kefir krazy

I keep waiting for this new...tritional... thing... of mine to blow over, but I keep coming back for more. Bryan remains supportive but hesitant to jump into my new cult, as we affectionately call it, but he allowed me to drag him and the kids to Hendricks Farm to show them real food (moo) and start brainwashing them early. Cause Mommy has PLANS now. With a capital A for Agenda. I've never had an agenda before, not one that wasn't all about me anyway. I care about others now, and feeding them well so they will be pleasant to spend time with. Oh wait, I guess it's still about me. 

jamie oliver wants to nourish america. and I want to help.

I'm so moved by this video in my current state of nutritional zeal. It coincided nicely with Hamish's parent-teacher-child conference this morning, where I got the opportunity to bring it up with his teacher Miss H., who feels the same way about whole wheat Pop-Tarts as I do. I was so super-psyched that she is on the same page with this business, I almost high-fived Bryan right there.

Miss H. is all for a change in what the kids are being offered for snack and brought up another relevant point, that the kids are being fed snacks all the gosh darn day, in addition to their three meals, and that some parents bring in two trays of birthday cupcakes, one for their child's classroom and another for their kid's aftercare session.

LK day

We had a playdate with a pair of twins and their mom, new friends from Stella's class. The KPs, I call the twins, as those are their initials. The KP's mom is a nurse. That's her, above. Her name is AC. Her initials stand for a Russian literary heroine. Her dad was into that sort of stuff. AC works the graveyard shift at the hospital on weekends. She has two older boys as well. That's four kids if you're counting at home. And the career. And she is so upbeat. This put me to shame when I first met her. A little. For most of my mom career, I've been getting my ass kicked with just two measly kids. I've been broigus. I've kvetched. Vented. Thrown tantrums. Curled up on my bedroom floor. Not every day mind you. But on and off for the past six years. Kind of like living with PTSD.