According to the background material presented to the Committee by Congressman Burton, “When the Committee began its oversight investigation in 1999, autism was thought to affect 1 in 500 children.” In 2002, when the hearing was held, autism was thought to affect 1 in 250 children. CDC data from 2010 indicates that 1 in 110 children have an autism spectrum disorder (ASD).

As I was leaving the hearing, I saw a woman standing outside holding a sign detailing the $30,000 a year it cost to care for her autistic child.  According to a 2007 study by Michael L. Gantz, MS, PhD, “The Lifetime Distribution of the Incremental Societal Costs of Autism,” autism costs our society “upwards of $35 billion in direct (both medical and nonmedical) and indirect costs to care for all individuals diagnosed each year over their lifetimes.”

For families this translates into direct medical costs estimated at $29,000 a year; direct non-medical costs of between $38,000 and $43,000 a year; and indirect costs, such as lost wages for parents, of $39,000 to $130,000 a year. Read one family’s story, “The High Cost of Autism” by Theresa Wrangham.

With these sobering numbers in mind, shock waves are reverberating through the autism community because of recent news of proposed changes in the definition of autism. The American Psychiatric Association is in the process of editing the fifth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) and their expert panel is currently reassessing the definition of autism. It is expected that the panel will tighten this definition and thus reduce the rate of diagnosis.

Proponents for the change contend that the vagueness of the current DSM definition of autism may have contributed to the increase in the diagnosis of autism. Opponents fear that families will be left out in the cold. Changing the definition of autism could effectively end the autism epidemic, according to Fred. R. Volkmar, PhD, director of the Child Study Center at Yale School of Medicine and author of a new analysis of the negative effects of the proposed changes. Quoted in the New York Times of January 20, 2012, Volkmar said, “We would nip it in the bud–think of it that way.”

Writing in The Health Care Blog, Anne Dachel says, “…these children aren’t going away regardless of what we call them…there will be lots of very angry parents who rightly feel that their children mean nothing to the medical establishment whose only aim is to make them disappear.”

Lisa Sykes, founder of CoMeD and mother of a son with autism says, “Deciding to count only some but not all of the children on the autism spectrum is no different than deciding to count some but not all of the children who get hit by a car.  It doesn’t mean they aren’t injured; it just means that we as a society are turning away from the victims and their very real needs.  This manipulation of the autism rates should unite advocates for children and for the disabled to challenge this change in the DSM-V.”

The New York Metro Chapter of the National Autism Association urges families, caregivers, and professionals affected by autism to contact the American Psychiatric Association and other organizations:

American Psychiatric Association

1000 Wilson Boulevard, Suite 1825

Arlington, Va. 22209-3901

1-888-357-7924

apa@psych.org and dsm5@psych.org

Comment on their Facebook page.

Today, January 18, 2012, several major internet sites, including Wikipedia, Reddit and Boing Boing, are dark to protest two new pieces of federal legislation, SOPA and PIPA.

The Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA), House Bill 3261, would allow copyright holders to seek court orders against websites accused of enabling or facilitating copyright infringement. Proponents of the bill hope to stop the illegal copying of movies and music. Opponents say it would require websites to police their members as well as seriously limit freedom of expression on the internet.

The Senate version of SOPA is The PROTECT IP Act (Preventing Real Online Threats to Economic Creativity and Theft of Intellectual Property Act of 2011) or PIPA, Senate Bill 968. A vote on PIPA is scheduled for January 24, 2012.

The bills are supported by The US Chamber of Commerce and the AFL-CIO, among others and are opposed by the Mozilla Corporation, Facebook, Electronic Frontier Foundation, Yahoo, Google, reddit, American Express, Reporters Without Borders, eBay, Google and others.

How would these laws affect us here at Mothering? We routinely publish photos, links and videos uploaded by our community members. While we are always diligent in removing anything that represents a copyright violation when it comes to our attention and include cautions about this in our User Agreement, we might not catch everything. According to opponents of these bills, our entire domain could be taken down due to something erroneously posted by me, another blogger or a member of our forums.

Wikipedia has a good overview of these bills, once the site is viewable again on January 19th. Below are four non-profit sites where you can learn more. Three of the four sites below will also be black today in protest of SOPA and PIPA but their sites will link you to political action tools.

Center for Democracy and Technology

Electronic Frontier Foundation

Reporters Without Borders

Stop the Wall

Whether it’s identity security, as highlighted by this week’s hacking into Zappos customer accounts; personal privacy, as illustrated by the new hit TV series, A Person of Interest; or commercial property vs. personal liberty, as dramatically juxtaposed in SOPA and PIPA, the new frontier is the internet. We need to understand the implications of these and other internet laws and act to protect ourselves and our liberties.

Because optimism is a job requirement for parents, I look for ways to interpret life that do justice to the hope implied by my children’s existence. Yet, pessimism tempts me every day.

The word apocalypse is often used to describe our times and to frighten us into believing that the end is near. I don’t want to believe this so I looked up the word apocalypse in the dictionary and found, to my surprise, that the word does not mean the end of the world at all. The word has come to be associated with the end because The Apocalypse of John, the last book in The New Testament, and other Christian and Jewish texts, contain prophetic visions of imminent destruction.

Apocalypse comes from the Greek word, “apokaluptein,” which means to uncover. According to Wikipedia, apocalypse means “a lifting of the veil or revelation, a disclosure of something hidden from the majority of mankind in an era dominated by falsehood and misconception.”

One could interpret this to mean a new beginning, a fresh start.

The Mayan Calendar ends in 2012, but it also begins again in 2012. Do we see the end or do we see a beginning? We make the choice every day.

(I know better, of course. I know that that’s silly: I’m not wrong, just . . . disheveled. Even so, when I have to go some place where I know I might be judged by my appearance, I usually will at least make the concession of hanging my wrinkled clothes next to me while I shower to give them the steam treatment—so that I won’t look like I don’t care, I guess.) (But I WON’T iron.)

Which is to say that it was a shock when, last night, as Reeve was packing to go to a voice audition at Temple University, and as I, trying to help him get ready, was pulling our 20-year-old iron out of the mudroom cabinet where we keep things like old paint buckets—things we never use—and beginning to iron his audition clothes . . . it hit me: I am the best ironer in this house!

Should be a no-brainer, since there are only four of us in the house: Reeve, my husband Tim, and our nephew Nick—and none of them were even sure we had an iron.* (We all share the same feelings about ironing.) Still, the thought took me by surprise. The best ironer in the house!

Which got me thinking about all the things I’m not so good at that I’ve needed to do as a parent, things like cooking and cleaning and bandaging boo-boos (I used to have to close my eyes while washing wounds) and things—like ironing—which I’ve maybe not even been sure needed to be done). Things I did because there wasn’t anybody else to do them. Which made me, by default, the best in the house at doing them, the expert. . . the MOM.

Kind of a heady thought. . .

*Though to be fair, Tim and Reeve have both used the iron before. Nick, however, had not. Not til last night, anyway! (He was a natural! May soon relieve me of my title.)

Above: Photo of the iron somebody left behind when Tim and I were house-parenting in the summer of 1993—the only iron we’ve ever owned—and our cat Beckett (who obviously feels the same way I do about ironing).

A drawing my son, Reeve, did in kindergarten.

I love how jubilant Mary is here. Anyone who’s given birth knows that feeling. . . WOOHOO! (And Merry Christmas, y’all!)

First, it’s good to remember how little children really want. A ball in a big box wrapped with lots of paper (could be newspaper) to rip off is always a hit. In a great column from last year, GeekDad identified the 5 Best Toys of All Time:

A Stick

A Box

String

Cardboard Tube

Dirt

I would add toilet paper, pots, pans and wooden spoons to this list.

For great ideas on handmade gifts, check our community thread on The Annual Mothering Homemade Gifts Ideas Contest. It’s six pages and still going. Come vote for your favorite idea.

If you have a budget for store bought gifts, take a look at Mothering’s Natural Toy Review Guide 2011. It includes reviews of Dolls and Doll Houses, Baby Toys and Rattles, Art Supplies, Push, Pull & Ride, Games & Puzzles, Educational and Imaginative Play and Blocks and Stackers.

This is the criterion we used for selecting toys to review:

Must be designed for use by children ages infant-16 years.

Must be made of at least 80% natural or recycled materials.

Must be manufactured in the US or Canada or in a facility outside the US that is proven to provide fair working conditions.

Must meet all current US testing standards.

Toys like these contrast with what the Campaign for a Commercial-Free Childhood (CCFC) calls the Nagging Nine, toys and games most advertised on children’s cable television networks during “Black Friday” week. According to CCFC, “Lego Building Sets, which lead the list, were advertised 415 times during these seven days. “If we want companies to stop advertising to kids, we have to stop rewarding the ones that do,” said CCFC director, Susan Linn. The Nagging Nine is a play on the title of Mothering’s article, Why They Whine by Gary Ruskin, an exclusive report on how advertising to children is designed to make them whine for new toys.

If you want to support artisan toy manufacturers who “preserve unique handmade and small batch toys, clothes and all manner of children’s goods in the USA,” check out the Handmade Toy Alliance. Make a donation to the organization or support the members with your purchases.

See the natural wooden toys that we just added to the Mothering Shop. The educational toys, arts and crafts and kids room furniture are made by Guidecraft, a 40-year-old company and leader in the industry.

Buying with a conscience doesn’t have to be cumbersome. There are plenty of companies deserving of our respect and our patronage. We just have to know where to look. Let me know how you keep your integrity intact during the holidays.

I’ve been receiving unsolicited emails from a neighbor telling me where I can get the flu vaccine. Last week when I went to Walgreen’s there were signs up all over the store urging me to get vaccinated. The excessive marketing of the flu vaccine can make it hard to know your own mind.

This is especially true for pregnant women. Up until recently pregnancy was a contraindication to the flu vaccine; now it is recommended for pregnant women. Generally when we are pregnant we want to refrain from ingesting drugs or receiving invasive procedures. The current flu recommendation can seem contradictory.

One of the contradictory things about the flu vaccine is that it must be created newly every year in anticipation of the upcoming flu season so it is, by nature, not that effective. The CDC says that the influenza vaccine is 60% effective for all age groups combined. The swine flu vaccine only has an overall efficacy of 40 to 45%.  In addition, 80% of illnesses that appear to be flu are not, in fact, flu and of the 20% that are, most resolve on their own.

Another concern for pregnant women considering the flu vaccine are its additives. Flu vaccines still contain mercury in the form of the preservative thimerosal, which has been taken out of vaccines for children due to health concerns. In addition, flu vaccines can contain adjuvants, an additive that primes the immune system. Adjuvants have not been tested on pregnant women and many contain squalene (shark liver oil), implicated in autoimmune disease in animals and/or polysorbate 80, implicated in infertility in animal studies. In addition, flu vaccines are recommended for pregnant women after 14 weeks because of fear of possible miscarriage.

I’m old fashioned and want to inform pregnant woman. I asked Jennifer Margulis, who wrote The Vaccine Debate, to investigate flu vaccines for pregnant women. We’re featuring her hard hitting, exclusive article, What You’re Doctor Isn’t Telling You About the Pregnancy and the Flu Vaccine in a Vaccination Special Report that includes other articles and resources.

Some of you may have already gotten the flu vaccine; others may still be debating. As long as you are informed about your options, whatever decision you make will be right. I hope that you find our new article helpful in making your decision.

My son, Reeve, was just home

Got me to thinking how fulfilling the simplest things can be (just BEING together, for example) and remembering how simple “simple” used to be, back when the boy was little:

• M & M cookie and a glass of milk at the old Furr’s lunch counter. Twenty-five cents for a cup of coffee for me. (This was in 1992, but it felt like something out of the 1940s—a horseshoe-shaped counter with swiveling stools, tucked away on one side of a chain grocery store.) I’d put Reeve on one of those stools, and we were set for a good half hour, at least. One-on-one conversation with a contented toddler . . . one of life’s richest offerings!

• Watching construction vehicles. Especially cranes and steam shovels, but anything big and loud would do.

• Watching emergency vehicles. Especially fire engines, but, again, anything big and loud. And FAST.

• Watching (and sitting on the steps of!) (God bless the Santa Fe Southern Railway!) trains.

• Looking at pictures of people we love. (We kept photos of faraway family and friends on a bulletin board and would frequently go picture by picture and talk about the people in the shot.)

• Riding a city bus. We lived in Providence when Reeve was 3 and 4. And we just happened to live on a bus route. Believe me, during those icy Rhode Island winter days, when sidewalks were impassable and the house got way too small, I was incredibly grateful for the city buses. We’d pack a snack and a book, hop a bus and ride around and around for hours at a time.

