The Evolution of a Momoholic
Author: jill
•1:02 PM
I was ironing clothes the other day and my mind began to wonder. It - my brain, that is -  had a long time to ponder the questions of the universe because the pile of ironing had accumulated to an embarrassing mountain in the laundry room. I loathe ironing Jonesy's dress shirts clothes and usually keep up with it so that I do not end up with a large pile, like the one that has been staring at me for a week now. But, I'm trying to read one hundred books in one year ... so something has got to suffer. Anyhow, while I was ironing, I was wondering ... how does one become a momoholic? Because, not every mom becomes one. Maybe there is a gene? Maybe ... it's a virus?

What is it about the momoholic that sets her apart from the well-balanced Mom?

I think if we look closely at this momoholic, we'll find a Type-A personality mixed with a little (okay, a lot) of perfectionism and some tendencies that point in the direction of anxiety-ridden behaviour. Is that a word ... perfectionism? Anyway, you get the idea ... I like things done in certain way, things that only I can do properly. And I worry a lot. When Caiden was eleven months old, we went to Florida for one week. Now, most parents would enjoy the break from routine, experiencing new things with their little boy. Not this momoholic. The first thing I did was go to the local grocery store and buy all the ingredients I needed to make Caiden's food. Then back to the condo, and an afternoon in the kitchen supplied me with the majority of his food for the week. Because Caiden never ate food from a jar. Ever. None of my babies did. The people at the baby food factory could never make food good enough for a momoholic's child ... of that, I am certain. The thing is that I enjoyed doing it. I never complained about having to do it. Not ever. I loved doing it because it was important to me, I guess. But how did I get like this? Crazy ... like I was? Because making your own baby food while on vacation in Florida is crazy. And I'm thinking that if I had little baby now, and we went to Florida ... I might do the same thing. So, I'm still a little crazy ... still recovering. One day at a time ... isn't that the addict's mantra?

I have always been a control freak and a perfectionist. Always. Even as a tween, I can remember having things just so in my bedroom. Consider my desk ... pencils (in a pencil holder, of course) at the top right-hand corner, calculator positioned next to it, fresh stack of paper on the left, small organizer tray with an eraser, paperclips, etc. in the centre. My brother would come in and move everything, just to watch my reaction ... because he always got a reaction.

When I had my first "big-girl" job, I was obsessed with getting it right. I am not comfortable not knowing the answers ... which by default makes me a know-it-all, I guess. I was working a contract with the County of Kent, in the Social Services Department, completing applications for General Welfare Assistance(GWA), as it was known then. All of the other Caseworkers would go home at four-thirty but I would stay until eight o'clock in the evening, leaving only because the janitors would ask me to. I guess they wanted to go home or something. I completed GWA applications and calculated budgets in my sleep for weeks until I felt like I had a handle on things. I created my own system for the application process, organizing all the paperwork I would need before I even left the office, a certain way of collecting the information required for the file.

When I bought a sewing machine, I could hardly wait to get home from work and get down to business on whatever project I had dreamed up. Quilt, crafty project, curtains, whatever. And I would stay home for a weekend, just sewing, because I wanted to. It did not matter that the party of the year was taking place; I wanted to finish my project. I didn't feel like I was missing out on anything.

When I was struggling to get pregnant, I educated myself on reproduction and the female hormonal cycle until I was a self-proclaimed expert. The infertility specialist that I doctored with exercised a great deal of patience with me, and once he confided that our monthly meetings were like discussing a case with a colleague instead of a patient. I was determined to figure out what the problem was and there was no way someone was going to tell me I could not do something. Not even Mother Nature.

And when I finally got that baby I wanted so much, he was born premature and spent the first six weeks of his life in the NICU, attached to machines and monitors. I arrived at the hospital by eight-thirty in the morning and was pushed out of the Unit by the staff around eleven at night. I spent my time educating myself about prematurity, the hurdles and milestones my baby would overcome until I was throwing around terminology with such ease that some of the staff asked if I was medically trained. Every time I had a question (and I had many), I would consult a book from the stack I kept at our station. The Nurses called it my library and they consulted it a time or two themselves. It was ridiculous, to be honest. But it helped me feel like I was doing something; because when you have a preemie, there is really very little you can do for your baby. And, it helped me feel like I was in control of a situation that I could not control.

But, why could I not just accept what the specialists told me? Why couldn't I just accept that Caiden would come home on iron and sodium supplements? I had to know the acceptable levels, and why his were low and what would happen if they got any lower. Why did I always have to have an opinion? On a couple of occasions, when our Nurse was otherwise occupied, I would give report to the Doctor on rounds. They trusted me because they understood nobody knew more about my baby than me. The Doctor could gauge what kind of day Caiden was having by whether his mother had tears or no tears. The Neonatologist that we dealt with was the first one to bring my momoholism to my attention. Caiden was five years old and in the latter part of Junior Kindergarten, and while at our annual follow-up meeting, I made mention of the fact that he was having a very difficult time separating from me and going to school happily.

"When you are ready to let him go, he will be able to let you go," the Doctor told me. I stared at him in disbelief, not understanding what he was saying. I understand now. I don't know if I can do it, but I understand.

Although funny and embarrassing at times, these glimpses into my life provide some important insight into the momoholic. I work at something until I get it right and become comfortable with it. I don't just "do" things, though; I become lost in them. And that, I think, is the problem. In those weeks that Caiden was in the NICU, I had no knowledge of what was happening in the "real" world. I did not need to be in the Unit all the hours I was, and the Nurses would encourage me to meet a friend for lunch or got to the mall, just to walk around. But, I couldn't. I would have a panic attack at the thought. Truly.

