school system and, most importantly, society.

As I was eating lunch with my mother-in-law and aunt the other day, I recounted a story in which the bus driver yelled at my son ~ my son ~ for not getting off the bus quickly enough. His anger, directed toward my child and something I witnessed with my own two eyes and ears, ignited a fury so intense, the driver was lucky I had some amount of self-control at that moment. Being passive-aggressive and having a way with words comes in handy, say, when you decide to contact the head of bus transportation to report an unruly driver. Although I am not one of those mother-bear type moms who verbally attacks or abuses people for the sake of getting her way, I am not so subdued that I will stand by and let others mistreat my children, or other children, for that matter. Against the better judgment of some, I have been known to intervene when a parent, obviously tired and cranky, berates her child in public. If that isn’t bold, I don’t know what is.

As a parent, there are things that you just do for your child, things that might seem unreasonable if taken out of context. If it meant that my son could all-of-a-sudden be normal, I would parade up and down my street all day in nothing but the skin with which I was born. I would jump into a pool filled with worms and fish, two things known to induce the most horrific (as perceived by me) of nightmares. I would surrender every possession I own and never want for anything. I would never crave another pint of Ben & Jerry’s Vanilla Heath Bar Crunch or slice of chocolate cake. I would shave off my long hair and keep it shaved for the rest of my life. I would give any limb (preferably a leg, as it is difficult to type with just one hand).

Surely there are other parents like me would do the same for their children so that their abnormal kids might be normal? Perhaps wishing my son to be different is wrong or somehow selfish when, to be sure, I appreciate his brilliance, energy, and zest. I can hardly expect anyone to understand my conflicting emotions and reasoning, however, unless she is in the same situation and walks each day on eggshells.

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Congratulations to the winner of the fabric covered button bracelet, Wesley of Mountain Mama. http://blueridgedreams.typepad.com/mountain_mama/

I am guilty of placating my children with television. Think of me what you will.

I see bumper stickers on the cars at my kids’ elementary school that proclaim, “Kill Your Television,” and it fills me with guilt. Am I responsible for my son’s ADD because I allow him to watch Bugs Bunny? Is my daughter’s misunderstanding of certain basic math facts the result of watching High School Musical one too many times? Is my toddler’s preoccupation with farm animals due to having watched Baby Einstein’s A Day On The Farm everyday since we brought it home from Target? (which isn’t really so bad, right?) The very fact that I am able to write this post is made possible by my little one eating her oatmeal while watching Little Bear on Noggin. Eating and watching television ~ gasp!

Not long ago when my pediatrician asked if my children watch more than an hour of television a day I said, Of course not! Like, what kind of parent do you think I am? (insert nervous laugh) God may very well strike me down for that whopper of a lie. My children arrive home from school each day tired, cranky, and hungry. I’ve learned not to bombard them with too many questions for at least the first thirty minutes and instead spend my time in the kitchen going through backpack papers and whipping up a quick snack. If my children are feeling particularly amiable, they may retreat to the backyard with each other where they pump out their frustrations on the swings or mindlessly run around the yard with the push mower. It’s a silly sight, really, but I respect their need to decompress in whatever way they see fit. There are days, however, when the first thing they do when they walk through the front door is plop down on the couch and stare, bleary-eyed, at the television. As winter approaches and the weather becomes more of a dictating factor in their afternoon habits, I know there will be more lazy days of sitting in front of the boob tube with big bowls of popcorn. 

After they’ve sufficiently acclimated to home after school, we have mandated homework time and outside play. Occasionally, this involves a little *gentle encouragement* on my part and much kicking and screaming from one, or all, of my kids. Once I am content with the amount of time they have spent stretching their little minds and legs, the rest of the afternoon is theirs to spend how they wish. More often than not, all three of my kids choose to play downstairs or outside making one mess or another. My children have an inability to be still unless they have been inflicted with a virus (yes, sometimes I am grateful to the quiet that only a virus can deliver). Even when they are watching television, my kids are busy making forts, scooting cars across the floor, coloring and painting, and, what I think they do best, fighting.

Before story time each night, while my husband and I are busy cleaning up after dinner and making sure that each child gets all the soap rinsed from his or her hair and teeth adequately brushed, there may be another thirty minutes of TV time. *We do turn off the television at 7 PM and have 30-45 minutes of stories.*

So what do the kids watch? We’ve recently joined Netflix and have so far enjoyed Bridge to Tarabithia, The Wild, and Happy Feet. Jacob, coincidentally, does not enjoy watching television as much as Hannah and has very little patience for any movie or program that doesn’t involve trains (Thomas) or wild animals (Discovery). He also loves classics like Tom and Jerry, Pink Panther, and Looney Tunes. I’m also happy to report that he still gets a great deal of satisfaction from Noggin. Hannah is all about Hannah Montana, which is not a bad show at all (albeit somewhat annoying). She also likes That’s So Raven and its spin-off, Cory in the House. I’m not too worried about any negative influences; it’s Disney, after all, and I’ve watched the programs with her enough times to know they are harmless. Bridget watches Noggin almost exclusively, unless she chooses her Barney Movie, Baby Einstein’s DVD, or Veggie Tales. She *loves* Jack’s Big Music Show, of which we spend the entire time dancing around the living room and jumping on the couch (don’t tell my husband about the jumping on the couch bit). We’re also a bit enthralled by The Upside Down Show with Shane and David. I’m not sure why she likes it, but I know why I do (don’t tell my husband about that one either).

Although my children watch television, they almost never pass up the opportunity to play outside or actively engage in an activity with my husband or me. *Lately, Bridget has been afraid to go outside because she is scared the wind will blow her away. I’ve yet to figure out why, but I usually have to drag her out kicking and screaming while she covers her ears and closes her eyes. I refuse to spend the last few, brilliant days before the NY cold sets in sitting inside.* While I work each day, the television is on for Bridget. However, she usually looks at books, colors, or generally terrorizes the cat. Some mornings, she even goes down for an early nap while I work, and then the TV is off completely.  