• Drawing. Everything from emergency vehicles and trains to birds and whales and a boy eating a cookie at the Furr’s lunch counter.

• Reading in a cozy place with a snack. (See photo.)

• Crawling into bed at night with Mom or Dad and talking about the day. A mandatory nightly ritual—and a great way to process whatever had happened on any given day.

Nice to know in this fast-paced crazy world of ours that simple pleasures are still an option.. Maybe a little less simple as our kids get older—but still every bit as rich!

Photo: My five-year-old son (he’s 22 now), reading and having a snack on our front porch. He used to love to “be cozy” with a good book and a snack, whether outside in a shady spot in the summer or hidden beneath a big blanket, homemade fort-style, in the winter.

Hailed as a “breath of fresh air” by Steven LaTourette (Rep-OH)), the bill effectively blocks school lunch standards that would limit French fries, pizza and salt and increase the use of whole grains. It also allows tomato paste to be counted as one of the required vegetables in federally subsidized school meals. I’m not making this up.

It’s pitiful to think that we have to wage a national campaign to remind our representatives that healthy food for our children is important. But, even if we did, it wouldn’t make a difference. Congress is beholden to the pizza industry, the potato-growing states, and the American Frozen Food Institute.

So, don’t wait around for Congress to help; do it yourself. There are many inspirational models for healthy school lunches that you can duplicate in your community. Here are just a few:

Download The Rethinking School Lunch Guide from the Center for Ecoliteracy. The guide has ideas and strategies for changing your local school lunch programs.

Chef Ann Cooper, known as the Renegade Lunch Lady, has new ideas, strategies, tips and recipes for transforming school lunch and tools for connecting to a network of people doing the same.

Thelunchbox.org is an online toolkit with free tools and recipes that have worked well for school districts around the country.

Farm to School connects local farms with schools so that healthy meals can be served in school cafeterias.

Cooking with Kids, started by Lyn Walters in the Santa Fe public schools is being duplicated all over the country.

The Edible Schoolyard in Berkeley, California, an initiative to build and share a national food curriculum, is supported by Alice Waters and The Chez Panisse Foundation.

Salad Bars 2 Schools is a comprehensive grassroots public health effort to support salad bars in schools. Partnered with First Lady Michelle Obama’s Let’s Move Initiative, the goal of Let’s Move Salad Bars to Schools is to fund and award 6000 salad bars by the end of 2013. Schools can apply for grants online.

I’d love to hear what’s working in your community.

When my oldest daughter was ten we would sit on my bed watching the birds at the bird feeders on the porch off my bedroom. We learned to identify our local mountain birds together and later incorporated some aspects of an ornithology course from Cornell University into her homeschooling studies. Now, years later, we both still love watching birds and plan on making a trip after Thanksgiving to Bosque del Apache, a National Wildlife Refuge.

One February I participated in the Great Backyard Bird Count sponsored by The Cornell Lab of Ornithology, which counts specific species of birds. This year, I’m thinking of participating in the Christmas Bird Count sponsored by the Audubon Society, which goes from December 14, 2011 to January 5, 2012.

The Audubon Christmas Bird Count began in 1900 as an alternative to “side hunts,” contests to shoot the most birds on Christmas day. Frank M. Chapman suggested that we count birds rather than kill them and today the Christmas Bird Count helps amateur and professional bird lovers study the long-term health and status of bird populations across North America.

If you are already providing food, water and habitat for the birds in your area or want to, look into the Wildlife Habitat Certification offered by the National Wildlife Federation.

After decades of feeding the birds and leaving out fresh water for them, I now see new generations of birds growing up already accustomed to the bird feeders. Watching them helps me to keep in touch with the wild and learning the names we give them helps me to feel part of it. I’d love to hear about your experiences sharing bird watching with your children.

Harvey Karp’s book The Happiest Baby on the Block has changed the landscape of parenting in the US. As a result of its irresistible title, easy to learn method and national network of 2500 teachers, most new parents in the US today are instructed to swaddle their babies. Despite this popularity, there are growing concerns that swaddling is not the cure-all parents hoped it would be.

Since the publication of the book in 2003, I have increasingly heard reservations from health professionals about its recommendations. A nurse practitioner wonders if the shushing sound recommended in the book can hurt the baby’s ears. A renowned neonatologist worries that preventing a baby from flapping his or her arms to cool down might hurt temperature regulation. And, more recently I began to hear that routine swaddling had adverse effects on breastfeeding.

As a result of these concerns, I commissioned Gussie Fauntleroy to write an article on swaddling, which we’re releasing today. It is accompanied by a piece by renowned lactation consultant, Nancy Mohrbacher. And, our web editor, Melanie Mayo, has put together a special report on swaddling.

For even more coverage of the subject, read Mohrbacher’s exceptional critique of swaddling and debate with Dr Karp on its merits in the International Journal of Childbirth Education. She looks at alarming research: Swaddling newborns delays the first breastfeeding and leads to less effective sucking. Swaddling during the early months puts an infant at risk for respiratory illness, hip dysplasia, overheating and SIDS. And, finally, a small, 2010 study showed The Happiest Baby interventions ineffective in reducing crying.

Take a breath. Many parents have found swaddling helpful and these articles are not meant to discredit their experience. This research comes as shocking news to us all. We do not mean to offend other parents; we all want our babies not to cry. Rather, we hope to shed light on a practice that has benefits, but that has become dogmatic and thus may interfere with parental instinct.

The first question one certainly asks is, “If I don’t swaddle, what else will I do.” Here are some things that have been shown to be highly effective:

Hold your baby.

Breastfeed your baby.

Walk around holding your baby.

Rock your baby.

According to neurologist Richard Restak, MD, “Physical holding and carrying of the infant turns out to be the most important factor responsible for the infant’s normal mental and social development.” Neural and neuroendocrine functions underlying emotional behaviors are responsive to early experiences in enduring ways. For example, the anthropologist Margaret Mead found in her research that the most violent tribes were the ones that withheld touch in infancy.

I realize that these swaddling articles are provocative; I hope they will also be helpful. We’ll be talking more about their findings in the community and on Facebook. Please join us to share your comments, concerns and suggestions.

In 2003, one of our Mothering community members, Tracy, started the first Holiday Helper Forum. Gemini, SpatulaGirl, JustVanessa, DreamsinDigital, Maluhia and other members have developed the program over the years.

In 2009 we helped 73 families, nearly 100 in 2010 and this year we hope to help up to 150 families; we have 40 families signed up so far.

FAMILIES IN NEED

To be eligible, a member’s family must have significant financial need. The member must have been a Mothering member for one year as of October 24, 2011 and have posted 500 times. In the interest of privacy and security, Families in Need remain anonymous to the community and are identified by a number. Only the administrators and moderators of Holiday Helper know their contact information.

If you would like to apply to be a Family in Need (FIN), please fill out the Holiday Helper Application (scroll down to the middle of the page) and send it in a Private Message (PM) to AdinaL. Applications will be taken on a first come first serve basis.

HOW YOU CAN HELP

If you would like to help a Family in Need, here are some things you can do:

Cash Donations will be used to buy gift certificates for the Families in Need. To donate cash to the Holiday Helper paypal account, email MDCHolidayHelpers2011@gmail.com.

Post the gently used items you have available, items you are willing to buy or gift certificates to the “I Have Available Thread.” We’ll match you with a FIN.

Donate to a specific family by checking the Families in Need Forum. Send a Private Message to the person who started the particular thread and she will send you the family’s address.

Donate specific items by checking the Families in Need Master List where items are listed by category and are linked to the specific families who need them. Again, PM the person who started the thread for mailing information.

THE SHIPPING FAIRY

Donate to the Shipping Fairy. This account helps pay postage for people who have things to send but may not be able to afford the shipping. If you donate $3.00 or more to the Shipping Fairy, a customized tag will be placed under your username. PM incorrigible if you are in need of Shipping Fairy help.

Adina told me today that already one member had decided to take care of an entire family. Another gave gift certificates directly from Amazon. And, Sarah’s Silks, one of our advertisers, made a generous contribution.

BUSINESSES WHO CARE

As a thank you, Mothering will be providing special free promotion for companies who donate through November and December. Please contact our web editor, Melanie, to take part.

I’m proud to be part of such a generous community that wants to help our members in need. At a time when many of us feel uncertain about the future, we are reassured by our sense of community and inspired by our generosity. We renew each other. Thank you for helping.

Holiday Helper FAQ

Questions: AdinaL, Queen of the Meadow, TiredX2

Shipping Fairy Questions: incorrigible

Canada Questions: weliveintheforest

On October 25, 2011, the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices of the Center for Disease Control and Prevention recommended that all 11 to 12-year-old boys get vaccinated against the human papillomavirus (HPV). According to the CDC press release, “The HPV vaccine will afford protection against certain HPV-related conditions and cancers in males, and vaccination of males with HPV may also provide indirect protection of women by reducing transmission of HPV.”

First licensed in 2006, the HPV vaccination, branded as Gardasil or Cervarix, has previously been recommended only for girls. With this new recommendation, private insurers will be able to pay for the vaccine for boys. The vaccine is expensive, costing more than $300 for the three-shot series.

The HPV vaccine has been controversial for reasons other than its cost. Parents have been reluctant to give their pre-adolescent children a vaccine to protect them from sexually transmitted disease (STD).

The HPV vaccine for boys is also controversial because its benefits are not consistent. For example, Gardisil has been shown to prevent genital warts, but only in heterosexual men. There’s no evidence that Gardisil protects homosexual men from genital warts. Similarly, Gardasil has been shown to prevent anal cancer precursors in homosexual men, however these precursors rarely progress to anal cancer in heterosexual men.

A further rationale for the male vaccine is that preventing genital warts in heterosexual men will help reduce infection in women. However, this is only so if the vaccine is efficacious for a very long time. Every vaccine has a duration of efficacy. According to the Immunization Action Coalition(IAC), the HPV vaccine lasts five years.

Diane Harper, MD

However, Diane Harper, MD, the leading international expert on HPV, says that HPV antibody titers in the blood are detectable for only two years after HPV vaccination. Regardless of whether HPV is efficacious for two or five years, a child will need an HPV booster before he or she becomes sexually active.

Even with a booster, the efficacy of the HPV vaccine is questionable. According to Harper, “The cost modeling data indicate that with 50% female vaccination, vaccinating up to 50% of boys will provide some protection for females if and only if Gardasil lasts for a lifetime of duration. This modeled prevention of disease in females by vaccinating males does not exist if Gardasil loses efficacy earlier than 20 years.” Currently less than 50% of girls have had one shot and each shot lasts just two to five years.

It will take decades for the US population to be protected by the HPV vaccine alone and we will not see a substantial decrease in cervical cancer from vaccines until 70% are fully vaccinated. Until we reach that level of HPV vaccine saturation, STD screening alone is at least as effective as STD screening with vaccines in preventing HPV infection.

Controversy over the HPV vaccine erupted in the press earlier this year when Michelle Bachmann claimed that someone had become mentally retarded in one week from the HPV vaccine. While her statement has been widely discredited, more than 18,000 reports of adverse events associated with the HPV vaccine have been made to the Vaccine Adverse Events Reporting System (VAERS) since 2006, including 72 deaths.  In fact, the risk of adverse events associated with the HPV vaccine is 7 events per 100,000 vaccinated, while the risk of cervical cancer in the developed world is 3 cases per 100,000.The story of Gabby Swank, who reportedly died from complications of the HPV vaccine, is documented in the new film The Greater Good, streaming live on mercola.com until November 5th.

And a tip: After a drawing is finished, ask your child to tell you what’s happening in the picture and write it on the artwork itself. Then date it. And put it somewhere safe (after some time on the fridge, of course!).

Above: A drawing 5-year-old Reeve made of a chimneysweep (I’m guessing we had recently had our chimney cleaned? or had just seen Mary Poppins?) on top of Megutasaurus, a fictional Godzilla-type monster he made up based on a toy dinosaur he had gotten at the New Mexico Natural History Museum. There’s no way I would have remembered any of this if Tim hadn’t written it down.

Reeve (our almost-22-year-old son who has been home from college for the summer): “I miss getting the lists of school supplies we used to get at the beginning of school each year. It was kinda festive . . .  I remember I used to scan the list, looking for some new, exciting item which would indicate that this teacher was going to be interesting and this school year was going to be different.”

Me: “Interesting? Like what?”

Reeve: “Oh, you know. . . swords!”