And then I brought him home from the hospital. Think about when you first brought your little bundle home from the hospital. Everything was new and you were finding your way - perfecting things, testing your skills, trying not to make a mistake. Everything is a challenge, sort of in the same way that starting any new job is.  Except you do not get a ten-minute coffee break, there is no training manual and there is absolutely no chance of getting sent home early because it is a slow day. I would wait all day to have a shower, until Jonesy arrived home from work. Because then I was assured that someone was nearby should little Caiden move or cry or stretch or yawn - 'cause you never know what can happen in the ten minutes it takes to have a shower!

And then just about the time you get comfortable, the next baby comes along. In fact, that is probably why the next baby came along at my house. I felt comfortable and less challenged; I was ready for the next assignment. I love infants and ache for them ... I am fighting the ache now. And then it starts over ... finding your way, that is. Because now you have the needs of two, and then three, to satisfy, and a new set of circumstances to organize.

The important thing to remember is that I truly loved doing all the things I did for my children. And, I still do ... most of the time. Sometimes, I think women stay home with their children because they feel like they should. Maybe because of pressure from a parent, or friends. And so, the things they do for their children are done with a heavy heart at times. Because they wish they were somewhere else. I never felt like that. But, I do now sometimes.

So, perhaps I am on the road to recovery. I'm ready for a new challenge. Now, if I could just figure out what that new challenge might be ...
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Legally Easy ... to Read
Author: jill
•9:42 PM
"No one here is bored."

Rusty Sabich says this of his own trial, in Presumed Innocent, by Scott Turow. And he is right - this book is not boring for one minute.

I loved this book and I think (at least) part of the reason is that I love the law. I love everything about it. I love that we have laws. I love that the law evolves. I love that the law is not definite and can be shaped to work for you. I would love to be a lawyer. I mean, I would really love to be a lawyer. If you like the law, even a little bit, you will love this book. I could not put it down, constantly having to choose between one more chapter and those annoying "mother" responsibilities, like bathing children and preparing meals. I stayed up until well after midnight, finishing it ... then I was left ... wide awake on Sunday night with no Anderson Cooper to lull me to sleep... going over the facts again, figuring everything out. I know, I have issues ... and they are many.

The book begins with an Opening Statement, and ends with a Closing Argument. I love that. It is clever and slick, in a legal sort of way. In fact, the whole book is entertaining. After reading two books (in a row) about the food industry and all the horrible things we are doing to our bodies, I was ready for a good old-fashion novel, with characters and a plot. This novel did not disappoint. There were times that I was so engrossed in the story that I was oblivious to my surroundings ... like when Addie C. took every single piece of clothing she owns off its hanger, and proceeded to them try on (apparently). Because I found them covering her bedroom floor, some turned inside-outside, others just crumpled up. Now, if I did this, it would amount to a very small hill of clothes, maybe not even as big as a hill (unless you count pyjamas, of course). But Addison has been the recipient of many hand-me-downs, as well as bags of new clothing from Gramas and Nanas. Once, I counted ten pairs of jeans ... and she doesn't even wear jeans because they are not "pwetty." But apparently, while I was sitting at Rusty Sabich's defence table trying to figure out our next move, she was trying on many pairs of jeans and shirts to match. And when those did not meet her fancy, she decided to try on all the dresses and skirts, too. But I'm not going to worry because I have a plan.

Presumed Innocent centres around a Prosecuting Attorney, Rusty Sabbich, who is accused of murdering his co-worker. A co-worker with whom he has had an affair. There are many twists and turns in the plot. He, of course, is innocent; and the manner in which Turow reveals the real killer is brilliant.

Carolyn Polhemus is our victim, and she is beautiful (of course), and very smart in her lawyering ways. She is also manipulative, and sly, and motivated, and wants to be successful. She wants to be recognized and she will stop at nothing to get what she wants. She uses people and discards them when they are no longer of use to her. Yes, you can say it ... she is a bitch.

Rusty is so likeable, it hurts. He is second-in-command at the Prosecutor's Office; he is well-liked, respected and good at his job. But, he makes a mistake when he becomes involved with Carolyn.

Why do people cheat? In Rusty's case, he was completely "in lust" with Carolyn. Almost obsessed. He describes his marriage as dull and his wife, Barbara, as a recluse, with no friends and no interests outside Mathematics. Mathematics? Who considers math an interest? Anyhow, Rusty does love Barbara and he acknowledges the excellent mother she is to their son, Nat.

"As a family, we are bound together by this symmetry: in the world, I love Nat most, and he adores his mother. Even at this scrappy age, full of the furious energy of a person of eight, he softens for her as no one else. She alone is allowed to hold him at length; and they enjoy a special sympathy, communion, a dependence that goes deeper than the unsounded depths of mother and child ... She equals his devotion. He is never out of her imagination."
I understand this because this is how it is for my Caiden and I. We enjoy an understanding of one another, and we certainly share a dependence ... but that is a discussion for another time.

The legal case in Presumed Innocent is exciting; this is the type of criminal case I would love to be involved with. But, are there really cases like this? Maybe the Bernardo case, certainly the OJ Simpson case ... those lawyers must have had their hands more than full. High media scrutiny, pressure for conviction, twists and turns along the way. I suspect that the average day in Windsor Criminal Court has more to do with petty crime, domestic assault, and drug-related offences. But, still, I would love to be (legally) involved in a big murder case, or a high-level corporate scheme ... something really juicy. However, I think I would have to move to a big city, like Toronto, or Montreal, or Calgary to get the kind of action I crave.