That’s when I appreciate the quiet.

Learn how you can submit an article for Friday’s Up For Debate

I mentioned briefly before about opening Friday’s Up For Debate posts to you readers and allowing you to contribute material. If you are interested, all you have to do is email your article to me at any time. I will keep your article on file for one month so if your article is not chosen the first time, it may be eligible for another week’s post. There are a few rules to which you must comply: 

• This is a family-friendly site. While I encourage you to write about whatever you wish to debate, I reserve the right to decline any article that is crude or defamatory. Debates do not have to be contentious or revolve around hot-button issues. I debated butter vs. margarine, for crying out loud! You can debate a trip to England vs. a trip to Ireland, for all I care. (see where my head is at right now?) 

• Articles must be at least 250 words and no more than 1000.

• Include a brief bio about yourself.

• Cut and paste your article directly into the body of your email. Do not attach as a word document. In the subject, please type: submission for Up For Debate. Send to Melissa at igarrett@twcny.rr.com  

What’s in it for you? The only thing I am prepared to offer now is exposure for both you and your site. This writing exercise would be a great opportunity to attract other people to your blog. However, I may be inclined to up the incentive in the future if enough interest is generated

For examples of past Up For Debate articles, please click the category button listed to the right. Choose Up For Debate from the drop-down menu.

Not many days ago, I stood in my kitchen wondering what to serve my toddler for lunch. Peanut butter holds no sway over any of my children these days, unless it is surrounded by chocolate and comes packaged in an orange wrapper, so I knew a quick sandwich was out of the question. As my cupboard was almost bare and the refrigerator bereft of most edible food stuffs, I took note of the few ingredients I did have on hand.

• tortillas – not too stale
• black beans - *note to self, STOP buying so many cans of black beans
• shredded cheddar cheese - yes!

As I had a little one at my feet who was quickly losing all patience with the lack of lunch on the table, I knew I had to act quickly. In a jiffy I drained, rinsed, and mashed the black beans. I placed a flour tortilla on a preheated and slightly buttered skillet. Next, I spooned a bit of the black beans onto the tortilla and topped with a palmful of shredded cheddar. Lastly, I completed my culinary creation with the careful placement of the remaining tortilla.

Tap foot, tap foot, tap foot.

Flip.

Tap foot, tap foot, tap foot.

Cut it up – QUICK! There’s a screaming kid! – and serve it with a dollop of sour cream.

Here you go, Little Missy. The tyke loved her black bean and cheese quesadilla, and I was happy I could whip up something nutritious and delicious in about seven minutes. Could lunch be any simpler?

For the more refined palate, make this dish with sautéed green peppers and onions and add a bit of salsa and cilantro, too.

I have never been one for a lot of personal pomp and circumstance, especially as it relates to those celebratory events we call birthdays. Considering I am turning 30 on Saturday, however, I felt it appropriate to celebrate by giving a little something away.

That little something is the fabric-covered button bracelet pictured above and made by yours truly. The button measures ¾” and is set on a dark brown leather band with clasp. As I have abnormally small wrists, I measured it a bit bigger than what I would wear. The bracelet is about 9” in circumference, and it would look best with the button snug against the wrist. What is the point of wearing the bracelet if it is only going to slip around where no one can see it? In otherwords, you should probably measure around your wrist to get a rough estimate of how this would fit.

Incidentally, my little sister’s birthday is on Friday. Yeah ~ how cool is it to have a sister that was almost born on your birthday? It’s cool to me, anyway (Other than the fact that my own mother had a difficult time remembering my birthday for years. My sister is actually my half-sister, as we have different mothers. So the fact that my mother would confuse the birth of her own daughter with someone to whom she’s not even related, well . . .  But it’s okay now. Really. Seriously.)

I made a matching bracelet and earring set for my sister (different fabric) and two hair ponies for my niece. Silly me, I totally forgot about taking a picture until after I had already put the package in the post. It’s my old age. ‘Cause, you know, I’m about to turn 30!

If you would like to be the recipient of this bracelet, please leave a comment specifying that you would like to be entered into the drawing. Another member of my family will randomly choose a name, and the winner will be announced in Saturday’s post. That means you have from now until Friday night eastern time to get your name in the hat.

Not to rub it in or anything, but I have a pre-birthday lunch date on Thursday with my husband’s aunt and mother (no boys allowed). My children (and my husband, I suspect) are a little disappointed they can’t come. Mwa ha ha! On Saturday, my husband is taking me to a restaurant, and get this, it’s a surprise. Forty-five minutes away, and I have no idea where we are going. And I am supposed to dress up! And get this (I already said that, but who cares about proper sentence structure when the excitement is just about ready to burst through the top of my head?), I don’t have to clean up or do dishes!!! My husband asked me what I would like, and I requested that I be the last one out of bed and that someone else (namely someone who can measure and pour water and coffee grounds without making a complete mess) has to make the coffee. I know. I’m very demanding.

Woot! Woot! Woot!

And on top of all that, this is what Hannah (age eight) said to me today:

“Gosh mom, I can’t believe you are going to be 30 because, you don’t even look 20. You look, like, 19!”

Oh, yes! She’s my star child today

One of the most frustrating aspects of being a work-at-home mom is juggling the responsibilities I have for not only my work, but my children, as well. In the time that it took to complete the first sentence of this paragraph, I was yanked by the hand of my two-year-old daughter to insist I make a hot dog, the buns, of which, are still frozen. Likewise, my son is entrenched in a video game in which only my master skills as Super Mario can defeat the bad guy. Currently, I don’t know what my eight-year-old is up to. *Yes, I feed my children hot dogs and allow them to play the occasional video game. I even lose track of them throughout the day (never in public, mind you).*

The struggle to find “balance” between work and family is not a new one, and it occurs whether you work in a structured office or at your dining room table. That’s why it’s good to know there are other moms out there like me, specifically mothers who are now shunning the corporate life and opting, instead, for careers as full-time freelancers. Technically, I never had a corporate life to give up; I just added to the chaos that is my life when I decided to start working from home.