* * * * *

Photo (above): Reeve, at age 5. He adored Pippi Longstocking and, despite all our efforts to the contrary, was completely fascinated by any kind of weaponry. At right: These days, despite our early fears that he might grow up to be a vigilante, Reeve is a gentle, compassionate, peaceable . . . opera singer. (Albeit one who still apparently has a soft spot in his heart for swords.) (That’s him with his girlfriend, Eliza, also a loving—and lovely—opera singer.)

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That was 24 birthdays ago, many of which Nick and I have celebrated together. The last two Decembers, though, he’s been on the other side of the planet in a tiny third-world village in Mali, and I’ve wondered when we’ll be in the same room for a birthday again.

Life, of course, is full of surprises. After finishing up with the Peace Corps and returning to the U.S., Nick has moved to Santa Fe and will be staying with us before heading off to med school next year. Kind of a rest stop between adventures.

When I was a kid, my grandparents, worried that I’d feel left out since my bro and sis both had summer birthdays, used to send me “half-birthday happies.” I’m thinking maybe it’s time to revisit that idea and do some summer celebrating. Happy Half-Birthday, Y’all!**

*Gotta chalk this one up to my mom, I realize now. The power of the positive pitch. Some people might think of a post-Christmas birthday as a pain: a day that gets lost in the holiday shuffle, a day for Christmas leftovers as birthday presents, an afterthought, etc. But not me. I grew up thinking of MY day as a reason for everybody to keep celebrating even after Christmas had passed. “The fun’s not over yet, people!”

**Yeah, yeah, I know that technically our half-birthday isn’t until next month. But with all of life’s uncertainties, why wait to celebrate?

Photos: 1) A birthday bagel shared across the miles when Nick was in Mali. (The photos were actually taken in the spring in Santa Fe, when he and I were  just across the table from one another. But it was fun to send him this as a birthday greeting last year when he was far, far away from anything remotely bagel-like.)  2) Birthday buddies in 1987.

Some days, just getting through has to be enough.

And if 1) no one has gotten seriously hurt; and 2) there’s been no major collateral damage; and 3) no kittens have died,* all the better.**

That long list of things you fully intended to take care of today, but failed to? It will still be there tomorrow.

Forgive yourself and go to bed. It’s OK.

*Last March, a new family standard of measure was established as we were trying to figure out how best to take care of our semi-feral mama kitty and her five newborns.  At one point, Tim said, jokingly cavalier, “What’s the worst that can happen? The kittens die.” And Reeve responded: “Dad, ‘the kittens die’ IS the worst thing that can happen.”

**There’s also my age-old end-of-the-day perspective check of “At least I wasn’t trapped in an overturned Porta-Potty today!”—but that’s a story for another time.

Photo: Twombly, our sometime feral kitty, hanging out earlier today on the back stoop where she first appeared in June of 2009.

While fretting over my 21-year-old’s announcement that he might fail a class because of all the time he missed due to rehearsals and performances (Oh, come on! How hard is it to get to class?! and if you have to miss, how hard can it be to check in with your teacher about absences?), I was hit with a completely unrelated realization that just about took off the top of my head.

He’s potty trained!

Back in the summer of 1993, this seemed as remote a possibility as a Black president in the White House. Reeve was rounding the corner toward 4 and still adamantly refused—kicked, screamed, yelled, fell into a heap on the floor, the works!—to use the toilet. Extremely well-developed verbally, able to talk to his dad and me about aircraft of World War II and which whales are carnivores, yet unable to explain to us why he was being so stubborn about not using the potty. . .

This was one area where Tim and I had felt like complete failures for years. We had begun putting him on the “big boy chair-potty” when he was 2 or so, sitting with him and talking, trying to keep it low-key and comfortable. We had a success here or there, but nothing seemed to last. I guess he must’ve been 3 when we moved to Pull-ups, thinking that they might make the transition to underwear go more smoothly. Not so.

We were so uncertain what to do. (Unfortunately, we didn’t know about Mothering magazine until much later, when we moved to Santa Fe.) By all appearances, our boy was doing great—intelligent, curious, well-adjusted, easygoing, etc.—except for this one issue which was not apparent to those around us. It was our private shame and it seemed it would never get resolved.*

I bring this up not to relive desperate days but to remind myself how easy it is to get wrapped up in the problem of the hour—and to forget that these difficulties don’t last. I also forget, as time passes, to be thankful for the solutions that eventually came along and made the problems of the day disappear.

All those worries we have while pregnant (including my own deep-seated How will this baby EVER get OUT?) . . . worries that the new baby will never get the hang of breastfeeding. . . or that she isn’t getting enough nutrients . . . or that the toddler will never learn to play nicely with others . . . or that the five-year-old will still be sleeping with us when he’s a teenager. . . All are concerns which won’t last forever—and which, once resolved, we owe it to ourselves to take time out and celebrate a little.

Gratitude is holy, I believe. And luckily, it has no expiration date.

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*But it did! When Reeve turned 4, we threw away the Pull-ups and went through seven pairs of underpants in one day, a really difficult, emotional day for all of us. But by that night, the just-turned 4-year-old was proud that he was a potty-user. (And when we asked him why he had been so reluctant before, he said “I don’t know. Maybe I was just scared.”)

Photo: Reeve and me, circa 1992. Back when I was worried about all kinds of now long-resolved and forgotten things.

P.S. Oh, and by the way, the college student did indeed email his teacher about his absences—and all is well. Go figure!

This thought for the day, is appropriately enough, stolen from Austin Kleon, author of “How to Steal Like an Artist and 9 Other Things Nobody Told Me,” a highly recommended smart and charmingly inspirational pictorial for creative people.

The quote is included as a kind of disclaimer, but I was struck by the wisdom of it. Whether giving or taking, it might behoove us to remember where advice comes from: we can speak with real authority only about what we have experienced, ourselves. Which may or may not apply to the situation of another.

While Kleon’s post isn’t intended to be about parenting, many of his insights can apply there nicely—as well as to writing or drawing. After all, parenting is the original creative act, right?

Some more of his gems:

“It’s in the act of making things that we figure out who we are.”

“You are, in fact, a mashup of what you choose to let into your life. You are the sum of your influences. The German writer Goethe said, ‘We are shaped and fashioned by what we love.’”

“Step 1: Wonder at something. Step 2: Invite others to wonder with you.”

“Creativity isn’t just the things we chose to put in, it’s also the things we chose to leave out.”

Check it out.

Photo: “Well, son, when I was your age. . . ” Tim and Reeve get in some father-and-son wondering (while I lag behind, as usual, taking photos) on our early morning hike in the southern New Mexico’s Organ Mountains last weekend.

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Maybe because of those sad experiences, my mother-in-law is always careful to make goodbyes—even if you’re just going away for a few hours—special.

My husband does too: No one, not even the I’m-Miss-Independent 11-year-old, leaves without a hug and a kiss and an I love you.

This is my last post for mothering.com.

My first post was published on my son’s birthday, October 26, 2009, when I was enormously pregnant with my now 17-month-old daughter.

Since then, I’ve written 276 posts, garnered 3,658 comments, and tackled subjects ranging from broccoli to testing for Down syndrome to rainy day activities in Northern California.

Most commented on post: when a Delta stewardess called armed police officers to escort a breastfeeding mama off the plane.

Most controversial post: they’ve been taken down by request of editors and/or angry readers.

Most read posts: the 4-part series on our baby’s birth (I think. I’m actually not techno-savvy enough to know this for sure.)

Percentage of time I’ve enjoyed blogging: 99.99.

Best thing of all: the smart, insightful, and interesting comments from readers (I especially appreciate comments that disagree with me but do so in a respectful and intelligent way.)

Thank you all for helping me make Mothering Outside the Lines an interesting, dynamic, and informative place to advocate for babies, parents, cloth diapering, breast feeding, healthy eating, EC’ing, empowered birth, responsible medicine, gentle parenting, happy parenting, and more.

If you want to stay in touch, you can:

Follow me on Twitter (@JenniferMarguli no “S”),
Friend me on Facebook (which I use as a professional medium), and
Check back at my writerly Website www.jennifermargulis.net (where I have an often neglected blog) to see where I’m off to next.

You can also read my articles forthcoming in O magazine, More magazine, the Jefferson Monthly, and elsewhere. The book I’m working on, The Business of Baby: How Corporations and Private Interests Skew the Way we Parent, is slated for publication by Scribner in 2013.

Thanks for reading.

I’ll miss you!

Hug. Kiss. And an I Love You,
Jennifer

JM: Sometimes I beat myself up about my parenting abilities because I tend to lose my temper, especially with my seven year old who has been going through a trying stage lately (think: constant whining interspersed with belligerence … over things like the quantity of butter on the morning toast.) Does being a happy mom mean you never yell at your children?

MF: I wish! No, being a happy mom doesn’t make you a perfect mom. I still yell, I still gripe, I still overreact sometimes. I think what’s changed the most about me as I’ve gone down this journey toward being a more intentionally happy mom is that I can now break out of the anger sooner. I recognize what’s happening when I start to overreact, and can stop myself and redirect my feelings a lot faster than I used to. And because I decided that I value family peace and love over being “right” I’m so much quicker with an apology and a hug than I used to be. I still screw up every day, but I feel less defined by my screw-ups, because I am willing to apologize, forgive, move on, and face the rest of the day with optimism rather than digging into that anger and stress and chaos and staying there.

JM: Do you tell a lot of jokes in your house (got any good ones for 11-year-olds? How ’bout 7-year-olds? Toddler jokes?)?

MF: Actually, I am a horrible joke teller. I can tell really funny real-life stories, but as far as memorized jokes go? My repertoire has maybe five jokes and I am sorry to say they are all dirty, except for the one about the pig with three legs…stop me if you’re heard this one…

My five-year-old tells a lot of knock-knock jokes, which are hilarious because the punchlines he comes up with make no sense at all.

JM: Is your book part of a trend to celebrate motherhood? There was a rash of books that appeared at the same time about the dark side of motherhood. It was almost cool to complain about how much motherhood made you miserable. Have we emerged from those dark ages?

MF: Gosh, I hope so. I think the early days of the Internet were almost intoxicating: Finally, I can admit that my kids make me nuts sometimes and I think Mommy and Me is totally boring! But after a while the stories we were all telling swung so far toward the complainy side that people almost looked at you suspiciously if you claimed you were happy to be a mother. I’m not going to suggest motherhood isn’t a lot of hard work and doesn’t have its drawbacks, but moms can be happy, and can make choices that help us live happier lives.

JM: I get the sense that happy moms aren’t afraid to ask for help. What are some of the ways that you get help? And how have you learned to be able to ask for it?

MF: This is vital. When I was a newer mom I had this “every woman for herself” mentality and thought it would look like I was admitting weakness or incompetence if I asked for help with my children or anything else. As time has gone by I’ve learned that asking others for help actually does them a favor, because now they know they can ask YOU for help, too! And our kids really benefit from being part of a larger “village” that can love and care for and watch out for them as they grow. I’ve still got an independent streak, but I now have a much easier time asking my mother-in-law to babysit, asking a neighbor to watch my kids in the yard for a minute while I run in to answer the phone, or asking my husband to run out to the grocery store just because I’ve had a hard day and don’t feel like it. Helping each other out makes the world a better (and happier) place for everyone.

JM: What do you think the most important take-away message is from your book?

MF: Be yourself. Honestly, I think if you are true to your own personality and values, it makes motherhood so much easier. Of course you can let motherhood shape and change you for the better (for instance, I learned the importance of some gentle structure after having children—before kids I fancied myself as a completely free spirit, which doesn’t work as well when you’re trying to meet deadlines and take good care of multiple children!). But I have tried to make changes that make sense for me and my personality. For example, I use very simple organizing systems because I know that’s what works for me.

But overall, I try to hold on to what’s important to me, not necessarily anyone else. I value creativity, innovation, and self-sufficiency highly. Another mom might value academic success or tradition more highly. That doesn’t make her right and me wrong or vice versa—but if we are both true to ourselves, we will be better, happier moms than if we tried to change our deepest values.

Want to know more about Meagan? She blogs at www.thehappiestmom.com and you can follow her on Twitter at @meaganfrancis

Greening Your Life the Easy Way
By Meagan Francis

With every other product now touting itself as eco-friendly, it’s easy to get lulled into the idea that if you just spend enough money, you can magically create a safe, nontoxic little bubble for your family. Then you consider all the questionable chemicals out there, and wonder if you should instead consider moving to an off-the-grid farm in the middle of nowhere.

My first secret to being a happier mom is “Take The Easy Way Out,” which may seem impossible when you’re talking about living a greener life. But my philosophy is that changes are a lot more likely to stick when you make them gradually and give them time to become habits, rather than expecting your family to change overnight.