Even Rusty wishes he was involved in his own law suit as a lawyer, instead of as a defendant. He describes his attorney, Stern, appearing "almost jaunty. His flesh is invigorated by the high excitement;  ... he is about to give the opening statement in the most noted case of his career. Suddenly, I am full of envy. I have not thought in all the months about how much fun it would be to try this case, an understandable omission. But those old inclinations suddenly surge forth amid this supercharged air."

Have you ever been "invigorated by the high excitement?" Or the excitement of the high? When I worked out there ... in the world ... I was a Supervisor with the Social Services Department in Sarnia. We would make decisions (based on Regulations and Legislation), and our clients had the ability to appeal those decisions. An Adjudicator would come, and we would have a Hearing. The Supervisors had to defend the decisions they made. At first, I was terrified - for a couple of reasons. I was not accustomed to the procedure itself and, often, the client would retain the services of Legal Aid. Which meant they had a real, live Lawyer to assist them in their appeal. I would become almost sick, with worry, as the Hearing drew nearer. But as time went on and I gained some experience, I really enjoyed it - thinking on my toes, matching wits against one of those real, live Lawyers. We would leave the Hearing excited, talking a million miles a minute, going over every detail and feeling confident in what the outcome would be. Okay, I always talk a million miles a minute, but still ... understand that there was excitement in the air. The decisions I made were good, and certainly within the Regulations; I had nothing to fear ...but fear itself. Plus that is probably the closest I'll ever come to becoming a real, live Lawyer myself!

Could I be a Defence Attorney, though? Very difficult question to answer. I can say, with confidence, that I would whole-heartedly throw myself into defending someone whom I knew was innocent. Especially, if I felt they had been wronged in some way ... I'm a helper, remember? But what if the defendant was accused of sexual assault? Or child pornography? Or animal cruelty? Could you?

Everyone is entitled to a legal defence. That is the law around here. And, if you are assigned to represent this "bad" person, you must represent them to the best of your ability. That is law, too. It would be difficult in some cases, but also a challenge. Maybe that is why they do it ... because Defence Atttorneys are the thrill-seekers of the litigation world.

Presumed Innocent was written in 1987, and many noticeable things have changed since then. There are the obvious things ... nobody had a cell-phone or even a cordless phone, computers were new and not all information could be found on all computers, forensics were ridiculous. And, they all still smoked in the office. Turow makes mention of the media presence ... but it does not seem to match what the media presence would be today. I feel sorry for people who have to go through difficult times in the public spotlight ... Elin Woods comes to mind.

And so, Rusty Stabich is right. There is nothing boring here. There are so many surprises in this book, and I don't want to give them away. Don't watch the movie ... Go ... read this book because you won't be disappointed.

I am going back to farm life apparently ... A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley is next.
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In Defense of Food
Author: jill
•9:51 PM
My Grampa was born in 1913. He was an incredible man, a staunch conservative with an entrepreneurial spirit, who loved his family the most in the world. He liked to talk politics (...groan...), and he loved to entertain in his backyard, around the pool; and as he aged, he liked to reminisce and talk about the old days. He died, in his ninety-third year, in October 2005. I have found myself thinking about him a lot these last few days, while reading In Defense of Food, By Michael Pollan. Because, like most things, Grampa had some strong opinions about food and I wish I could talk to him about what the typical meal was like when he was a little boy. And I'd love to hear him tell about the changes he observed in the food industry.

However, I am not talking about the stories of Mabel the Pie Lady, who could pound out seventy pies in a day to prepare for a typical Saturday night at his banquet hall, The Pyranon Ballroom. 'Cause we (in the family) have all heard those stories too many times (... rolls eyes, like typical granddaughter). I'm talking about how he probably moved from buying meat and eggs locally, to having them delivered from a central warehouse. The thing is ... I understand now why Grampa was so amazed by Mabel being able to prepare seventy pies in a day. He knew how much work went into making a pie from scratch and he must have been amazed at how "progress" had brought things to the point where one woman prepared dessert for a party of one hundred and fifty guests in one day. He probably grew up listening to his mother complaining because she didn't have time to get more than one or two done in a day, and now his baker could pound out almost one hundred.

Grampa thought it was ridiculous to spend money on spaghetti in a restaurant ... because spaghetti was for poor people. He enjoyed prime rib, or roasted chicken, with squash and parsnips, and lots of potatoes ... with homemade stuffing and gravy. No Kraft Dinner or frozen food at his house. Food indicated status for a gentleman like Grampa. He enjoyed a salad, as long as it accompanied a big, thick steak.

His sweet tooth was never satisfied... no meal was complete without dessert. No afternoon was complete without a coffee break, either. Grampa made his food with love and I think that I learned to appreciate food from him. I mean, truly appreciate the taste of good food ... because he did.

In Defence of Food, Pollan talks about the three myths of eating: (1) what matters most is not the food, but the nutrients in the food, (2) because nutrients are invisible and incomprehensible to everyone except scientists, we need experts to tell us what to eat, and (3) that the only purpose of eating is to promote a very narrow concept of physical health. Food is also about community, and spirit, and togetherness. It can promote conversation and it can be about pleasure ... with no guilt attached. No people on earth worry about the consequences of their food choices more than North Americans. But if you eat real food, there is no need to worry. Have a chocolate cream pie, and make it from whole milk, free from hormones and steroids and antibiotics. And then, enjoy it.