Freelance Parent is a new site run by friends and business partners, Lorna Doone Brewer and Tamara Berry. They started their new business venture in August 2007 and see Freelance Parent as a place where all freelancers, not just freelance writers, can feel comfortable and share their experiences.

Please take a few moments to visit Lorna and Tamara and add Freelance Parent to your list of “must reads.” 

My two-year-old is now sitting on my lap chanting, “PUMA!” while precariously balancing an open cup of lukewarm cider. I don’t know what the heck she means by PUMA, but I know spilled cider on my laptop wouldn’t be a good thing . . . 

That Jacob (soon to be six) chose Dr. Seuss’s Green Eggs and Ham as a bedtime story the other night struck me as a bit ironic, because it followed a dinner that was left untouched. The moral of the story was lost on Jacob, just as I imagined it would be.

For those of you who have been following Jacob’s story from the beginning, I am sure you can empathize with the pain and stress a mother feels when her child simply refuses to eat. To my more recent readers who are not well acquainted with my middle child, he is beyond picky. Nay, he is more seek-medical-treatment picky.

After my most recent consultation with Jacob’s pediatrician, and possibly because of the fervent anxiety in my voice, she wrote an Rx for Occupational Therapy; an actual, written prescription for OT, deliverable to the school district. She feels that, because Jacob cannot be classified as clinically autistic, he may be suffering from Sensory Integration Disorder instead. If his refusal to eat more than a handful of calories a day were not enough to deal with, we are, once again, having battles over clothing.

In the warm summer months, Jacob could often be found playing in our backyard in nothing but his skivvies. We struck a deal that if he wanted to play in the front, he would have to wear a pair of shorts for the obvious reason of learning some measure of social decorum. For the most part, however, we didn’t have to worry about itchy socks, scratchy tags, irritating waistbands, or shoes that don’t bend enough (the newest complaint).

Unbelievably, Jacob complies with most clothing selections I lay out for him each morning. This feat is associated almost completely with the fact that I let him choose which clothes we purchased in the first place. The only dud, so far, has been a pair of “church shoes,” nothing more than a pair of black sneakers, which constrict his toes. It’s not that the shoes are too small; it’s that the toes are constructed of heavy fabric instead of mesh. Of the pair of shoes that he willingly wore, he lost one (still to be found). Thankfully, my daughter’s outgrown sneakers are blue (thank goodness for that anti-pink phase) and are made of mesh. I have no idea what we will do once the winter snows start to fall. Will he or won’t he wear boots? In any event, the first thing Jacob does when he arrives home from school is remove all his clothes.

In respect to Jacob’s issues with food, however, they have only gotten worse. I would love to hug and kiss the makers of Carnation Instant Breakfast, because it is the only thing keeping my son alive right now. Okay, so that may be a slight exaggeration, but it’s not far from the truth. He will barely choke down three bites of Cheerios in the morning before school, giving an insane (to me) reason that it taste like “kitty.” What does kitty taste like, anyway? Apparently, kitty tastes a lot like Cheerios, in case you ever want to know. Jacob has come home from school each day with a full lunchbox. There have even been days he has gone without snack. He does drink his juice box (Mott’s low-sugar 100% juice) and will occasionally eat a package of crackers (Goldfish or Teddy Grahams). Each day I pack a cup of applesauce and a PBJ (two of the foods he used to eat) and each day they come home. Thankfully, he will eat chicken nuggets, fish sticks, or hot dogs for dinner (albeit, only a few bites). Last night was the exception; Jacob ate fish sticks and noodle soup. I almost cried. I had run out of whole milk, however, and he shunned the chocolate milk I made using skim milk. *I don’t normally approve of multiple dinners a week consisting of chicken nuggets, fish sticks, and hot dogs, but the goal right now is just to get him to eat anything.*

Jacob’s kindergarten teacher called Thursday afternoon to talk with me about my concerns, and he informed me that the aide in his classroom is also the aide in the lunchroom. He will have her check on Jacob periodically throughout lunch recess to try to coax him to eat a bit. I am hoping that Jacob will qualify for OT through the school district, as private sessions would be quite costly and, most likely, not covered by health insurance. My husband and I are meeting with a counselor in early October to determine Jacob’s eligibility for services. If anything, I need the counsel just as much as he does. The counseling would provide my husband and me ways in which to cope with not only Jacob’s food issues, but his oppositional behavior and obstinacy, as well.

Having a child who won’t eat fruits and vegetables; foods with bits, pieces, or flecks; or dinners that are too hot or too cold or not the right color is, well, it is frustrating. The other day I wished for a fat child. For once, I wanted to relish a child eating anything and everything and making a real glutton of himself. Silly, I know, as overweight children are on the opposite spectrum of what I am dealing with, a problem in its own right.

We’ve been dealing with this for so very long, however, and I am just tired.

The debate between butter vs. margarine may seem silly, indeed, unless you have ever found yourself standing in the dairy aisle of your market pondering the choices. Most people will agree that butter just tastes better than margarine, so smooth and creamy. I have happily purchased butter for the past few years, content that, even though butter is not exactly a healthy ingredient, at the very least it is natural. However, I once was a long-time supporter of margarine because, well, it is so cheap.

I then learned about hydrogenation while taking a nutrition class. Warning: a brief lesson in chemistry (yes, there is a lot of chemistry involved in nutrition). A hydrogenated reaction occurs when hydrogen atoms are *unnaturally* bonded to chains of *naturally* unsaturated fatty acids (vegetable oil), thus saturating them and providing consumers with the synthetically-produced, partially-hydrogenated, artificially-colored semi-solid we call margarine. The degree to which the product has been hydrogenated controls its state at room temperature; the greater the saturation, the more solid the product.