And honestly? Living green doesn’t have to be as complicated as marketers would have us believe. The truth is that there are a lot of quick, easy, and cheap things you can do at home to live a greener lifestyle. In fact, living green should save you money, not the other way around.

Here’s how you can make your days a little greener—without breaking the bank or stressing yourself out:

1. Keep it simple. Sure, you could follow an elaborate recipe for homemade cleaning supplies…or you could just mix up some white vinegar and water in a spray bottle and call it a day (vinegar is a great, versatile cleaner, and it’s cheap.) You could search all over three counties for a special granola bar made with all organic oats and no artificial ingredients….or you could slice up an apple for your child’s snack. Living green doesn’t have to make your life more complicated!

2. Less is more. There are stores full of natural, “eco-friendly” toys, clothes, household goods, and so on. You could spend hundreds of dollars in them to “be green”…or you could just buy less stuff and have a less cluttered, cleaner, greener home. You can also try second-hand stores, Craigslist, or Freecycle first. Buying things used is usually both cheaper and more eco-friendly than buying the “green” version new.

3. Do one thing at a time. Don’t overwhelm yourself or your family by trying to completely change your lifestyle in a day. Instead, add new practices in one at a time—you’ll be surprised how quickly they become habit and don’t seem to take more time at all. Maybe you’ll start recycling, using canvas grocery bags (and actually remembering to bring them to the store), or using cloth napkins and cleaning rags rather than paper towels. None of those changes require much more energy, but they do require time and repetition to sink in and become habit.

4. Make small changes. Driving less is good for the environment (and moving more is great for your health!) but it may not be realistic to give up the car entirely–especially if you live miles from the nearest grocery store. What are some small ways you can cut back on your gas consumption? Maybe your child can walk to school or take the bus rather than being driven. Or maybe you can combine your shopping trips into one day so you don’t have to drive as often. Almost any big change you want to make can be broken down into smaller, more manageable changes that you can incorporate one at a time.

5. Decide what’s important to you. Nobody can do everything—and that goes for the eco-mama at preschool who swears she never gives her children processed food, supports her entire family year-round via the organic garden in her backyard, and bicycles to the food co-op even when it’s 20 degrees and there are two feet of snow on the ground, too. We live in a complicated world, and we all have to choose the things that are most important to us. Maybe you feel strongly about keeping chemicals out of your home. Maybe you want to support local farmers. Maybe you’re big on reducing waste by buying second-hand, using things until they wear out, and recycling religiously. Even small changes add up, so prioritize those things that are most important to you and that will help you make choices when buying, fixing, or tossing.

We all have great intentions, but life with children can be overwhelming! Do what you can, make changes you feel good about, and don’t let other people make you feel bad because you haven’t completely overhauled the medicine cabinet and cleaning supplies in a week. Changes you make slowly and simply will stick around a lot longer…and the more you enjoy the shift, the happier and more confident you’ll be.

Meagan with her five children!

Meagan is one happy, and peaceful, mama!

Readers, does this advice resonate with you? What kind of small changes have you made to eco-fy your life without railroading your sanity? Have these changes made you a happier parent?

As reported by Babble.com, the press release first appeared on CNN.com’s iReport but was pulled after it was discovered to be a prank.

As this post from another Babble.com blogger indicates, the subject of the press release–America’s skyrocketing C-section rate which is in violation of women’s fundamental rights–is anything but funny.

As the press release circulated via email and Twitter, bloggers have been writing about it:

*the Deranged Housewife “It’s clear to me that when it comes to the birthing choices of women, ACOG doesn’t really give a crap.”
*C-section Recovery Kit blog, and
*Owning Pink.

Yes, the press release was a prank.

I know because I wrote it.

Is it really a surprise that ACOG didn’t suddenly decide to advocate that women have their babies in the safest way possible?

Here’s how the real press release should have read:

For Immediate Release: ACCORDING TO BIRTH ADVOCATE JENNIFER MARGULIS, PH.D., ACOG HAS NO PLANS TO STOP ELECTIVE C-SECTIONS

The American Congress of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) has made no announcement that it is devising a comprehensive plan to lower C-section rates in the United States. Instead, Greg Phillips, Associate Director, Office of Communications, The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, has said that the April 1 press release indicating the organization would be spearheading a campaign to end elective C-sections “did not come from us and is clearly an April Fool’s joke.”

C-sections in the U.S. have gone up 700% since they were first measured in 1965, when the C-section rate was only 4.5 percent.

The nation’s C-section rate has been rising steadily for the last eleven years. It’s now over 31 percent. This is a deplorable situation that harms women and their newborns, but one that ACOG has continually downplayed or ignored.

Advertising itself as an organization that advocates for quality healthcare for women, ACOG has no plans to ask obstetricians to halt elective C-sections.

Though many birth advocates, obstetricians, gynecologists, nurse practitioners, midwives, and women’s rights advocates believe that C-sections should only be a last resort and should never be performed for the convenience of the doctor or for financial or liability reasons, C-sections are routinely done in this country when there is no medical necessity for them, often for the convenience of doctors or for fear of lawsuits.

Though the use of electronic fetal monitoring has been shown to increase unnecessary C-section rate without any proven benefit to the mother or infant, ACOG also has no plans to call on American hospitals to stop the routine use of electronic monitoring during labor.

ACOG has no new guidelines to encourage women to have freedom of movement during labor, labor standing up or squatting, and to eat and drink at will. In fact, given the organization’s repeated negative stance on out-of-hospital births, it can be inferred that ACOG actively opposes freedom of movement during labor.

Cesarean can save lives. But doctors and consumers have to remember that this is major surgery that carries major risk. Some examples: 29-year-old Abbie Dorn, suffered severe hemorrhaging and brain damage after her uterus was nicked during a Cesarean section at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center (2006), 32-year-old Diane Rizk McCabe died following complications from a Caesarean section at Albany Medical Center Hospital (2007), and Karen Vasques, 27, died during a C-section at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center (2008).

Maternal mortality has risen every year in the United States for the past 25 years, while over the same period the rate of C-sections has gone up 33 percent.

The skyrocketing rate of C-section in America has had devastating consequences but ACOG, the most highly respected organization of obstetricians and gynecologists in the United States, refuses to lead the fight to stop it.

Many people took offense at the original satire that I wrote to highlight how serious the problem is.

I had no intention of duping or disappointing those who really are leading the fight to stop a systemic problem in our medical system that has spiraled out of control.

I know that OBs who do not rush to C-section breech births, twins, and women who have had prior cesareans are often under tremendous pressure from the hospitals where they work, and from their colleagues, to do more surgery. There are many wonderful OBs who do not overuse the C-section operation, and they, too, advocate returning to a healthier balance and letting a woman’s body do what it evolved to do.

My dear friend who is having a baby on Friday via C-section was told by her OB that he forbids trial of labor. She is young and healthy. She has big bones and wide hips. But since she had an unnecessary C-section in her twenties, her doctor will not allow her to go into labor naturally.

A new mom recently posted her birth experience on a baby message board. Unfortunately, the only atypical aspect of her experience is that the doctor pretended to allow her to try for a VBAC. Here’s part of her story:

“After switching doctors several times during the course of my pregnancy, at the time I delivered I was under the care of an OB & Midwives group. I was told that I was a good candidate for VBAC, was offered water birth if things went well, and believed that I was in the best possible circumstances to avoid surgery & any un-needed medical intervention.

I arrived at the hospital dialated to 4. An hour & a half later, my water had broken on its own and I was dialated to 6.

Since I was laboring on a birthing ball, the midwife wasn’t confident about the fetal heartrate monitor, it was showing decels, so I was asked to consent to an internal monitor (screws into the baby’s scalp during labor). I refused the first time I was asked, then consented the second time. I consented because I thought my husband was beginning to panic and hoped that it would ease his stress. When I consented to it, I looked at my husband & said “That is medical intervention #1.”

Before the monitor was even plugged in, we were told that we were going to be moved to the OR “just in case” while being monitored more closely. The midwife had called an OB to consult & we expected to meet him in the OR.

On the way to the OR, my husband was sent to a dressing area to change into scrubs & I was sent straight into the OR. My husband & I were separated.

As soon as I reached the OR, the staff began prepping me for surgery. I stated that I did NOT want a c-section. I demanded to see my husband and stated that IF I was to receive a c-section my DH & I would make that decision together. I was told that my husband was on his way. I was also told that my baby needed more oxygen & I was told to breathe deeply in a new mask because it had a better seal on my face (the oxygen I was breathing before was thru a smaller mask).

The new mask wasn’t oxygen, I was gassed against my will.

I am unaware of what was done to me from the time I was gassed up until I awoke in recovery. I am assuming that I only had a C-section. Any further details have not been shared with me.

When my husband exited the dressing area & went to go to the OR, he was told that he couldn’t go in because I was already being anesthetized for surgery. He was not asked to consent on my behalf. He was not told that I had refused consent. He was not told that I had requested his presence. He was not told WHY I was having surgery.

I found out that my son had been born, and that I had been operated on, when I woke up in recovery. No medical professional came to me and spoke to me about my surgery. I have never been told WHY I required a c-section. I only know the name of the delivering physician because it’s on my son’s birth certificate. I never met him. He never came to talk to me before or after surgery. I also never saw the midwife again after I was wheeled into the OR…

I’m having an extremely hard time coming to grips with having been lied to and operated on against my will. I love my son, but I did not give birth to him. I was not present at his birth. That moment in my life has been taken from me … I don’t know if I’ll ever again be capable of trusting a medical professional to respect me as a whole person, instead of just a slab of meat ready for their whim. I thought that it was required of medical professionals to obtain informed consent whenever possible prior to performing surgery.”

Can we agree that what’s really cruel are experiences like these, not my April Fools joke?

Has the whole world gone nuts?

In the mail at our house on Friday, addressed to me: American Baby magazine.

In the mail at our house today, addressed to me: BabyTalk.

I’ve never subscribed to a parenting magazine in my life (and am way too old to be remomming!), so how is it that I’m on these guys’ lists? Somebody’s idea of a cruel joke? Or an overly elaborate April Fool’s Day joke?

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P.S. Oh, and, also in the mail this weekend, equally ridiculous? A military surplus catalog.

In those days with only one mouth to feed (I was skinnier back then) and a job in corporate philanthropy, I almost always managed to pay off the balance in full each month.

Now that we’re a family of six, when I use our credit card we struggle (and usually fail) to pay it off.

Though I’m sincerely grateful to Mr. Visa for financing our recent escape to rainy California, I no longer see this rectangle of plastic as my friend.

Credit cards are bad for businesses
I found out when our customer-owned food co-op did a campaign to encourage shoppers to use cash, that credit cards charge businesses 2 to 3 percent with some kind of minimum on each purchase. Many small businesses operate on a very small profit margin (for instance, in an effort to make organic food available to everyone, the Ashland Food Co-op offers “basic pricing” where we barely charge above cost on popular items like organic bananas and organic flour) and the percentage they must pay to the credit card companies can make small businesses actually lose money on transactions. This is why many local businesses only accept cash or checks.

I don’t think most people realize–I know I didn’t–that if you use your credit card, the profitability of small businesses is diverted to the credit card company. A multi-billion dollar business like Walmart is barely affected by these fees but credit cards can really hurt the non-mega stores that actually have a conscience.

Credit cards are bad for consumers
Studies have shown that people who carry cash spend less money than those who use credit cards.

Credit cards foster the mentality that has gotten our country into so much financial difficulty in the past few years: BUY NOW! BUY MORE! BUY BIGGER!

You wouldn’t go to the bank and take out a loan for a few thousand dollars for some extra spending money, but that is what the credit card company gets you to do every time you carry a balance. When you add up the astronomical interest most credit card companies charge (usually between 17 and 25 percent), to say nothing of the $25 to $35 late fees if you misplace or forget to pay a bill, you’ll realize that romantic dinner for two that you thought you spent a hundred bucks on back in 2001 actually ended up costing several thousand dollars.

The credit card companies make their money on the merchants up front, then make more off you in interest and fees, a win-win business model for the card companies and a lose-lose situation for our family.

I feel guilty about carrying a balance and I do think getting into credit card debt is not a financially responsible or smart choice. What do you think? What percentage of your purchases do you make on credit? Are you able to pay off the card at the end of the month?

My son was delighted. I was disgusted.

The first ingredient: high fructose corn syrup.

The second ingredient: sugar.

Among the other ingredients: Artificial flavors, Red dye #40, and Yellow Dye #5.

In what way could this product possibly be construed as food?