The premise of the book is to make you think about where your food comes from and to encourage the reader to think in terms of food instead of nutrients.  Because a vitamin eaten in its natural state, in a actual fruit or vegetable, is worth so much more than a "vitamin-fortified" product. Pollan explains that the fact of the matter is the chronic diseases that now kill most of us can be traced directly to the industrialization of food. Highly refined grains, the use of chemicals to flavour and colour foods as well as to raise plants and animals in large monocultures, the abundance of cheap calories in sugar and fat, the narrowing in the diversity of foods available to us. The human diet is now based on three main crops ... wheat, corn and soy. What? You don't eat tofu? Think again, because soy products are used in all types of manufacturing, just like corn. In fact, I once spoke to a gentleman who had taken an interest in food production because of a food allergy in his family. He told me that after much reading, he predicts the next big food allergy to be to corn. Because it is used in all areas of food production and soon our bodies will begin to reject it and fight against it.

It is difficult to let go of some of the things we all learned growing up. I know this because it was difficult for me. About ten years ago, I was not feeling well. I mean, I was fine but I didn't feel good. I was working until seven or eight o'clock almost every night. I was leaving my house at six-thirty in the morning, headed for testing in order to monitor my infertility treatments; I was worried and stressed out and exhausted. I had put on some weight and did not feel good. So, I took a step back and started to read, and I learned about a different way to eat. This was NOT a diet; it was a lifestyle change, based on the book, Fit for Life by Harvey Diamond. The basic premise is to eat foods in combinations that would allow for easy digestion, while eliminating some well-known toxins. For one year, one month, and two weeks I did not consume any refined sugar, dairy products, red meat, or caffeine. Then, I had a little baby boy growing in my tummy who wanted some sugary treats and would not take NO for an answer. The hormones made me do it ... and I eventually abandoned all the things I had learned. For convenience, if you want me to be honest. And I have felt guilty about it a lot of the time.

When I was Fit for Life, I lost twenty-three pounds and I felt great. Not once did I count a calorie, measure fat intake or look for a particular nutrient in a food. I just ate whole foods and when we made these changes in our life, I threw out an entire black garbage bag of processed food. Within a few weeks, I had a ton of energy, my skin was flawless, and I felt healthy. And after a little less than a year of truly healthy living, I got pregnant ... without help from anyone but the man I love. Shortly after Caiden was born, we were arranging for some insurance, and my bloodwork came back as above-average healthy. The way I felt was a reflection of the way my body was functioning.

Guess what else Pollan dares to attack? Fat. Fat is not bad for you; in fact, you actually need fat in your diet. Your brain is sixty percent fat and each neuron is housed in a protective sheath of it. Did you know that? I find this information particularly icky, but I guess I'm just going to have to deal with it ... maybe even use it to my advantage somehow. The point is that if there is some fat marbled into your meat, enjoy the tenderness if brings to your steak. But eat it with other whole foods, like green salad and roasted potatoes and fruit. There are several cultures that live on diets that rely heavily on meat and they have been found to be some of the healthiest people in the world. But they don't eat at McDonald's or Pizza Hut very often. And, they probably sit down, with their families, to appreciate their meals. 

For me, there is one study that says it all. In 1982, a researcher in Australia returned a group of Aborigines back to their traditional homeland, which was a remote and isolated region in the northwest (of Australia). This group of ten men and women had all developed Type II Diabetes, they had signs of insulin resistance, and elevated levels of triglycerides in their blood since leaving the bush for "civilization" some years before. The group were to remain in the bush and rely exclusively on foods they hunted and gathered themselves. They had knowledge of these methods, and were comfortable in doing them. They were also monitored for health and/or safety issues. They had access to coastal waters and inland locations and spent seven weeks surviving on fish, birds, crocodile, yams, figs, bush honey and much more ... natural food. At the end of the study, they had lost (on average) seventeen pounds; blood pressure dropped; triglyceride levels fell into the normal range; and all of the Type II Diabetes issues either greatly improved, or fell to within normal levels. When they ate "food," they became more healthy. It's easy, don't you think? On a lighter note, I can't help but wonder if this is where they got the idea for the Survivor reality show. These Aborigines were the original Survivors!

When I was younger, I wanted to be a farmer's wife; but then I fell in love with a Business major. I was always intrigued by the farm ... humans and animals living together, growing food for others to eat. Living off the land. Big machines, vast amounts of land, and family. I think maybe that is what drew me to the idea of farming ... the idea of a large family, working together. Feeling part of something, belonging. In any case, I could not talk Jonesy into farming for a living, and so we drive by farms instead. But I think we are going to start looking for the farms where we can stop and pick up some food for tonight's supper.

However, it is probably a good thing ... that Jonesy does not long for life on the farm. According to Eric Schlosser in Fast Food Nation, the suicide rate among ranchers and farmers in the United States is about three times higher than the national average. Just last week, I read about a dairy farmer in the state of New York who first shot each of his cattle and them himself. Something in the farming industry has been lost and in my opinion, I think it is important to get it back. We should be praising these families, not stressing them out.

Do you know where your food comes from? Maybe it's time to shake the hand of the one that feeds you. I have recently found a flour mill near my house. They took my kids and I on a tour of their facility, explaining each step in the process; and the kids got to grind some wheat into flour themselves. The older kids enjoyed learning about how flour is milled; that is a much better way to learn than reading about it in a book. I had no idea that flour was milled around here ... it's not bleached and it has all the parts of the wheat. It is ultra healthy and full of fiber; and the kids don't know the difference. A cookie is a cookie ... unless your mother replaces the chocolate chips with raisins. Then, that is not a cookie. If you live in Southwestern Ontario and visit Windsor sometime, check out the whole grain difference that Sartaj Flour offers.