Can you tell on which side of the fence I reside?

Ugh.

Unbelievably margarine, which has been artificially saturated, still has less saturated fat than butter. However, partial hydrogenation creates trans-fats. Why are trans fats good? Well, they are a preservative. Food products high in trans-fats do not spoil as quickly. Nevertheless, it is those same trans fats that are responsible for raising bad cholesterol while lowering good cholesterol, just like saturated fats (which are found in higher amounts in butter).

What? Have I lost you?

Here is the conundrum, plain and simple. You can choose butter, which tastes better, is made from all-natural ingredients, and, in my opinion, produces better muffins (although it costs more and raises bad cholesterol), or you can choose margarine, which tastes okay and is less expensive (although it is synthetic and, like butter, raises bad cholesterol).

Taste and cost aside, which one should you choose? From a strictly health-related point of view, neither is a great choice. Do you cut it from your diet altogether? Oh, the horror of a slice of hot-out-of-the-oven bread with nary a pat of butter!

Well, scientists wised up and heard the pleas of all the hungry (and overweight) people everywhere. You can now readily find non-hydrogenated, trans-fat free margarines that are high on taste and not bad on the pocket book. My favorite is Earth Balance Natural Buttery Spread: No Hydrogenated Oils, Non-GMO Ingredients, No Trans-Fatty Acids, no preservatives, No Artificial Flavors, Lactose Free, Gluten Free, 100% Vegan.

I have not cut butter out of our diet completely. I still prefer to bake with butter. But at least I am making a healthier choice altogether.

I think

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Would you like to see your own Up For Debate article on my site? Click here for the details. 

One of the features of WordPress is that it displays the stats, most popular posts, incoming/outgoing clicks, and googled terms on one convenient page. For the most part, the googled terms that lead people to my site have been less than thought provoking, although I have learned there are many parents wondering about the effects of too much sugar and whether or not autistic tendencies can be treated with ADD/ADHD medication. Oddly enough, someone actually googled “master schedule,” of which I will write a follow-up post about soon enough.

There was a phrase, however, that caught my attention this morning: what is nursing school schedule like.

One word came to mind: complicated.

Once upon a time, I was a nursing student. In the fall of 2002, I registered with our local community college to complete the 2-year nursing program in which I would graduate with an Associate’s Degree. Unbelievably, our little community college has issued some of the most well prepared nurses. I hesitate to say well trained, as there is hardly a classroom setting that can train one for changing a bed or wiping a shitty ass. Oh wait, that’s motherhood. There is nary a class that can prepare one for the real-life situations in which the adrenaline is running so high it threatens to burst forth through the top of one’s head.

As I had a few requisite classes to complete before beginning the nursing courses, I spent the winter and summer semesters getting caught up on biology, chemistry, physical education, and nutrition. Bless my father-in-law for babysitting my two children, aged 3 and 15 months, on those days I was in class.

I was accepted into the Nursing program and began my official studies in the fall of 2003. My courses were science-based, with Anatomy & Physiology being one of my favorites. I continued my studies through the winter semester and decided to get some hands-on experience (and money) by working as an aide at the hospital. Had I begun my hospital work directly on the nightshift as opposed to days, I believe I would have seen the error of my ways much sooner. You’ll remember, however, that I am a Type-A Virgo, the worst possible marriage of anal-retentive and uptight, perfectionist tendencies, if ever there was one.

As school ended in May, I transitioned to working nights at the hospital. The schedule was made bearable by two things only: I was working per diem and on the best floor imaginable, Maternal-Child Care aka Labor & Delivery. My summer nights were spent taking mom and baby vitals, stocking rooms and baby warmers, cleaning delivery carts (I’ve handled my fair-share of bloody placentas, the smell, oh which, is quite metallic). I rocked, and I burped (the babies). I comforted and coached moms through labor. I made lab runs and acquiesced to every request imaginable. I answered call bells and silently cursed those patients who would abuse them. Can you change my baby’s diaper? Here, let me show you how to change/bathe/feed/hold ‘cause ain’t nobody gonna do it for you once you leave this place (okay, I wouldn’t say that part). I helped teenage mothers nurse their little ones. I saw and touched many boobs. I assisted as little boys were circumcised and was glad my own son survived the scalpel before I knew the full procedure. I watched families mourn the loss of their babies. I stood by as nurses and doctors argued about patient care.

I occasionally filled spots in Pediatrics (which I liked) and Med/Surg (which I hated). It was Med/Surg that stank of hospital. It’s where old people were tethered to beds with alarms and where ancient people muttered incoherently. It’s where I learned to appreciate the fact I still have my dignity. Can anything be more humiliating to an elderly man than being wiped by a 20-something nurse’s aide? It’s where I learned to test blood sugar and not just check or clean the glucometer.

There were nights I babysat patients in the ER and psych wards, dangerous men who, thankfully, had been given enough sedative to knock them out for the duration of my 12-hour shift. Use this if you need it, said a guard, indicating a walkie-talkie. Pound on the door and yell if you need me. What the?? How was a 107 pound female supposed to contend with a fully-grown, drugged-up psych patient if he all of a sudden woke up?

Despite all that, I enjoyed my time at the hospital. What I didn’t enjoy, however, was the lack of sleep. After working a 12-hour shift, I would come home and sleep for 1.5 hours before my husband had to go to work. I then had to get up and care for my two kids, aged 4 and 2 by that time. I would get in a few hours sleep during naptime, but that was never a given. Then my next shift would start at 7 PM. I don’t remember that summer well, other than the fact I transitioned into what my daughter termed, “mean mommy.”