No one would ever consider putting diesel fuel in a car that runs on unleaded gas. Yet we treat our children’s bodies with less respect than our cars, loading them up with substances that are barely edible (these artificial dyes come in large plastic canisters and look exactly like paint; they are actually made from petroleum products), and that have been shown to cause cancer in industry-sponsored studies on animals and hyperactivity in some children.

I grew up eating Froot Loops, delighting in the brightly colored syrupy milk left in the bottom of the bowl.

To this day I don’t understand why my parents bought that kind of processed junk food laden with toxins and fed it to my brother and me day after day.

The FDA is now considering whether this kind of crap that is passed off as food should carry warning labels. (Read more about this in this New York Times article. There’s also this excellent article by Christina Le Beau, “Food-dye news every skeptic should read.”)

Yes! Yes! Food with artificial dyes in it should contain warning labels.

But we should go one step further: these artificial petroleum-based dyes need to be taken out of American food.

They are nothing more than pretty poisons, used to color up faux processed food that our kids should not be eating.

To get rid of them permanently would be surprisingly easy, since many companies have already done so for European consumers. According to this detailed report, “Food Dyes: A Rainbow of Risks” published by the Center for Science in the Public Interest, many multi-national corporations do not use these toxic dyes in Europe but still use them in America:

“CSPI has urged several major multinational companies that do not use dyes in Europe to do the same in the United States. Unfortunately, most of those companies said that they don’t use dyes in Europe because government has urged them not to—but that they would continue to use dyes in the United States until they were ordered not to or consumers demanded such foods.”

All parents care deeply about their children and their children’s health. We all want what’s best for our kids. Is it ignorance or laziness or a desire to please or a feeling of wanting to be part of what everyone else is doing or a belief in advertising? What is it that leads parents to buy gummy sharks for the school snack?

The free Jelly Belly factory tour in Fairfield, California (my cousin: “I can’t really imagine you guys doing that.”) was a smashing success with the kids. The tour includes free samples, historical videos, and lots of viewing of busy yellow robots and factory workers.

James and the older kids before the Jelly Belly tour

Silly hats are mandatory once the tour starts

If you decide to go, arrive when they open. We got there at 9:15 a.m. and there were eight people ahead of us. We waited for twenty minutes for the tour to start. By the time our 45-minute tour was over, the line snaked all the way to the door and the wait must have been at least an hour. Highlights: there’s a jelly bean snack bar where you can sample one jelly bean of any flavor you wish for free (the coolest thing about that is the plastic spoon that lets staff just take one bean), a tucked away room with discontinued jelly beans that are a lot less expensive, and fun pinball type machines where you win jelly beans. The lowlights: The workers on the floor (many of whom were Hispanic) looked as disenfranchised as they must feel and be. For the most part, they were doing repetitive tasks that seemed boring. Rote work for, I’m assuming, little compensation. The factory is noisy, which 7-year-old Etani didn’t like (though he LOVED every other aspect of the tour). But the part that disturbed me the most was that the food coloring looks exactly like paint. It comes in huge plastic canisters and the colors are so vivid it’s sickening to think that children “ingest” that stuff. The Center for Science in Public Interest recently published a report about the harmful nature of edible dyes and I plan to write more about the toxic nature of food coloring soon. I appreciate that jelly belly uses some real ingredients (tangerine juice in the tangerine jelly beans, for example) but I’m saddened that they choose to add dyes to their candy that are known carcinogens.

Free samples abound at the Jelly Belly Factory in Fairfield, California

We also went to the California State Railroad Museum in Sacramento, a perfect way to spend a rainy afternoon (it was pouring.) It cost our family $30 to get in (adults: $9.00, kids: $4.00, the baby was free) and it was totally worth it.

Confession: When I think of a train museum, one word comes to mind: Yawn.

But this is not your typical museum. It’s more like the cadillac of train museums. The only other we’ve visited that rivals the California State Railroad Museum is the London Transport Museum in Covent Garden. The museum is 2.5 acres inside, housed in what was once a roundhouse. There are 20 locomotives and railroad cars, and you can climb aboard a bunch of them. The Pullman sleeping car, which you walk through as it “moves,” gives you a real feel for what it was like to sleep on a train. A dining car has place settings from different railroad lines across the country, and there is also a mail car set up to show how mail used to be delivered by locomotive.

A bird's-eye view of the toy trains at the railroad museum in California

“Choo choo!” Baby Leone kept exclaiming. “Choo choo!” She and my first grader liked the second floor best, where there are four wooden train tracks set up and lots of trains to play with and run on them. There are also toy train collections (that you can’t touch) on display on the second floor, and a Thomas the Tank Engine train display that kids can view by crawling into the middle and poking their heads up through the plastic dome. We watched the 20-minute documentary at the end of our visit, which runs every hour, and was a nice way to finish our train museum experience.

We liked the hands-on train table fun at the California State Railroad Museum

Also up this week and next: a rant against school snacks, thoughts about credit card debt, and a review of a fantastic new memoir about hearing loss. So please check back soon!

What are your family’s must-do rainy day activities? What hidden indoor gem do you have in your town? Please use the comment section below to tell us about great indoor places for families to visit (like this amazing list compiled by readers of great family movies.)

But we were stuck.

I was scrambling to finish some assignments, James trying to juggle the needs and decibel level of four children.

The only surprising thing about this Spring “Break” is that Hesperus, our oldest (11.5), and Etani, our third (7), were actually getting along. When Hesperus gave Etani a hug goodnight, my jaw dropped to my ankles. A spontaneous hug! From Hesperus to Etani? Who put something in the drinking water?

It didn’t help that it’s cold and rainy in Ashland right now. That every time we went to the park 10-year-old Athena (formerly a nature girl) would refuse to put on her shoes, walk as slowly as she could without going backwards, and spend at least ten minutes refusing to play once we got there. That the kids tearing around the house would wake the baby up early from her nap.

Jealousy is an emotion I believe we should pay attention to. That I felt so jealous of everyone going somewhere was a clue that we needed to go away too. It took half a day to locate a rental car (our compact is too small for the whole family and it was too far to bike to California) because the rental car companies in most of southern Oregon are sold out. But we found one at a car dealership 45 minutes out of town, for much less than what it would have cost in Ashland. Etani and James picked it up while I found us an affordable hotel in Vacaville. We loaded up the car (bickering the whole time) and hit the road.

First stop: a hotel with a pool.

Second stop: we’re going on the 40-minute walking tour of the Jelly Belly factory this morning.

Third stop: to see my aunt and uncle in Oakland. (Me: You sure it’s okay? You hate spontaneity. Auntie: Yes, but I love you.)

Etani’s been up since before six a.m., waiting for the sun to rise, waiting for the Jelly Belly factory to open. He and Athena, still in pajamas, and I sneaked downstairs for some breakfast. The baby, James, and Hesperus are still asleep upstairs.

Etani’s pre-adventure report: “There’s lots of jelly beans! And you get to eat them! And I’m really excited about the jelly flops, because they’re misshapen and you get a whole bag for no money at all.”

It’s raining here too. But not so cold. And no, we can’t really afford to be on a trip (thank you Mr. Visa!). But none of that matters. It just feels good to be gone.

“Psss! Psss!” The baby said a few minutes later, submerging a bowl to fill it with bath water.

“Psss” is the noise the baby makes when she has a wet diaper or needs to go pee. But she sometimes cries wolf, signaling she needs to go but refusing to pause in her play long enough to use the potty. Plus, I was busy writing in our family journal.

When I finally looked up, Leone was still saying, “psss,” almost singing the sound with good humor as she balanced the now full bowl on the edge of the tub.

“Do you need to go?” I asked. Then I saw something gray floating in the bath water. “Ut oh,” I said with a laugh. “Do you need to poop? Did you do some poopy in the tub?! Let’s do the rest on the potty.”

I held Leone on the toilet. The toilet is the only place she’ll go these days. She has no more interest in her green potty. Too babyish.

When we think she needs to poop, we make a soft grunt. I grunted. She strained a bit, and did a poop. She stayed on the potty, strained some more, and did another bowel movement.

“Poopy!” I said, kissing her on the forehead.

Then I looked again in the bathtub. The gray floating object was a hippo-shaped eraser that Leone had brought into the bath with her.

She hadn’t pooped in the tub!

She looked at me innocently out of her big gray eyes, blond curls wispy around her head, unaware or unconcerned that she’d been wrongly suspected.

We keep a bucket in the shower to catch gray water to flush the toilet or soak diapers. There hasn’t been a diaper in it for weeks. When Leone needs to poop she’ll either say “psss” or her eyes will get slightly red rimmed and she’ll become still, with a concentrated look on her face. We need to pay attention since she’s still too little to take her pants off herself (and it’s too cold in our house to go bottomless for long). But as long as we respond when she signals, the baby poops in the toilet every time.

I know theoretically that Leone’s behavior is totally natural, that human babies are born with the instinct not to soil the nest, and that as long as you communicate with them, they won’t lose that innate awareness. But I’m still amazed a baby this little can be so conscious of her body, and so able to communicate that awareness. Our culture, unlike many around the world, has lost the understanding that babies can–and want–to learn to use the potty.

This could all change tomorrow. We could be back to having more misses than catches or back to a potty pause. But right now I’m grateful that our EC adventure is going well. Why, oh why, wasn’t I open-minded enough to try this with my three other kids?

Have you tried EC (elimination communication aka infant pottying) with your children? I know many diaper-free parents recommend crotchless pants for toddlers but I haven’t tried them (mostly because all of Leone’s clothes are hand-me-downs but also, probably, because I’m not sure I get the concept). EC readers, do you have advice about crotchless pants or EC’ing a toddler to share?

Every once in awhile after they’ve put their two daughters to bed, Rubin’s husband says to her, “Come on, let’s go gaze lovingly.”

They tiptoe. Jamie slings an arm around Gretchen’s shoulder. They stand for a moment together and gaze lovingly as their daughters are quietly sleeping.

These days my 11-year-old is going to bed later than I am. When we open the door to our room we invariably wake the baby, who’s a light sleeper. But just thinking about this idea makes my heart ache with how sweet and right it sounds.

Tonight James and I have a date: to gaze lovingly.

Do you have a sweet tradition in your family that helps you remember how much you love your children?

by Lara Catone

Exhaustion, leaky breasts, spit up, hormones that climb and dive like the hills of a roller coaster—the reality of new mommyhood does not necessarily sound like a steamy recipe for a hot sex life.  Not to mention a baby in your bed, new pressures on your relationship and vaginal dryness, scarring and pain.  A recent survey says that 25% of relationships become sexless following the birth of a baby.  Many sex experts estimate that this number is closer to 50%.

As a birth doula and childbirth educator I see many empowered women passionately prepare for their labors and births—reading, researching, talking to other moms and taking prenatal yoga and birthing classes.  These women and their partners are well equipped for all that they might experience during the sacred transition into parenthood. What I have heard countless times from the couples I work with is that they wish they could have been more prepared for what happens when the baby actually arrives.  As a sexual wellness educator I see that my students who have had children are often looking how to rekindle their relationships and experience more pleasure.

Perhaps one of the reasons pregnant women don’t find themselves preparing as much for the postpartum period is that there is much less widespread and specific information on the changes that occur during this period than there is for their births.  Through modern living we have lost the tribal structure of support from other women and today moms often feel isolated and alone at this time.  Culturally, the topics of vaginal changes, painful sex, relationship challenges and feelings of depression are still taboo in many ways.  Focus among friends and family tends to be around the joy of the sweet new baby. Postpartum care from doctors and midwives typically ends after just a few weeks so professionals are not checking in on these topics with women throughout these crucial first few years of motherhood.

Two women, Jaiya and Ellen Heed, are on a mission to shift this cultural phenomenon and illuminate the mysteries of postpartum health and sexuality through their program Reclaiming Sexual Vitality Postpartum, or RSVP.  Jaiya, a world-renowned somatic sexologist, was left with trauma and scarring from a tear following her beautiful home waterbirth.  Months later, sex was extremely painful and she was devastated that her sex life and career may be over.  A vehement researcher and self-proclaimed “anatomy geek,” Jaiya was dumbfounded that she couldn’t find more information on all of the changes she was experiencing.  Just when she had lost almost all hope, she went to see Ellen, also a certified somatic sexologist, world-renowned craiosacral therapist and specialist in scar tissue resolution.

After just one session with Ellen, Jaiya’s scar and subsequent pain began to disappear.  She felt renewed and hopeful.  Jaiya became passionate about restoring her vitality and energy in addition to releasing pain.  Through her work with Ellen and own self-care, Jaiya claims to have found the best sex of her life! What transpired from Jaiya and Ellen’s meeting and the results they discovered was a year long in depth research study on postpartum sexuality.  Their findings have led to the development of a comprehensive and wholistic program for postpartum women and couples that is a first of its kind.  RSVP addresses sexual healing, intimacy, communication, empowerment, self-care, nutrition, fitness and more.