You should know where your food comes from and you should know what you eat, has eaten. It's okay to ask questions. If the soil is in some way deficient, then the grass that the cows eat is not meeting their needs and the milk and meat they produce are sub-standard. It seems to me that the food industry is coming under question by many and hopefully, that means that change is coming, too. I saw Michael Pollan interviewed once, and he was asked what he thought would force the food industry into making the changes it needs to. Pollan responded by saying that the mothers would change things. They will become frustrated with the quality of the food offered to them to feed their babies and they will not stand for it any longer. So, I say let's unite and demand that change. For our children and our selves.

Pollan makes the suggestion that going backwards to the dietary lifestyle of our ancestors may be the answer. So, that is what I am planning to do ... enjoy food, like my Grampa taught me, but know where it is coming from. Eat it for fun and pleasure and don't rush through it; sit, enjoy. Lingering around the table to chat and munch on vegies can be therapeutic and relaxing.

It will involve making some changes in our house and doing a little research, but it will be worth it, to know that I am providing my family with the best food I can find. But, we're not perfect, so we might still see you at McDonald's on occasion ... Grampa Jones says everything in moderation ... so we'll apply that principle, too.

And, while I am enjoying my food, I will enjoy moving on to a book that does not involve food or food production in any way. Whew ... can't wait to start Presumed Innocent ... which is presumably about the law.
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Maple Leaf
Author: jill
•6:38 PM
I have things to do. Lots of things. Books to read, laundry to organize. I even have posts to be written.

And yet, I choose to spend my time looking for a new layout for my blog.

I had no idea that one could find free templates on the Internet. But then I remembered you can find anything on here. Anything.

So I have spent a ridiculous amount of time looking at templates. Narrowing down the selection and scrutinizing until I was happy.

I chose this autumn scene for a couple of reasons. It looks relaxing, doesn't it? I'd love to stroll down there ... just me and my thoughts. It does not look like a place where you could be overwhelmed or angry or frustrated. Just calm and happy. A place to enjoy the nature that surrounds you and perhaps to centre yourself.

Autumn is my favourite season - look at the colours. It is beautiful. Can you hear the leaves crunching as you walk? I don't want to be the one who has to rake the crunchy leaves up, but I do enjoy them.

Anyhow, I hope that you like the new look. In the meantime, I continue to read, working on Book #8. More posts coming soon ...
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The Grinch Who Stole Summer
Author: jill
•10:19 AM
This entry was originally written in December 2009 for another project I was working on. It is the prequel to today's entry. Enjoy ...

This morning the first dusting of snow covered our lawn. Just enough to let you know that it is cold outside and windy, too. 'Cause the snow had gathered all along the curb, almost like it was trying to huddle and keep warm like the rest of us. Well, like the adults anyway. My kids were ecstatic, walking to the bus, trying to make footprints anywhere they could. Why do kids like to do that? They all do it ... if there is any amount of snow big enough to make a footprint, a child will leave their stamp. I first discovered this when we lived in that small town I have mentioned before. We were probably the only people in our neighbourhood that did not have children, but the designated spot for loading children on and off the school bus was our driveway. And those kids made footprints all over our driveway and on our front lawn. Drove me crazy. Because I like the white, undisturbed, smooth snow best, glistening as the sun hits it ... like in a picture. Not the dirty, clumpy, dull-looking snow ... like after children trample it.

This morning, when I arrived back home, I had to deal with a completely different problem altogether. My three-year-old does not appreciate the fact that it is about twenty degrees Farenheit. I agree that it is a little early for weather this cold, but it is here none-the-less. However, Addison refuses to give up the summer wardrobe, but I have not had the energy to argue.

"Oh, honey, I love your bathing suit with matching tulle skirt ..." I would comment, as I quickly grabbed my winter coat with the matching scarf and mittens and ran out the door to do some errands.

There is a long held philosophy that many parents, (and when I say "many parents" I mean Moms) subscribe to ... choose your battles. I believe very strongly in this philosophy. You cannot argue over every little thing. Or, if you can, you are a stronger person than I. I just don't have the energy. If it is a beautiful summer day and Addie wants to wear a purple flowery skirt with a rainbow striped shirt, she is not hurting anyone. In fact, she is expressing herself and Addison expresses herself a lot. Who am I to stand in the way? And most people (ladies) know that little girls who are between the ages of two-and-a-half and four years old must pick out their own clothes, in whatever sort of arrangement they choose.

"Oh, did you pick that outfit out all by yourself today?" the saleslady has asked on several occasions at several different stores. She and I exchange a knowing look or smile, and then we're on our way ... "crazy flower skirt and stripey shirt with the ridiculous hat" and I.

But this has become a matter of safety, so I have chosen a battle.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, so I did a very sneaky thing today. I took a big black garbage bag and confiscated all summery clothes while she sat happily watching the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. I grabbed clothes and furiously shoved them into the bag, hoping to get it all done before I was caught red-handed. With each handful that I shoved into the bag, I felt more and more like the Grinch.

"Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,
Around the whole room, and he took every last present!"
   from How the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr. Suess (1957)

I definitely wore the smile most unpleasant as I snatched up every last article of clothing only to be worn in the summer. She has no idea that her wardrobe has been dramatically changed. Tomorrow will be unpleasant as she realizes that there are only warm wintery clothes for the pickin'.