August came and with it, the panic that ensued as I realized school was about to begin. How were we going to make our schedules work? Clinicals started promptly at 7 AM, which meant that my husband would have to prepare Hannah for kindergarten each day. He would then have to drive Jacob to the school’s daycare, which would consume at least an hour of his morning. My husband also travels for work, so then what were we to do? We couldn’t very well ask his parents to help, as they live more than an hour away. We had no friends, neighbors, or extended family to lend a hand when our schedules inevitably conflicted.

Tensions ran tight between my husband and me as we both realized our quality of life was suffering. I was entrenched in my job at the hospital, and we knew things would only get worse as I became more involved with school. Hannah was upset that I would be missing her first day of kindergarten, and Jacob, at two years old, was acting out and showing the beginning signs of his issues.

My husband and I had a huge blowout one morning, the only one of our 8.5-year marriage. He left for work, and I crumpled on the floor in a heap of snot and tears and anger and frustration.

Somberly, I picked up the phone and called the admissions office at my school. I am dropping out of the program, I announced. It’s ruining my family.

I then drafted a letter of resignation to the hospital.

And just like that, the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders. I felt relieved, although I hated myself for quitting. Not only did I enjoy my time at the hospital, the nursing position would have been our ticket out of debt and our train to financial security.

Now we are pinching pennies and living paycheck to paycheck. Each month is a struggle.

However, it didn’t take long to find the good in the situation. Just two months after letting go, I realized I was pregnant with Bridget. I’ve resumed my role as full-time mom, and I’ve begun writing (for pay) again.

I reflect on my memories of school and work with great fondness. But it was an impossible schedule, not conducive to life with family, especially young children. With a traveling husband and no one to help, school was just not an option. For me, there are four things more important than a nursing career: Ian, Hannah, Jacob, and Bridget.

A friend of mine just began the same nursing program. So what advice do you have, she asked before summer. She’s a Type-A just like me. Say goodbye to your family for the next few years and make sure you have others who are willing to help. In addition, even though Jacob and her son are no longer in preschool together, I reminded her never to hesitate if she needs someone to watch her little boy for the afternoon (she has school-aged children, as well).

I think I will call on her and see how she’s doing.

When I was working nights at the hospital, come 1 AM I would crave a steaming cup of the cafeteria’s hospital-grade Cream of Mushroom and Rice Soup (which was surprisingly delicious). It took me awhile, but I finally cooked up a recipe that tastes a lot like the original.

You’ll need:

8 oz any variety of mushrooms, cleaned and sliced

4 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons flour

1 cup heavy cream

32 oz mushroom broth

2 bags of cooked instant rice

salt and pepper to taste

Heat a stock pot on medium heat and saute the mushrooms in the butter until soft. Stir in the flour and cook until the mixture is smooth. Slowly add the broth and heat through, stirring. Add the cream and cook until thick. Add the cooked rice. Salt and pepper to taste. Enjoy!

Would you believe that THIS is my most popular post? Day after day, it tops the stats. How cool! So it is HERE that I am choosing to bring attention to my NEW up-and-coming website, Root and Sprout (still under construction). The great thing about Root and Sprout is that depends on readers, like YOU, to make it a success. For more information about how you can submit an article, please read the submission guidelines.

Thanks!

(a boy, none too happy to stop his play for a picture)

**edited to add: Thanks to everyone who’s pointed out that girls like pirates too!!**

If you’ve got a little boy in the house, chances are he finds pirates a fascinating lot. With wet and chilly fall days quickly approaching, not to mention the boredom that ensues from lack of outdoor big-muscle activity, set their little hands to work and calm their busy bodies by constructing an easy pirate hat made of foam. Here’s what you’ll need:

One large sheet of black foam

One small sheet of white foam

Pencil

Safety scissors

Foam Glue

Multi-colored jewels

Black marker

Stapler

Begin by tracing the shape of the pirate hat onto the large sheet of black foam. There’s no need for a template; use simple freehand strokes. Cut a band of black foam, approximately 2 inches by 18 inches. This is what will hold the hat on the head. On the small sheet of white foam, trace the shapes of two bones and a skull. Have your savage pirate use safety scissors to cut out the shapes. Glue the shapes onto the hat using foam glue, and decorate it using the multi-colored jewels. With the black marker, draw the final markings on the skull. Secure the band around the head and staple it on either side.

My son first crafted this project many months ago in preschool and wore the pirate hat until it literally fell apart in pieces. This project took no time at all to complete; the most difficult part was waiting for the glue to dry! From the look on his face, you can see he didn’t appreciate being interrupted

We have been renovating the downstairs bedroom for the past few weeks in order to accommodate our growing family. One thing my husband and I have always wanted to give each of our three children is personal space, a room in which to call his or her own, a sanctuary in which to retreat. Our two daughters currently share a space, but with almost six years between them, their definition of space, especially the aesthetics of that space, couldn’t be more different. Interestingly, it is our youngest daughter who prefers cleanliness and order (a girl after my own heart!). Our oldest daughter is all about creative chaos.

Once Hannah makes her long-awaited transition, my husband and I will pull the ole switcheroo and move the younger children to their “new” bedrooms. This is more or less a cunning tactic to preserve harmony and stave off any jealous inclinations about one sibling getting this or another sibling getting that. Who doesn’t like a little bit of change every now and again anyway?

Our children’s walls have been devoid of any original artwork most of these years, so I’ve been scouring etsy in hopes of finding a few unique pieces. It just so happens I didn’t have to wander any farther than my own blogroll, however; you all blow me away with your creativity!

As soon as I saw the above print, I new I had to have it for what will be Bridget’s new room. When I first became pregnant with baby number three, my husband and I decided that the baby’s name would be either Bryce or Bridget. Throughout those nine (long) months, we referred to the baby as Little B. Even now, Bridget answers to B more often than not.

What’s your name?

B!

Zoe Ingram is the creator of this wonderful print, and you can find her works featured in her etsy shop, Margin. Keep up with Zoe by visiting her site.