Ellen and Jaiya are educating men and women on the basics of how anatomy affects sexuality, the importance of understanding hormonal cycles and exercises for rebuilding connection in partnerships.  One of the most incredible things that I have learned from Ellen and Jaiya is the pervasiveness of scar tissue for women who have had either vaginal or cesarean birth, how this scar tissue is causing unnecessary pain and how easy and simple it is to dissolve when you have the right tools.  Scar tissue from cesarean birth or vaginal tears and episiotomy can manifest as changes in skin and appearance, pain in the low abdomen and vagina, discomfort in sex and urinary and fecal incontinence.  Unfortunately, there have been very few solutions offered to women to deal with these issues beyond surgery (And surgery causes more scar tissue!).  So many women are walking around with unexplained pain and problems; it’s time to spread the word that they are actually answers out there!

We all deserve to feel our best, to have thriving relationships, intimacy and sexual pleasure.  While juggling the demands of modern motherhood can be a challenge, it doesn’t have to feel depleting and overwhelming.  With the right resources women can begin to better support themselves and one another through this powerfully transformative time.

Ellen and Jaiya have sparked a crucial discussion and are igniting a new community via their online course.  You can meet them here and view free informational videos as well as a downloadable quiz to see how scar tissue may be affecting you.  reclaimsex.com

Lara Catone

Lara Catone is on a quest to heal the world through sexual liberation and education.  Over the past five years she has worked as a yoga teacher, childbirth educator, doula and sexual wellness educator.  Her greatest learning of all has come through her own embodied life experience and healing.  She lives and writes from her home in Santa Monica, CA.  Check out her blog, Liberated Sex, at laracatone.com.

Ellen Heed

Ellen is the co-founder of RSVP- Reclaim Sexual Vitality Postpartum, a program helping new moms and couples with young children to end painful intercourse and establish deep intimacy and connection.  She teaches Anatomy & Physiology, Pain & Orthopedic Evaluation, and Craniosacral Therapy & Adjustments worldwide to Yoga professionals. She most enjoys teaching workshops about human energetic and sexual empowerment. She has taught Functional Anatomy for Yoga Teachers for the Forrest Yoga Foundation Level Teacher Training since the turn of the century. She also maintains a thriving professional practice with clients and students all over the world that includes sexual education & counseling,Visionary Craniosacral Work, Scar Tissue Resolution, Pelvic Floor Reclamation, as well as Emotional Release Bodywork. She is currently pursuing a PhD in Somatic Sexology.

She lives in Los Angeles with her partner, touch educator Bob Niemerow, their fabulous housemate Reeca, and their eccentric cat Schmoo.  www.ellenheed.com

Jaiya

Jaiya is the co-founder of RSVP- Reclaim Sexual Vitality Postpartum, a program helping new moms and couples with young children to end painful intercourse and establish deep intimacy and connection.  Jaiya is also a world-renowned sexologist, author of Red Hot Touch, and the founder of New World Sex Education; a company dedicated to using “real” sex education to help men and women get the sex lives they desire.  Jaiya understands that throughout life sexuality changes and strives to meet her students wherever they are on their personal path to greater pleasure.  She’s been through many sexual stages and honestly shares her personal experience from pain to pleasure.  Jaiya is passionate about helping women and men overcome sexual issues, usually stemming from a lack of education, that may hold them back from exquisite sex as their birthright.  She believes that sex isn’t just something you do, but something that is part of being human and being alive.   www.missjaiya.com

by guest blogger Oryna Schiffman

The wife and mother in me had ousted the lover and songwriter.  Prenatal weight gain and hair loss led the putsch, and by the time I gave birth to my second irresistibly squeezable son I was firmly planted in the “all-mother-all-the-time” seat of power.  I reveled in that post partum grace period when visitors dropped in with treats to ogle my bundle of wonder, while he and I got acquainted in our nursing-napping cocoon…

But a cocoon is built to be broken, just like a real estate bubble, which had covered us in its slimy film, leaving our rehab business on the brink of bankruptcy.  Off went my husband to work any job he could find, anytime.  I was mothering solo- needy newborn suckling my breast, tyrannical toddler trampling my thighs, filthy chores stalking me through the house.  Not a moment to myself, not even in my dreams.  I wished only to be left alone – like an ancient Scythian baba in the steppe.  Just me and the wind to vent the morbid thoughts.

One can’t survive in the steppe forever, my husband’s caresses reminded me.  There was love to be made.  The unspoken expectation vexed me like a faucet dripping in the middle of the night.  Finally he broke the silence, joking about the invaluable hypno-therapy sessions that enabled our natural tub births.

“You think hypno can give birth to the Big O?”

“Hmm.  Could be.  Gotta get the midwife OK.”

Oh my goddess, was I becoming one of those 1950s frigid housewife caricatures?When my midwife peppily informed me over the phone:  “Four months – you’re fine for intercourse, Oryna.”   I could but sputter: “Oryna – who?  Inter-what?”

I hadn’t much time to ponder who I had become, but I was certain that couldn’t have been me fondling in waterfalls and laboring over love songs with a mischievous guitar-strumming satyr I once knew.  And this couldn’t be him lying beside me drooling over the rattle that was branding proof of fatherhood into his cheek.  Sighs of ecstasy had been replaced by sobs of frustration, followed by anesthetized withdrawal, followed by husbandic silence.  I would wait, until after the next check up.

My midwife’s waiting room had always been spangled with blue and pink baby feet cut-outs announcing the names and birth stats of the month’s newborns.  This time, amongst the baby feet flashed red and purple hearts.  Valentine ’s Day was upon us, and for the first time since we met I had been remiss about mine.  Memories of Valentines Past surged through my synapses.  Then a warm pang in the chest cavity.  Guilt?  Yes, yes, I was actually feeling something!  The journal was retrieved from its long hiatus in my bottomless pit of a handbag, and the scribbling resumed.

I wanted to want him.  To satisfy him, like in the days of frothy waterfalls and sultry beaches.  But I had become a dual function (feed and clean) android who could barely dress herself.  But wait. I didn’t have to dress myself.  At least I could stay in my pajamas all day.  He had to trek out into the recession-ravaged job tundra and try to smile.  As I shed some self-absorption, it dawned on me that his long-standing silence was a result of exhaustion, anxiety and dutiful determination to weather my hormonal hurricanes.   His silence was his sanity mantra (we couldn’t both be screamers after all).  Like a sorceress in distress, I scribbled, trying to conjure the love he deserved, reassuring him that my powers had not left me, but were merely dormant for the season.   If only I could lease some levity… If only I could reach out… If only I had a wing…  That’s it!

The receptionist called my name unnecessarily loudly, breaking the spell, and making me drop my pen.  I threw my bag on my shoulder, and slammed the journal on my index finger.  Since I was still trying to think of a word that rhymes with cadence, I was able to mentally migrate out of body during every woman’s breath-holding bane.  After the exam my midwife confirmed her original diagnosis “Okie-dokie for intercourse!  You have yourself a fabulous Valentine’s Day!”

It wasn’t until I was trudging through the revolving door of the musty Medical Arts building, and the belt of my maternity sweater got stuck on the brass handle that I realized I had started a new song.  (And, that is was time to dump the maternity wardrobe.)   On the street, a snowy gust of February took my breath away, as if to mute any mundane verbiage.  Swirling snowflakes swept into my eyes, as if to clear any stale tears.   Instead of racing the wind to the car, as I had done since I became a mother, I just stood there, in the middle of the street, letting the squall have its way with me.

The lullaby we wrote for our oldest in utero drifted into my mind.  It had been our latest collaboration, and I had begun to fear to would be our last.  The next few days of tweaking those journal scribbles was like flooring the accelerator on a hilly country road after traffic jam hell.  Redundant lines had to be deleted (like so many of my debilitating thoughts); inappropriate words edited (like so much inappropriate spewing.)  When I was somewhat satisfied, I wrote it on a large red heart outlined in purple Xs and Os.

On Valentines Day morning I pumped twenty-four hours worth of breast milk, and worked my boys hard.  Walks, rhymes, snowball fights.  We skipped naps so they would retire earlier for the night.  By the time their father got home with my perfunctory kiss and bouquet, I was not thinking of him as father – but as chocolate connoisseur and songwriter.  I set the table with our wedding china, and, on his plate placed the heart-shaped card.  When he began to read it I shuffled back to the kitchen, like the doting ideal of domesticity I honestly wished I could become.  When I returned with his grilled salmon, asparagus couscous and raspberry vinaigrette salad he kissed me right over the plate.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself!”  he scolded, and poured the Champagne.  We toasted.  For the first time in three years we sat alone together tasting every bite of our delectable dinner, allowing all conflicts and grudges to dissolve in the wine-soaked silence.  Every now and then he would glance at my lyrics on his heart.  I got his favorite chocolate mousse ice cream cake out of the fridge and was about to serve it, when he stopped me.

“Let it melt a bit.”

Instead, he brought out his guitar – which I hadn’t seen, let alone heard, in what seemed eons.  Watching those rugged yet gentle fingers from over the candle flame reminded me of all the bonfires he’d strummed through over the years.  Strumming, candlelight, incense, Champagne and hand blown curvy glasses – all seemed to lull my senses, one by one, into a trance-like relaxation.  My jaw slowly unclenched (just as is had during hypnotherapy) and soon I was humming the melody.  Then the lyrics – which flowed seamlessly with the melody, just as they had in our pre-parental incarnation.

We worked the song until it worked us – into nectarous exhaustion.  When his fingers got tired of playing they rested in my hair.  When my lips got tired of singing they rested on his neck.  I had almost forgotten how creative exertion (unlike housekeeping exhaustion) energizes.  As we entered the bedroom, the wife and mother’s pre-somniac obsessions of childcare, chores, and biological deterioration were completely muted by fresh melody.  For the first time, instead of annoying me, the old “can’t-get-that-song-out-of-my-mind” syndrome was liberating me.   Suddenly, the songwriting lover in me was gently lifted.  Her butt (its expanding width completely immaterial) was being planted firmly onto the soft crisp cotton seat of power.  The goose bumps emerged on the nape of the neck and migrated downward.

I imagined the mousse must have melted by then…

BABY TOOK MY MOJO

by Oryna Schiffman

The wife and mother in me had ousted the lover and songwriter.  Prenatal weight gain and hair loss led the putsch, and by the time I gave birth to my second irresistibly squeezable son I was firmly planted in the “all-mother-all-the-time” seat of power.  I reveled in that post partum grace period when visitors dropped in with treats to ogle my bundle of wonder, while he and I got acquainted in our nursing-napping cocoon…

But a cocoon is built to be broken, just like a real estate bubble, which had covered us in its slimy film, leaving our rehab business on the brink of bankruptcy.  Off went my husband to work any job he could find, anytime.  I was mothering solo- needy newborn suckling my breast, tyrannical toddler trampling my thighs, filthy chores stalking me through the house.  Not a moment to myself, not even in my dreams.  I wished only to be left alone – like an ancient Scythian baba in the steppe.  Just me and the wind to vent the morbid thoughts.

One can’t survive in the steppe forever, my husband’s caresses reminded me.  There was love to be made.  The unspoken expectation vexed me like a faucet dripping in the middle of the night.  Finally he broke the silence, joking about the invaluable hypno-therapy sessions that enabled our natural tub births.

“You think hypno can give birth to the Big O?”

“Hmm.  Could be.  Gotta get the midwife OK.”

Oh my goddess, was I becoming one of those 1950s frigid housewife caricatures?!  When my midwife peppily informed me over the phone:  “Four months – you’re fine for intercourse, Oryna.”   I could but sputter: “Oryna – who?  Inter-what?”

I hadn’t much time to ponder who I had become, but I was certain that couldn’t have been me fondling in waterfalls and laboring over love songs with a mischievous guitar-strumming satyr I once knew.  And this couldn’t be him lying beside me drooling over the rattle that was branding proof of fatherhood into his cheek.  Sighs of ecstasy had been replaced by sobs of frustration, followed by anesthetized withdrawal, followed by husbandic silence.  I would wait, until after the next check up.

My midwife’s waiting room had always been spangled with blue and pink baby feet cut-outs announcing the names and birth stats of the month’s newborns.  This time, amongst the baby feet flashed red and purple hearts.  Valentine ’s Day was upon us, and for the first time since we met I had been remiss about mine.  Memories of Valentines Past surged through my synapses.  Then a warm pang in the chest cavity.  Guilt?  Yes, yes, I was actually feeling something!  The journal was retrieved from its long hiatus in my bottomless pit of a handbag, and the scribbling resumed.