My only salvation will be that all the kids got new boots today, too. Addison's are pink and purple with Dora the Explorer on them and they have flashing lights when you walk. All things that flamboyant three-year-olds live for. So, perhaps the new boots will be the thing that will make winter clothes okay and accepted at last.

Marnie has not taken her new boots off since she first put them on after school today.

"Marnie, are you going to sleep in your new boots?" I asked, thinking back to the days when she slept every night in her beloved Minnie Mouse shoes. It went on for months and months, until finally, they literally fell apart. There were many tears and one Nana who frantically searched all over the Orlando area for an entire winter in the hopes of finding new Minnie Mouse shoes. But it was not meant to be.

Were these Barbie boots the new Minnie Mouse shoes?

"No," she replied, looking at me like I was crazy. Then she carefully placed them immediately along side her bed for first thing in the morning. I am sure I will be greeted in the morning by one six-year-old in pyjamas and Barbie boots. As I was saying goodnight, she picked up one of the boots and turned it upside down to show me the bottom.

"Oh, Mommy," she said. "Look at these marks ... they're gonna make the best footprints. Don't you think?"

Yes, I do. I think so too.

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The Grinch and her Plan
Author: jill
•10:18 AM
Every night at approximately seven thirty, I tell myself the same thing. I make a plan ... a plan to get rid of the costumes. Because every night at approximately seven thirty, I enter Addison's room to find princess costumes spread from end to the other. Tonight, she stands in the middle of them in her pink Sleeping Beauty costume pyjamas.

"Addison, you are not wearing that for sleepy time," I try to explain. And the tears start to flow.

"But ... but ... I want to be pwetty."

It is hard to argue with a three-year-old who wants to be pwetty. And so the fighting begins. And sometimes I win, but other times I just give up. Because it seems easier. So, she gets to sleep in her Sleeping Beauty costume.

But that is when I start to make the plan.

The plan is that once she is asleep, I will sneak into her room and remove the whole box of costumes. Confiscating them to the basement ... perhaps, never to be seen again. And I smile at thought and feel victorious ... even if she is sleeping in the (insert your favourite princess here) costume for tonight, it will be the last time I have to deal with it.

A couple of hours later, I will tip-toe into her room, eager to enact the plan. But I check on her first. This is my mistake. Because lying there, in her bed, is just about the sweetest little angel I have ever seen. So cute, and peaceful.

In many respects, Addison rescued me. She came to me at a time in my life that was difficult, to say the least. She brought me such joy, and she was just what I needed. And ... she was so easy as an infant. She went with the flow, never a fussy baby ... we used to call her "Smilin' Addie."

As she lay there, in her bed, wearing the ridiculous princess costume, I can no longer see the defiant strong-willed little girl who, only two hours earlier, had been screaming and crying, refusing to abide by my wisdom. I can only see Smilin' Addie. The one who made me smile, when I had no other reason to. And, I ask myself ...

"Is she really hurting anyone by wearing the costumes?"

I cannot take away the one thing that brings this sweet little girl such happiness. We should all wear costumes and dress up pwetty, I think to myself. If I took them away, I would be stifling her individualism and her creative flare. No, the costumes must stay. What could I have been thinking earlier?

I cover her up and smile, watching my little angel sleep. What would I ever do without this little miracle in my life? I tip-toe back out of her room, feeling content and happy. And, lucky.

The next morning, I am always greeted by a smiling little princess ... a different princess than the one I tucked into bed. But, a princess none the less. I know there will be many different princesses parading around the house today. Probably, a different one for each of breakfast, lunch and supper.

But, that's okay. I'm not going to worry about it. I know how deal with a problem like this.

Because I have the plan.
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I'm Lovin' It ... or Not
Author: jill
•1:00 PM

Two all Beef Patties, Special Sauce, Lettuce, Cheese, Pickles, Onions, on a Sesame Seed Bun.

Big Mac, Filet o'Fish, Quarter Pounder, French Fries, Icy Coke, Milkshakes, Sundaes and Apple Pies.

You remember these ad campaigns, right? Sing along if you want to ... it's like a walk down memory lane! Honestly, it is really a little embarrassing that I still know the words by heart, all these years later. I can remember trying to memorize the first jingle, running to the television whenever I heard the commercial. Because we didn't have the Internet to consult back then. God, I do sound old, don't I?

Do you remember your first Big Mac? I do ... you always remember your first love, right? I would watch my Dad eat his ... like he was a hero or something. It was probably the biggest hamburger I had ever seen and one time, he let me have a bite. I was hooked, begging to get one of my own each time we went to McDonald's. Finally, it happened and I ate the whole thing. I was probably eight or nine years old ... but on that day, I was all woman!! I felt like such a grown-up. Ahhhh ... now, that's the stuff of wholesome, good old fashioned memories, isn't it?

Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser forces you to push aside those memories from childhood and consider some aspects of the fast food industry that you may not have realized were a problem. Because we all know that fast food is not good for us ... but do you know why? I thought this book was going to be a light-hearted look at the fast food industry, sneaking facts into sensationalized gossip. Jonesy and I watched his documentary of the same name a few years ago, which detailed Schlosser's quest to eat nothing but food from McDonald's for thirty days. But the book makes no mention of the documentary.

A history of the emergence of fast food is detailed. Really detailed. He shares the Mc Donald's brothers story, as well has Carls Jr. They just started as restaurants that made a good hamburger and charged a good price. There were no gimmicks or marketing strategies in those days. They offered their customers a good deal ... that's it. Until greed took over. But, interestingly, it was not the greed of the original founders necessarily, but by those around them. In fact, the McDonald's brothers were very content with the business they were running and did not want to go national. They made an excellent income, supported their families in a way they never dreamed they would, and did not see the need to expand just for the sake of making more money. Commendable, in my opinion. Did you know that Carl Karcher, founder of Carls Jr, was fired by his own company? I didn't even know that you could get fired from your own company. Wait ... I did know that, but that is a story for another time.