It just so happens that Little B is a second-in-series. Zoe plans to illustrate each letter of the alphabet. I don’t know about you, but I envision many great things happening with these sweet prints (an alphabet picture book!!).

Please take a few moments to visit Zoe in all her numerous dwellings and encourage her creative spirit

My husband and I have been watching Living With Ed, a second-season show on HGTV that stars Ed Begley Jr. and his wife, Rachelle Carson. The series is a down-to-earth, viewer-friendly program that chronicles Ed and Rachelle’s green living and their attempt to spread the word about pro-environment lifestyle choices.

What my husband and I enjoy so much about the show is that it offers practical adivce interspersed with witty humor. Ed and Rachelle aren’t your typical Hollywood stars; in fact, we’re amazed by their normalcy. They definitely don’t believe in ostentatious living ~ Ed finally purchased a new oven, as the last was being held closed with chicken wire!

Watch the show on Monday nights, 10:30 eastern. You won’t want to miss it!

Click the above link for easy tips on green living. To paraphrase Jay Leno in the second episode, you don’t have to believe in global warming to live sustainably. 

In Upstate New York, school is officially in session. With but one pint-sized punk to contend with from 7:15 - 2:15 each day, while big brother and sister are away, I feel like I’m on vacation.

Stress? What stress? My biggest worry is trying to remember all the words to “There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly” in their proper order.

Oh wait, you’re asking about the stress of working from home with a toddler underfoot while handling the task of managing the contents of a house on a daily basis, (and especially on those days when my spouse is traveling).

Ah, yes. That stress.

Being a Type A has its advantages, although some might look at me and wonder if I’m not more disadvantaged (and I wonder why my son is so rigid). Moreover, being a  Type A and a  Virgo *09-22, ahem, the big 3-0!* is like a double shot of oganizational madness. It consumes me.

So I schedule.

Summertime is all about being lax around here but once Labor Day rolls around, Casa de Garrett is a no-nonsense household. Take a glance at my refrigerator door and you will see not one, but three different schedules. Two of them belong to my school-aged children, who are now, in my opinion, old enough to abide by the clock. Then there is the Master Schedule, an insanely detailed rundown of my day divided in nicely compacted time slots.

Can you really schedule your life in 15-minute increments, wonders the husband who has no clue what it’s like to be a stay-at-home-work-from-home-full-time parent.

Finding balance is not my forte. Really. Such is the curse of the person who wants to excel at everything she does. It’s why I failed at nursing school (no, I didn’t flunk out; I dropped out with a 4.0 GPA because I was essentially ignoring my family in favor of the grades and my night time job in L&D). As crazy as it sounds, my schedule is what secures my sanity; without it, I would simply flit from one activity to the next, or I would spend entirely too much time devoted to just one activity. Nothing would get accomplished, to-do lists would grow longer, and I would tear out my hair in frustration. Not to mention, my family would starve and go naked.

Having a schedule allows me to stay on task, be efficient, and complete everything from a load of laundry to my paid writing obligations to cooking a healthy meal. I even schedule one-on-one playtime with my toddler daughter. Although I would never deny her attention, as there have been many times when she has sat on my lap coloring while I’ve pecked away at the computer, the Master Schedule is what says, now stop your work, and play! It gives me permission to give my undivided attention to one thing (or person) without worrying about the dishes in the sink or the laundry that needs to be put away.

There are several playtimes scattered throughout the day, as well as 20-minute cleanups. In fact, I accomplish 100 minutes worth of cleaning each day (although with three kids, nothing is ever truly clean). We have scheduled homework time, free time, dinnertime, book time, tub time, bedtime. Instead of screaming at the kids to hurry up, I can point to the schedule and say, this is where we need to be. Amazingly, the kids rarely question the schedule, and we move (almost) seamlessly from one activity to the next, minimizing tantrums and squabbles.

**Schedules are great for a child who needs routine.**

I know, you are probably thinking that living in my house and under my rule is a barrel of monkeys (hardee har har). I am not a total tight-ass. The weekends are all about having fun, running wild, going unclothed and without a bath. Okay, so that last part only applies to the youngest child. I try not to sweat the small stuff, like one of my kids forgetting to brush his teeth or a certain 8-year-old watching a little too much Hannah Montana or a tiny tot staying up until 11 PM (well, that one makes my blood boil).

In a home where the chips are stacked against me, “chips” being children and lack of time, it’s the Master Schedule that certainly saves the day. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a bit of cleaning to be done.

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Congratulations to Kristi of Interrupted Wanderlust for winning my Craftacular Tuesday: fabric covered button hair ponies contest (whew! that was a mouthful!). There were but two official entries, so I will attribute that to the fact that all of you moms either must have short hair or little boys in the house. I’ll try not to think that it’s a reflection of how you must feel about my latest crafting craze ;-) Kristi, send me your mailing address at igarrett@twcny.rr.com , and I will pop your ponies in the post (ha!) asaP. Be sure to check my etsy shop, Little Woolgatherings for fabric covered buttons and hair ponies. I will also be making a shop updating at some point TODAY, so keep watch!!

Also, I have noticed that I am not receiving all comments in my inbox. I usually try to respond to most comments with a personal email so if I don’t, please don’t think I am ignoring you. Kristi, in regards to your question about the market at which I shop, I *heart* WEGMANS!! 

If you are a responsible shopper, you head out with cloth bags in tow. You even stash a few extras in your (hybrid) car for those unexpected trips to the (farmer’s) market. Cloth bags aside, however, let us assume that you must choose between either paper or plastic. What do you feel guiltier about, playing a part in deforestation or polluting the environment with bits of plastic that will be here long after we are gone?