I wanted to want him.  To satisfy him, like in the days of frothy waterfalls and sultry beaches.  But I had become a dual function (feed and clean) android who could barely dress herself.  But wait. I didn’t have to dress myself.  At least I could stay in my pajamas all day.  He had to trek out into the recession-ravaged job tundra and try to smile.  As I shed some self-absorption, it dawned on me that his long-standing silence was a result of exhaustion, anxiety and dutiful determination to weather my hormonal hurricanes.   His silence was his sanity mantra (we couldn’t both be screamers after all).  Like a sorceress in distress, I scribbled, trying to conjure the love he deserved, reassuring him that my powers had not left me, but were merely dormant for the season.   If only I could lease some levity… If only I could reach out… If only I had a wing…  That’s it!

The receptionist called my name unnecessarily loudly, breaking the spell, and making me drop my pen.  I threw my bag on my shoulder, and slammed the journal on my index finger.  Since I was still trying to think of a word that rhymes with cadence, I was able to mentally migrate out of body during every woman’s breath-holding bane.  After the exam my midwife confirmed her original diagnosis “Okie-dokie for intercourse!  You have yourself a fabulous Valentine’s Day!”

It wasn’t until I was trudging through the revolving door of the musty Medical Arts building, and the belt of my maternity sweater got stuck on the brass handle that I realized I had started a new song.  (And, that is was time to dump the maternity wardrobe.)   On the street, a snowy gust of February took my breath away, as if to mute any mundane verbiage.  Swirling snowflakes swept into my eyes, as if to clear any stale tears.   Instead of racing the wind to the car, as I had done since I became a mother, I just stood there, in the middle of the street, letting the squall have its way with me.

The lullaby we wrote for our oldest in utero drifted into my mind.  It had been our latest collaboration, and I had begun to fear to would be our last.  The next few days of tweaking those journal scribbles was like flooring the accelerator on a hilly country road after traffic jam hell.  Redundant lines had to be deleted (like so many of my debilitating thoughts); inappropriate words edited (like so much inappropriate spewing.)  When I was somewhat satisfied, I wrote it on a large red heart outlined in purple Xs and Os.

On Valentines Day morning I pumped twenty-four hours worth of breast milk, and worked my boys hard.  Walks, rhymes, snowball fights.  We skipped naps so they would retire earlier for the night.  By the time their father got home with my perfunctory kiss and bouquet, I was not thinking of him as father – but as chocolate connoisseur and songwriter.  I set the table with our wedding china, and, on his plate placed the heart-shaped card.  When he began to read it I shuffled back to the kitchen, like the doting ideal of domesticity I honestly wished I could become.  When I returned with his grilled salmon, asparagus couscous and raspberry vinaigrette salad he kissed me right over the plate.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself!”  he scolded, and poured the Champagne.  We toasted.  For the first time in three years we sat alone together tasting every bite of our delectable dinner, allowing all conflicts and grudges to dissolve in the wine-soaked silence.  Every now and then he would glance at my lyrics on his heart.  I got his favorite chocolate mousse ice cream cake out of the fridge and was about to serve it, when he stopped me.

“Let it melt a bit.”

Instead, he brought out his guitar – which I hadn’t seen, let alone heard, in what seemed eons.  Watching those rugged yet gentle fingers from over the candle flame reminded me of all the bonfires he’d strummed through over the years.  Strumming, candlelight, incense, Champagne and hand blown curvy glasses – all seemed to lull my senses, one by one, into a trance-like relaxation.  My jaw slowly unclenched (just as is had during hypnotherapy) and soon I was humming the melody.  Then the lyrics – which flowed seamlessly with the melody, just as they had in our pre-parental incarnation.

We worked the song until it worked us – into nectarous exhaustion.  When his fingers got tired of playing they rested in my hair.  When my lips got tired of singing they rested on his neck.  I had almost forgotten how creative exertion (unlike housekeeping exhaustion) energizes.  As we entered the bedroom, the wife and mother’s pre-somniac obsessions of childcare, chores, and biological deterioration were completely muted by fresh melody.  For the first time, instead of annoying me, the old “can’t-get-that-song-out-of-my-mind” syndrome was liberating me.   Suddenly, the songwriting lover in me was gently lifted.  Her butt (its expanding width completely immaterial) was being planted firmly onto the soft crisp cotton seat of power.  The goose bumps emerged on the nape of the neck and migrated downward.

I imagined the mousse must have melted by then…

Now on to the topic at hand…

You pack your children’s lunches lovingly each morning (I know we do) but do you give the same care and attention to your own midday meal? It has taken me years to snap to adding my lunch bag to the queue on the kitchen counter.

How empowering–to open my lunch bag and find items perfect for me–because I chose them. You might be wondering if I write myself a little love note on the napkin, but no, I’m not that far gone.

Lately, my lunch bag includes: a Dr. Praeger’s spinach pancake, a grapefruit, a Stanley stainless steel bottle of juice from my morning veggie/fruit batch*, and a red pepper with a container of Tribe hummus. I especially love their chipotle and red pepper flavors. I smear the hummus on big slabs of the fresh, crunchy red pepper…yum! Instead of eating everything at once, I tend to have small eating occasions all day long–per dietician Ashley Koff’s recommendation.

Today, my lunch stuff was thrown in a shopping bag, because I was in that much of a rush. However, wouldn’t it have been much better to avail of this beautiful Blue Avocado lunch tote? Only $20…such a nice price point.

It’s not bulky, but it keeps items hot or cold for 3 whole hours! It’s collapsible, PVC-free and made from 50% REPREVE recycled fibers. And it’s so darn cute. SOMEONE is going to win this thing and I have to say, that person is very lucky because this tote is adorable, practical and chic.

So here’s how you enter to win the contest:

Leave a comment below. Extra credit: tell me all about your favorite packed lunches.

Thanks! xox

PS: Here’s my juicer-juice recipe:

3 carrots, 1/2 small beet, 1/2 green apple, 1/2 lemon whole lemon, chunks of turmeric, ginger and burdock root, 3 stalks celery, 1/3 of a cucumber, 1/3 of a fennel bulb. It’s WONDERFUL and yummy, too.

Pesto Wraps (My son loves pesto and would definitely give these a shot. They remind me of pigs in a blanket!)

Serves 4 to 6

3 large zucchini, peeled

Pinch of sun-dried sea salt

Juice of 1/2 lemon

Presto Pesto

2 cups chopped walnuts

2 cups loosely packed fresh green and purple basil leaves

3 cloves garlic

1 heaping tablespoon red miso

2 tomatoes, cubed

Chopped green and purple basil, for garnish

Using a vegetable peeler or mandoline, cut thin, wide strips lengthwise down the zucchini. Place the zucchini strips in a bowl, cover with water, add the sea salt and lemon juice, and soak for 2 hours, or until they taste clean (not starchy). Drain, rinse, and drain again.

To prepare the pesto, place the walnuts, basil leaves, and garlic in a homogenizer juicer or food processor and homogenize, creating an oily paste. Transfer the paste to a bowl and stir in the miso.

To prepare each wrap, lay a zucchini strip flat on your work surface. Drop a teaspoon of pesto in the center of the zucchini strip. Press a small piece of tomato into the pesto. Fold or roll up the zucchini strip. Secure the wrap by piercing it with a toothpick or place it, seam side down, on a serving plate. Serve garnished with the chopped basil.

Mixed Melon Ball Salad (a.k.a., a sneak peek of summer’s glory!)

Serves 4 to 6

1 cantaloupe, halved and seeded

1 honeydew melon, halved and seeded

1 watermelon, halved

Juice of 2 limes

Scoop out the flesh of the melons with a melon baller, place in a large serving bowl, and mix gently. Splash with the lime juice and serve.

If you’re more experienced with raw food prep, check out this recipe for Falafel. It does require dehydrating and a juicer, according to the recipe, although I’m sure you could employ work-arounds.

Falafel

Makes four 8-inch crusts or eight 4-inch crusts

6 cups sprouted garbanzo beans (see page 20)

1 cup loosely packed fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves

1 cup raw tahini

1 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice

1 onion, minced

2 tablespoons ground cumin

6 tablespoons Bragg Liquid Aminos, or 2 tablespoons sun-dried sea salt

1 cup sesame seeds

Using a homogenizing juicer with the blank plate in place [or a food processor (Candace's note)], homogenize the garbanzo beans and parsley and place in a large bowl. Place the tahini, lemon juice, onion, cumin, and Braggs in a blender and blend. Stir the tahini mixture into the garbanzo paste. In a spice grinder, grind the sesame seeds into a fine powder. Mix into the garbanzo paste. Press into 1/4-inch-thick crusts, each 4 or 8 inches in diameter. Dehydrate for 12 to 14 hours, flipping at least once during the drying time.

How to Sprout

Sprouting is the easiest way to grow foods for yourself. You can grow sprouts in any climate anywhere in the world. If you can live there, so can sprouts. To sprout, first select the type of seed you wish to grow and refer to the chart on pages 22–23 to find out the optimal soaking time. You can sprout seeds in just about any container, including a cloth bag or even a wicker basket, although a large glass jar (1/2 to 1 gallon) with a screen cover is the most popular setup. As a general rule, for a yield of 1/2 gallon of sprouted seeds, use 2 to 3 tablespoons of small seeds such as alfalfa or clover; 11/2 cups of medium seeds such as wheat, oat, or garbanzo; or 2 to 3 cups of nuts and rice. After soaking them for the appropriate amount of time, drain them and then rinse the sprouts with fresh water at least twice a day until the tails are at least three times the size of the seed in length. Next, expose your sprouts, still in the jar, to sunlight for about 15 minutes to activate the abundance of chlorophyll. Now, chow down!

What are your favorite raw recipes or dishes?

1. Trader Joe’s “Joe’s Dark” coffee is only $3.50 per canister, and it totally works for me. Previously, Coffee Snob Moi was enjoying the very delicious Weaver’s organic coffees for around $13/lb., but I have just shifted into turbo thrifty mode, and therefore, we’re drinking Joe’s and TRULY LIKING IT.

2. An eBay-type website just for family stuff? Yep, it’s true. Check out www.Storkbrokers.com. Sell your old stuff, get new-to-you stuff at a discount. And how green–not to be buying new whatevers when things already exist that would love to be part of your family gear pile.

3. When I make soup (already thrifty), I freeze the leftovers in my muffin tins, then pop them out and store them in a bag in the freezer. How unappealing is a 10-lb brick of frozen soup? We’ve all thrown out our weight in those. So the muffin-sized soup portions are FABU for bringing lunch to work–you can let them thaw and then heat them up on the job, or thaw them overnight, heat them on the stove, and pour into a thermos. (I have a silicone muffin pan, which is even more convenient for popping out those soup pucks with aplomb.)

C’mon–what’s #4 and 5 and 6…and 12? Share your wisdom, dear mamas and daddy-os.

a guest blog post by Asha Baisden, of the Meta Mom blog.

A year after childbirth, my best friend pulled her dress over her head. She cupped a few inches of extra skin that hovered across her belly. It was skin stretched by the pregnancy of her second child at age 36, her son, born a year before.

Fifteen years her minor, none of my pregnancies carried to term, I stood, flat bellied, underweight from a stressful college semester, and muted by our physical differences. I felt like any comment I could make would be arbitrary, meaningless, some cliche about how the skin gave her her daughter. My friend spoke of the body she missed and berated her new appearance, wishing for plastic surgery. I changed clothes fast, hoping to hide the plateau of my midsection. From her words and gestures, it seemed like all of her body belonged to her except the residual inches. Those inches belonged to someone else, somewhere else: circulating a bin of medical waste with other pieces of nameless flesh. I wanted to tell my friend that the memory of her daughter’s uterine life resides in her spare inches.

For the ten years of our friendship, I, physically boyish and angular, had envied my friend’s feminine body: the thick of her hips, the slopes of her frame, rounding, soft and buoyant. Now I envied her thatch of ”extra” belly. Where she saw ugliness, I saw a place where magic had happened.

I wanted to listen to her and encourage, but I felt foreign to this discourse. Everything I’d heard about an “after-baby body” had something to do with “fixing” it, with exercise, with dieting. I didn’t know how to approach it because I could not be empathetic. I didn’t know how to vocalize that, to me, her flesh was lovely, an ornamental reminder of feminine strength.