There are so many fun, and shocking facts, in this book. I'm just going to throw a few of them out there for you to enjoy ...



  • in 1970, Americans spent about $6 Billion on fast food; in 2000, they spent $110 Billion


  • in 1968, McDonald's operated about 100 restaurants; now they have more than 28 000 worldwide; 2000 new ones open each year


  • McDonald's is the nation's largest purchaser of beef, pork, and potatoes; and the 2nd largest purchaser of chicken - I wonder who the largest purchaser is?


  • The McDonald's Corporation is the largest owner of retail property in the world; earning most of its profits, not from selling mcfood, but from collecting mcrent


  • McDonald's spends more money on advertising and marketing than any other brand, surpassing even Coke


  • market research has shown that children can often recognize a brand logo before they recognize their own name - I have witnessed this in my own home on several occasions


  • in one month, 90% of American children between the ages of 3 and 9 visit a McDonald's - this is appalling ... truly


  • a significant number of teenage boys are now drinking 5 or more cans of soda every day


  • the US has the highest obesity rates of all the industrialized nations; more than 1/2 of all adults and 1/4 of children are obese or overweight


  • the rate of obesity rate among American adults is twice as high today as it was in the early 1960s



I could go on and on ... the statistics Schlosser cites are incredible and shocking. And disturbing. One of the more bothersome things he notes is that approximately one fifth of one- and two-year-olds drink soda. What? Think about that ... for every one hundred children (in that age group) at any given daycare in the US, twenty of them drink soda regularly. Sickening ... literally.

As I read, I could not help but share what I had just learned. I would read a couple of pages and inevitably gasp, saying, "Jonesy, listen to this ..." Finally, Marnie could not contain her curiosity.

"What is that book about? The one you're reading, Mommy," she asked.

"Well, it's all about fast food and restaurants like McDonald's and why people like to eat at them, " I explained.

"Well, I can tell you that, Mommy," she says. "It's because it tastes good."


I couldn't have said it better myself. But it isn't actually that it tastes good ... it's the smell that keeps you coming back. Apparently when you chew or suck on food, it releases gases that filter up into your nasal cavities. There are top-secret companies out there that manufacture flavour. Schlosser visited one of these companies and writes about the experience. He is given small containers of aroma chemicals and test strips. These aroma chemicals were secretly formulated concoctions of chemicals that produce familiar smells and thus, tastes. He describes how he closed his eyes, dipped the test strip into the liquid and immediately felt as though he were transported to an outdoor barbeque party. He smelled a grill sizzling with burgers. But when he opened his eyes all he found in front of him was the little glass container and piece of test strip paper. Now, the "scientist" part of my brain finds that fascinating; but the rest of my brain is not impressed.

So, when food is processed, it loses its flavour, becoming boring and bland and essentially, a blank canvas of food. Luckily, with a little drop of liquid smell, all that can be fixed. But it is complicated business. The smell of a strawberry comes from the interaction of approximately 350 different chemicals. Think about that the next time you order a strawberry shake. Complex smells like coffee require nearly a thousand different chemicals. Perhaps most shocking of all, is that the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) does not require flavour companies to disclose their list of ingredients so long as all the chemicals are considered to be "Generally Regarded as Safe." Yeah ... I'm sure that the 350 different chemicals used to create the strawberry in my strawberry ice cream cone are perfectly safe. The problem is that it is far more cost effective to use the chemicals than it is to use real strawberries. So, the next time you read the ingredients listed on the box and you see "artificial flavours" ... think about what that means. A chemical cocktail.

The Meat Packagers ... ugh. Did you know, that in the 1920s, to work in a slaughterhouse you had to be a skilled tradesman? These guys took pride in their work. Today, slaughterhouses routinely employ uneducated workers, many of whom cannot speak a word of English. The work conditions are unsafe and unsanitary. There are only four major meat packagers in the US ... which means that if there is a food safety scare, there are thousands of pounds of meat involved. And, it's usually been shipped all over America. Schlosser goes into great detail, exposing the dark side of Meat Packagers.

Essentially the following happens ...the farmer raises the cow to adult and then sells it off to a Meat Packager; restaurants, grocery stores, etc. then buy the processed/packaged meat from the Packagers. In the Meat Packagers facility, the cattle are housed in enormous feedlots, which in essence are parking lots for cows - where they eat a lot. The conditions in the feedlot are extremely crowded and maintaining sanitary conditions does not seem to be of importance. What is of importance, is to fatten these cows up. So, for about three months, they are fed a steady diet of grains, mixed with a little dead horse, chicken and/or pig. But no dead cows allowed, says the FDA (as of August 1997), just horses, chickens and pigs. And sometimes a little chicken manure, newspaper and sawdust make it into the mix, too, just for fun. After consuming more than 3000 pounds of this slop, it is hoped they will each put on about 400 pounds in weight before they are transferred to the slaughterhouse. This is not happening at one Meat Packager. This is routine, everyday business in the United States of America. And don't give a sigh of relief because you live in Canada ... because there are only three major beef packagers here and I suspect that many of the practices in the US can be found here as well. Don't forget that Mad Cow Disease was a big problem for Canadian beef farmers in the 1990s ... Mad Cow Disease is not a virus, it can only be spread by one means. Mad Cow Disease is actually a disease of the brain and spinal cord; it is spread when infected cows are ground up and fed to healthy cows. So, I have to assume that Canadian farmers were involved in the practice of administering feed to their cattle that included ground up cows in its list of ingredients. I have not taken the time to research as much as I wish I could, because I still have 94 books to go and I'm already behind schedule.