I am not perfect. I know, that comes as a complete shock to many of you.*** There are days when, in my mad rush to get out of the house (and away from my kids for the solace that one hour at the grocery store can deliver), I leave my cloth bags behind. Then as I am driving down the road, I begin to wonder which is more detrimental to the environment: wasting gas by turning my car around to make an unnecessary trip back home to retrieve the environmentally friendly bags, or having to make the choice between paper and plastic. Nevertheless, even on my best days when I do remember to tote along my six cloth bags, I end up purchasing more food and sundry items than what can possibly be stuffed inside. (A truly efficient bagger can complete such a challenging task. In my eighteen months of using cloth bags, the feat has been accomplished only once. I then dutifully filled out a customer comment card praising the store for hiring such a talented and meticulous clerk/bagger. Those things make me happy. It doesn’t take much.)

In May of 2007, NBC Nightly News proposed this very quandary of choosing between paper and plastic. My husband and I waited anxiously with baited breath, shushing our children, and biting our nails to stubs in true worrywart fashion. Okay, that last part is a lie. However, my insides flip-flopped with the worry that I was about to be told I had been making the wrong decision all along. I am a paper person, after all, on those occasions when the cloth is left behind, and I will snap and glare if a bagger attempts to sneak a bottle of shampoo into a plastic bag or, God forbid, wrap my gallon of milk in plastic. What is the handle for, anyway? I look at paper bags and see the possibilities beyond their original intent: brown paper for shipping boxes, wrapping paper my kids can decorate, weed “fabric” for the garden, homemade costumes for rainy days.

But as it turns out, you should choose paper or plastic depending on where you live. If you live along the coastline, where wayward plastic bags have a tendency to be caught up by the wind and eventually settle in oceans and lakes, choose paper. Everyone else, choose plastic. Don’t think you are all of a sudden off the hook now; the wiser choice is still cloth. Consider these facts about paper and plastic bags:

“To make all the bags we use each year, it takes 14 million trees for paper and 12 million barrels of oil for plastic. The production of paper bags creates 70 percent more air pollution than plastic, but plastic bags create four times the solid waste — enough to fill the Empire State Building two and a half times. And they can last up to a thousand years.”

In short, what you are really making a choice between, still, is how you would rather pollute the environment, by air, land, or sea (or a combination thereof).

It’s confession time, readers. How do you choose?

***You know I’m kidding. Right?

When I first began planning my summer ’07 garden in the winter of ’06, I knew that I wanted a bed that was rich with both colorful and somewhat untraditional vegetables. Although cauliflower is not my most favorite vegetable to eat, attributed to its bland (in my opinion) taste, I couldn’t resist the royal hue of the Graffiti Cauliflower. Have you ever seen such a beautiful vegetable?

Am I the only one to become so elated over a vegetable? Maybe so. But I’ll tell you one thing, when I first saw the beginning florets of this purple Brassica (plant related to cabbage: a plant of the mustard family, e.g. cabbage, kale, broccoli, cauliflower, or mustard), my heart leapt and I felt little flutterings of excitement in my gut. My neighbor, Dave, mentioned how he had read that the leaves of a cauliflower are supposed to be wrapped and secured around the florets while the plant grows. Perhaps this could account for why my florets are not compact looking, but rather branch-like. Given that this was my first year to host a Brassica, I will have to research Dave’s suggestion.

Regrettably, this year’s garden pales in comparison to the bountiful harvest which we reaped last summer season. Even my eldest daughter noticed, lamenting, “What happened this year?” Gardening is such a fickle hobby, dependent upon the perfect conditions to yield the perfect crop. Or perhaps it’s simply the fault of an imperfect gardener. However, what produce we have harvested has been greedily consumed.

I have planted another row of Graffiti Cauliflower in hopes that we may get a late fall/early winter crop, despite it being a little late in the season. Also to try: peas, lettuce, onions, carrots, Swiss chard, and potatoes . . . started from our sprouting spuds recently discovered in a dark corner of the pantry.

It never hurts to experiment. 

 What do you do with stale bread?

 You make homemade croutons, of course.

Preheat an oven to 400 degrees.

Coarsely chop the bread into cubes.

Melt 1/2 stick of unsalted butter in an oven-safe dish.

Add the bread and a handful Parmesan cheese.

Toss to coat.

Toast for ten minutes

And then you make French onion soup.

Reduce the heat in the oven to 325 degrees.

Cut three large, yellow onions in half and then thinly slice.

 In an oven-safe dish, melt 1/2 stick of butter.

Add 1 tablespoon brown sugar, 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce, and the onions.

Cook for about 45 minutes, stirring occasionally.

 Add 32 ounces of vegetable broth and two beef bouillon cubes.

Bring to a boil and simmer about ten minutes.

 Fill the bottoms of four oven-safe bowls with the croutons.

Ladle a generous helping of soup into each bowl and top with a slice of mozzarella cheese.

 Broil until ooey gooey and brown.

Enjoy!

(please excuse the picture quality ~ it looked fine when it initially uploaded!!)

  Not too long ago, Mandy of sewSpun.com held a contest in which I was a recipient of some crafty fabric-covered hair ponies. I’ve worn them just about every single day and, so impressed am I with their simplicity, I decided to make some of my own.

Pictured above is the pair I’ve decided to give away on this site. If you would like to be eligible to win these ponies (3/4″ diameter), please leave a comment. Make sure to specify that you would like to be entered into the drawing. You have until Friday, September 7th, noon (eastern). The winner will be announced in Saturday’s post.

I’ve had so much fun making these, I’ve decided to add a few items to my etsy shop, Little Woolgatherings.

 Be sure to check back periodically, as I will have more ponies, buttons, and possibly a few more surprises!

Are you a crafter? Would you like to be listed among fellow women designers? Take a look! 

This holiday season, make a purchase to help support women designers.

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There is another post today!

Please click on the article Win Big At WithCharacterKids for your chance to win a $500 shopping spree or 50″ HD TV!