I found out weeks later that I was pregnant with my daughter who was born that fall. Because I was underweight at the time of conception, I gained over sixty pounds and stretch marks bloomed across my thighs, breasts, and belly.

Six months postpartum, I have settled into a size far beyond my pre-pregnancy weight. At first I was alarmed by the sight of my deflated stomach crowded with red rivers of stretch marks and dimpled by extra skin.

One night I stood, naked with my eyes closed and ran my hands over my new body. Words like “engorged”, “saggy”, “flabby”, “pooch” appeared in my mind. The body I touched had transformed and felt foreign.

I focused on the feeling of my skin: dry spots on my elbow, a callous on the side of my foot. I tucked my fingertip into a rippled stretch mark near my left hip, and I remembered that in my tenth month of pregnancy, I watched the stretch marks bounce while my daughter rolled around my uterus. In a year, my body had metamorphosized, and so had another, smaller body: from the collide of conception to a cooing, growling person. I did not and do not claim her body, but because of her, I can claim mine.

The media promotes an impossible maternal body: one that slides down the runway right after birth, virtually unchanged from the prenatal experience. Some women’s bodies do seem to retract almost instantly into their pre-pregnancy shapes. This has happened naturally to some mothers I know, but the media’s portrayal of postpartum body provides an inaccurate representation of what we should expect from ourselves after pregnancy. Many healthy, active women are genuinely transformed by pregnancy, and they struggle to find peace with their changed shapes because society encourages them to keep these shapes hidden, calling them “mom bodies” and “post-baby bodies.” When wholesome nutrition and balanced exercise do not provide celebrity-slim results, many women feel pressured to reform their bodies in unhealthy ways including dieting and cosmetic surgery. While there are women who do need plastic surgery for medical reasons after childbirth, such as abdominal separation, there is an unnecessary pressure on those who do not need that medical intervention to align their bodies with the unrealistic expectations of society.

So how do we adjust our postpartum, physical expectations? Where can we find realistic representations of female bodies? The doula who supported me during my daughter’s birth recently shared a website with me, The Shape of a Mother, which has been running since 2007. The site is an open forum for women to discuss and share their postpartum figures with other women. As I browsed through the discussions and photographs, I became aware that my postpartum body is not weird or irregular but ordinary and natural.

My body is one of many which has supported the growth of a new person, and my new appearance outlines my strengths. The creator of The Shape of a Mother, Bonnie, writes about why she formed the site, “It occurred to me that a post-pregnancy body is one of this society’s greatest secrets; all we see of the female body is that which is airbrushed and perfect, and if we look any different, we hide it from the light of day in fear of being seen…It is my dream, then, to create this website where women of all ages, shapes, sizes and nationalities can share images of their bodies so it will no longer be secret.”

One of the advantages to an online forum is that it allows people to be anonymously public. In a situation concerning the usually private and intensely personal feelings about body image, both the visual and verbal discourse within Shape of a Mother provides a valuable first step toward opening real-world discussion about the postpartum body, helping women view each other and themselves realistically, encouraging a public acceptance of ”momified” shapes, and transforming the way we define our bodies: instead of flaws, we have the evidence of maternal sinews. Ours is the flesh of vitality. Ours is the swell of creation.

Sometimes, helping children to brush their teeth, or getting children to brush their own teeth, is like herding cats and, when children do brush their teeth, even when they are teenagers, do they do a thorough job? Is their brushing effective?

In ancient times, children very rarely had cavities. Today, however, one of the biggest health concerns affecting little ones more than any other in North America and Europe is dental decay, ECC (Early Childhood Caries).

Is it because dentists are giving out lollipops? (http://mothering.com/health/does-coke-money-corrupt-kids-dentistry) Did the ancients have advanced civilizations that cracked the code on toothpaste?  Or, is it because breastfeeding fades in and out of popularity while processed formula proliferates?

When your child closes her mouth against the toothbrush, while you cheerfully chant “If you get up in the morning… and you want to find something to do, you brush your teeth ch ch ch ch, ch ch ch ch” by Raffi, know, (that your dentist may not say so), but brushing isn’t everything.

Dr. Weston Price (President of the America Dental Association from 1888-89) studied primitive skulls and traveled the world studying the teeth of cultures that ate only their traditional foods; cultures in which a cavity would be found in one in a thousand people. Cultures that had moved away from their nutrient-dense food and were plagued by white flour and white sugar had rotted teeth.

Decay of tooth enamel is not only from food stuck in it.  Dental decay occurs in two ways: internal and external. External factors are food in the mouth, acidity, bacteria, how the teeth fit together, and exercise. External factors play a role, but they are not the initiating factors in oral decay. Teeth are alive! They can regenerate, and this is why internal factors that nourish the teeth are so important. Real foods, hormonal balance, minerals, and the fluid exchange through the teeth are key. When the teeth are healthy, they are like trees, drawing their nourishment from the roots and the blood and digestive system are the soil. Nourishing fluid moves from the pulp chamber through to the dentin.  Stress, processed food, and inadequate nutrition reverse this precious flow and the tooth starts to draw bacteria and acids from the mouth into the tooth. Teeth start forming inside the womb, and pre-natal nutrition with a healthy dose of fat soluble vitamins, minerals, and whole foods starts the process of building strong teeth. Around 2-3 years of age, the permanent teeth are forming/calcifying into the jawbone and, if there is a nutritional deficiency  of minerals and vitamin C, D3, K2 and A at this time, teeth are formed that are less resistant to decay.  This also means that breastfeeding mothers need to be abundant in whole nutrition as well.

As teeth start to come in, wipe the teeth with a cloth dipped in salt water. This will help clear plaque and neutralize acids. Teach children to swish with salt water and spit it out, which will do most of the work. Later, brushing can begin using salt, baking soda or xylitol powder (from a health store). If a carie lesion begins, this does not necessarily mean a permanent cavity is inevitable. Know that the teeth are alive and brown enamel lesions could be reversed. When there is a carie lesion the salvia starts on the area to balance the decay, and the dentin inside your tooth will shot forth odontoblasts which regenerate new cells to the area. If this happens keep the tooth clean and look into the diet.

Healthy Teeth Tips

·              Avoid bonding molars on the cavities (this traps bacteria in the tooth)

·             Offer zero processed food

·            In the beginning, stick to breastmilk and water

·             Floss when the teeth start getting close together

·              Avoid Fluoride water and treatments (http://mothering.com/health/debunking-fluoride-cavity-fighter-or-toxic-intruder)

·              Phosphorus and vitamin C help ease teething

·             Breastfeeding is not the cause of cavities http://mothering.com/health/big-bad-cavities-breastfeeding-is-not-the-cause

·             Soak all grains and beans overnight before cooking to get rid of phytic acid

·             Avoid all commercial toothpastes (toxic) – stick to the basics: salt, baking soda, and xylitol

More:

8 Steps for Successful Self-Dentistry:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4d0BW0I-qI&feature=related

Oral Care for Children:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kulGkTY9SSI&feature=related

For serious question about oral care, and to find a holistic, biological dentist:

http://www.hugginsappliedhealing.com

And everyone else wins, too, with the following flash sale. For the next three days: February 28, March 1 and March 2, the 6-packs of diapers in S, M and L sizes will be on sale for 20% off (usually $99.99, now $80). Use code Mothering0320.

Charlie Banana is also offering free shipping on orders over $150 with the following code: 0203moth from February 28 through March 17, 2011.

You can use both codes for one order, and really rack up the savings.

Here’s some information from Charlie Banana:

“Born from the Winc Design Limited family, Charlie Banana  is the
international, luxury brand of modern cloth diapers and eco-friendly baby
products.  Established in 2010, Charlie Banana products are made with
care with 100% certified organically grown cotton. They are comfortable,
chemical-free and combine eco-friendliness, quality and design. The goal
behind the brand is to convince at least 50 percent of parents to use
reusable diapers and products for their children.

Charlie Banana products include the innovative  2 in 1 Hybrid Eco
Diapering System with reusable or disposable inserts, Single and Double
Layer Reusable Wipes, Tote Bags, Diaper Laundry Bags, Baby Training Pants,
Underwear, Swim Diapers, Baby Leg Warmers, Change Pads, Mattress Pads,
Reusable Feminine Pads.”

By the way, I am a HUGE fan of their feminine pads, and adorable organic cotton boys’ boxers.

Here’s how you enter to win the giveaway:

1) “Like” Charlie Banana’s facebook page, and leave a little note on their wall.

2) Leave a comment below with the size and style you prefer. You can review the different styles here.

Good luck! : )

“You’re going to be late!”  “Where’s your book bag?”  “Did you brush your teeth?”  “We don’t have time for this today!”

If an award for “Grumpiest Mom” were handed out each morning, I’m afraid I would be nominated more times than I’d like to admit.  I am often so focused on getting everyone up and dressed, hurrying dawdling eaters at the breakfast table, gathering items to pack in lunches and hurrying each family member out of the door on time that I am short-tempered and joyless. I recently decided to evaluate the cause of my grouchiness to see if I could remedy the situation. Here are some ideas I am finding helpful as I struggle against early morning insanity.

• Go to bed on time. As difficult as it is, I know that I will feel better and be in a happier frame of mind if I stick to a bedtime that allows me to get the rest that I need.
• Get up early. Being a morning person makes it easier for me to get out of bed when my alarm clock goes off – at least until those dark, cold, winter mornings hit!  However, rolling out of bed on time allows me to get a proper start to my day.
• Schedule a few minutes of quiet time for myself.  This helps me focus on my own attitude as well as mentally prepare for what the day ahead of me will hold.
• Eliminate distractions by leaving the television, computer and cell phone turned off until all necessary preparations for the morning are finished.  I have found that what starts out as “just a minute” to check e-mails soon turns into a much longer diversion.
• Do as much as possible for preparing breakfast and packing lunches ahead of time.   The night before, put all non-perishable breakfast ingredients on the kitchen counter and set the table for the morning meal.  Have lunches assembled and leave them in the same place each day so that they have less of a chance of being forgotten!
• Set a positive tone by turning on some music. Play tunes that are happy and upbeat to encourage those sleepyheads to get moving!
• Start each child’s day with a smile and a hug. Let their first image of their mother be a happy one. Who knows – your partner might enjoy this, too!
• Reward yourself in some small way when the morning rush is over.  Whether it’s a cup of coffee in the car on the way to work or a five-minute break to read your favorite magazine before tackling the pile of laundry, give yourself something to which you can look forward when things have settled down.
• Relax! Which is worse – having my daughters occasionally be tardy to school or letting their only memories of mom in the morning be those of pushing them out the door and into the car?  Some delays are inevitable and if you have to choose whether to laugh or cry – give laughter a try and see how much the mood is lightened.

By implementing these ideas in my own life, I’m finding that our days are getting off to a smoother start.  Since I’m a bit lacking in red-carpet attire, I’m hoping that one day soon, I’ll be totally out of the running for that “Grumpiest Mom” award!

Tracey Brewer lives in the coastal region of South Carolina with her husband and two daughters, ages nine and seven.  When not crafting articles for publication, she can be found reading, baking, spending time with her family, or blogging about parenting at Girls to Grow.

As a parent, I gravitate toward agave nectar, but have wondered about the glycemic index impact. I also like stevia in my tea, but find that it’s bitter in coffee. I love the way my son’s teacher makes birthday cakes with maple syrup and yogurt. It’s so good!

Recently I’ve been experimenting with Susta. It’s a new natural sweetener that contains fructose, fiber, and even probiotics. It has a really low glycemic index, and is recommended for people with diabetes (including gestational diabetes). I also like the way it tastes in homemade baked goods. Here’s a recipe for brownies made with Susta. Yum.

Homemade Brownies

2 sticks butter (softened) or
1 cup Smart Balance
4 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1cup flour (all purpose)
½ cup cocoa (Hersheys type)
1 tsp baking powder
1 cup SUSTABOWL
1 cup granulated sugar

(chopped nuts are optional)

Use an electric mixer or Kitchen Aid mixer: Whip butter until fluffy, add eggs, one at a time, then add vanilla and mix on high speed for 5 minutes or until smooth. In a separate bowl, mix together, flour, cocoa, baking powder, SustaBowl and sugar. Slowly add dry ingredients into mixer and mix for 2 minutes until uniform.

Spead batter into 9 x 9 inch or 9 x 13 inch pan that has been well greased and dusted with cocoa. Batter will be thick and creamy.

Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes if using the 9 x 9 inch pan and 25 minutes if using the 9 x 13 inch pan or until toothpick comes out clean.

Yield: 16-20 brownies

If you have any questions about Susta, leave them in the comments section and I’ll do my best to get them answered.