One last thing about beef. I find it almost funny that these companies are feeding cattle meat. Cows are designed to eat grass, and maybe a little bit of grains. They are vegetarians; it's evident in the design of the digestive tracts. So, the cows are living off an unhealthy diet, too ... because it's easier for the beef suppliers. The next time you are at the grocery store, picking up packages of roast beef ... does it say "grain fed" or even worse, "corn fed?" Because they plaster that phrase across the front of the label as though it were a good thing. It is not ... cows are suppose to eat grass. Ask your kids ... they'll tell you.

The single most shocking thing that I read in this book, and there are many to choose from, was about the marketing of fast food. Do you know that there are hundreds of companies in the US, whose sole job it is, to find ways to get your child to eat a Happy Meal or drink a Coke? As a parent, and a momoholic at that, I was truly angered. They send researchers into the field to observe children and their parents at local fast food restaurants, and to conduct "impromptu" surveys in the mall. They study academic literature on child development to learn from the leaders in the field, like Erik Erikson or Jean Piaget; they study the fantasies of young children, then apply the findings in advertisements and product design.

This brings to mind a commercial they have running now. It depicts a little girl having a tea party in her bedroom, I think; and she's dressed up like a little princess. I know all about this at my house; in fact, I wish Addison could play with that little girl. Anyhow, her Mom takes her out to lunch at McDonald's, and she has some chicken nuggets and milk and apple slices. Mommy has a fresh salad. Wholesome, huh? But it also tries to enforce the message of spending quality time together, playing on a Mom's guilt for not spending enough time with her children because she's out trying to earn a dollar ... hence allowing her to be able to afford to take her little princess out for that fun (and wholesome) lunch. The food selections placed on the table were most likely chosen after months of research, conveying the message that moms have "healthy" alternatives to choose from when they visit McDonald's - apple slices, milk, salad. When little princesses see this 30 second story, they want to go to McDonald's, too ... because it looks fun, and above all, it reminds them to ask if they can go to McDonald's, too.

To shift the blame away from McDonald's for a moment, consider Coke. A few years back sales in China began to dwindle. Because they wanted to make up for those losses, the Coke Executives began to look for ways to increase sales in the US. They acknowledged that advertising dollars directed at adults would be wasted because the typical American adult was already drinking their fair share of carbonated beverages. They had to look elsewhere, to another demographic. And so, children were targeted. Schlosser tells a fascinating story about how Coke infiltrated the public school system, pushing their drinks on unsuspecting children. Brand loyalty is important in business. So, children who are taught (at a young age) to become accustomed to drinking a particular brand of soda or eating a particular brand of chips, will carry that association with them for life. Therefore, a child who is allowed to have a half of a glass of Coke on a special occasion at the age of seven or eight years old, will be much more likely to reach for a Coke when they are fifteen and out with some friends. And even more likely to reach for a Coke when they are thirty-five years old. So, you see, making a young child familiar with your product can result in a life-time customer.

It made me very angry to learn that young children are being used to further build the bank accounts of multimillion dollar companies . And the interesting thing is ... that if you do not let your children eat these kinds of foods on a regular basis, you are treated like the outsider. Like you are doing something wrong. I have received more than one look of shock when I have told friends that my children do not drink Kool Aid, and they do not drink soda. They drink juice and water and soy milk ... don't worry, it's chocolate.





Call me crazy ... but I kinda wish we could go back to the olden days. When you lived in a small town with a Butcher and one Druggist and one grocery store. You bought your eggs and fresh vegetables from your neighbour. You could go out for supper at the Family Restaurant, and you could meet a friend for coffee at the local Coffee Shop, which is different from the Coffee Shop in the neighbouring town. There is a Bakery and maybe a Pizzeria. And there is one Doctor who cared for all the residents of the town. Things were simple.

Don't get me wrong ... we eat at McDonald's sometimes, and I do love Walmart as much as the next Mom, but there is something appealing about a simpler time when marketing execs weren't scheming to think of ways to entice my children into buy their products. And I knew where my food came from because it came from a neighbour, who wasn't interested in increasing their supply and/or output. They just wanted to earn enough money to support their family.

Jonesy and I were both born in the late 1960s; we are probably part of the first generation to grow up surrounded by processed food. Convenience food emerged with the changing role of women and their entrance into the workforce, as well as advances in technology. We have grown up eating pre-made, pre-packaged mixtures that just required some re-heating. And then for something different, our Mom's picked up a box of chicken or a bag of burgers on her way home from the office.

Maybe it'll be up to us to change things. Schlosser makes a very important point when he reminds us that the executives of the fast food industry are not bad men. They are business men and they will provide what people want.

So, what do you want?

Okay ... I've had few moments to think about things ... was there hairspray in the olden days? And, what about lip gloss ... because I really like lip gloss. And, I could NOT live without the Internet. Let me restate my above sentiment ... I wish that I could live in a small, old-fashion quaint town, with a big city very close by. Yeah, that's it ... I want the best of both life styles.

Meanwhile, I will continue to read while I ponder living in a rural setting. I am veering off the list in order to continue my quest to learn about the food we eat. You can blame Matt Jones for this sudden interest in food production.
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