How would you like to win a $500 shopping spree? What about a Panasonic 50” HD TV? Head over to WithCharacterKids, the place to find room décor, baby and toddler bedding, and diaper bags, all in the brands you trust and the characters your kids love. All you have to do to be eligible to win either of the prizes featured in the Décor Galore Sweepstakes is sign up for the WithCharacterKids newsletter. But hurry ~ the contest ends on September 12th!

WithCharacterKids has been offering bedding and room essentials for the past 30 years at completely affordable prices while ensuring the safety of your child. Products sold at WithCharacterKids meet or exceed current safety standards established by the Consumer Product Safety Commission, as well as the American Society for Testing and Materials and the Juvenile Products Manufacturer’s Association.

WithCharacterKids currently features 24 name brands, including Eddie Bauer, Carter’s, Thomas the Tank Engine, and Dora the Explorer. You’ll even find stuff for older kids, too, with the popular High School Musical, Transformers, and SpongeBob Squarepants. WithCharacterKids offers many ways to shop, including by favorite brand or by age, and you can feel comfortable making your online purchase using their secure server software.

Whether you’re making room for a new baby, have a little one transitioning into a toddler bed, or have an older kid who just wants some cool stuff, look at WithCharacterKids. Personally speaking, with one entering Kindergarten this school year, I like the looks of these nap mats ~ so soft and comfy!

Keep up with the latest kid trends by visiting the WithCharacterKids Blog.

Selecting a child’s toy should be fun, not an overwhelming or stressful experience. Thankfully, parents have a place like eBeanstalk, whose mission it is to “plant the seeds that help children grow,” to take the guesswork out of choosing entertaining, yet developmentally and age-appropriate toys.

eBeanstalk relies on a handful of child specialists and a group of over 700 moms to select and test fun, educational products. These two teams match the toys carefully to a child’s stage of development with the focus on promoting imagination, educational, language, dexterity, locomotion, emotional and social skills. eBeanstalk also narrows the age recommendations on its toys by dividing each developmental year into quarters. For example, at eBeanstalk you can find toys for a 3 ¾ year-old-child with a simple click of the mouse. Brilliant!

Shoppers have the choice of purchasing one item or selecting a “gift series,” in which your child is sent a new toy on a quarterly basis to match his developmental needs. You can also choose a toy based on a particular developmental skill. What’s more, each gift comes with an instruction card that explains why the experts selected that toy and ideas in which it can be used. Just to show you that they have thought of everything, the folks at eBeanstalk will package your toy in a plain, white box, because every parent knows that the box is half the fun! 

Learn more about the child specialists at eBeanstalk and browse articles at the eBeansTALK community, including the recent post about their commitment to providing safe, lead-free toys.

eBeanstalk’s site is informative, easy to navigate, and user-friendly. I certainly know where I’ll be doing some of my holiday shopping.

Readers of Melissa Garrett ~ a writer’s woolgatherings are invited to save 10% on every purchase made at eBeanstalk by using the product code, woolgatherings.

Thank you, eBeanstalk!

*If you know a mom or dad who would enjoy shopping for developmentally and age-appropriate toys at eBeanstalk, please link to this article.*

We’ve been looking at each other, these past twenty-four hours, connecting in such an intense way that I wonder, what the heck have these last eight and a half years meant anyway? They’ve been good years, wonderful years, but there have been few moments, such as what was privately shared, that would trump the bliss of devotion reaffirmed.

Love sustains. Love ushers you through those gut-wrenching moments and sees you through to the other side. When your heart and mind struggle between what the heart wants and what the body needs, it’s a shared love upon which you rely to make those decisions for you.

He said to me, I’m so lucky to have you. And what could I do but throw my arms around his body and choke back the tears? He had complied with what was, for him, an unthinkable request, and yet there he was, telling me how lucky he is to have me.

There’s a clear divide between what our life together once was and what it’s now to become, a certain finality as well as a new beginning. There is wondering and contemplation.

A few tears over what might have been.

Sustainable love for what will be.

Meet Louie, the latest addition to our family of five. He’s cute. He’s spunky. He’s full of mischief.

Almost nine months have passed since we lost our beloved cat, Benny. His tragic demise made Benny’s absence almost unbearable those first few days, especially for our children, two, of whom, could not quite understand what had happened to their furry friend. Our oldest daughter has since been pining for a cat, a companion with whom she can play and love (and who won’t steal her toys).

The other day I received an email from my husband with an attached photo of a particular orange and white kitty. “What do you think?” it asked. I responded promptly with an emphatic, “YES!”

Louie hails from Syracuse, an unwilling participant in suspect neighborhood-boy behavior. He was rescued, consequently, from a concerned citizen and offered freely to a family who would promise to love him and provide a good home. Having taken care of Louie for a week, concerned citizen was heartbroken to part ways. Seeing Bridget’s excitement, however, eased the pains of her separation, even if only a little.

As Hannah and Jacob are spending the week with their grandparents, they have not yet had the opportunity to meet Louie formally; their only introduction is via the above picture. The three us, however, my husband, Bridget, and I, are having a splendid time getting to know the newest member. Likewise, Louie, in true cat form, has made himself at home!

He’s just a tiny thing, no more than a few pounds. We don’t know how old he is for sure yet, but I imagine Louie is about six months old. Bridget and Louie have become fast friends, and they chase each other around the house from sunup to sundown. Although we are a happy family, I don’t recall us laughing as much or as hard as we have these past few days. Louie’s morning and evening romps through the house never cease to amuse me. He has even established his spot as “one of the kids,” as was evident the other night at dinner when I had to remind both Bridget and Louie that there is no climbing on the table. I’ve also found that you cannot turn your back on cereal, oatmeal, ice cream, or yogurt lest you want your meal to be spoiled by kitty licks. It’s hard to believe that we’ve only had Louie since Tuesday evening; it feels like he’s been with us forever.

We’ll keep this one inside the house . . .