Posts Tagged Under colorful foods
So Full of Crap
On my desk where I write sits three combs; a tiny nail clipper; an orange bead from a broken kiddie necklace; two pink pipe cleaners; a broken calculator; my camera; Purell; wipes; bank statement from a year ago; an unsent thank-you note to Auntie Boo from Christmas – whoopsie!; a random unfunctioning TV remote; a January Us Weekly stolen from the dentist; a Rolodex from the ‘90s; mouse stickers; a 2004 birthday card; T-Ball raffle tickets expired in March; Target sunglasses; Miss Kitty sunglasses; sunglasses with one lens missing; spinning “organizer” crammed with 30,000 pens; pencils; air tire gauge; more hair combs; mangled Post-Its; broken iPod earphones; rusty Leatherman; red puzzle piece; very tired hair elastic; Aleve cold & sinus packet of eight with one missing. . . need I go on?
And this is just my desk. A 4” x 3 ½” foot space.
Now take this list of crap, times the size of everything by twenty, add wheels or dust or broken musical bits to most of them and – voila! – that’s my basement. Crammed. Full. Stuffed with crap.
By Annie YearoutPolitically Correct Children’s Foods
My older son, Paul, is obscenely tall for his age. At seven, he is almost up to my shoulder and I can attest to the fact that it is not the result of healthy eating. He wasn’t always this way. At two-years old he ate peas by the fistful. When we went out I valiantly packed my rice cakes (assuring him they were ”cookies” and quite a treat). I offered rolled up slices of non-fat turkey and cheese cut into shapes with mini cookie cutters. All was well until he got introduced to chocolate at a birthday party around the time he was three.
It was then that he turned to the dark side. Of chocolate. As a chocoholic myself, I was not unhappy about sharing my passion for the sweet. Together we baked cookies and I found it to be a helpful currency during potty training. And, of course, all of this coincided with the birth of his younger brother, Eric.
I wasn’t mashing baby food this time. I discovered Z bars and stopped making my own trail mix. But now, at seven, my son is out of control. Of course I have nobody to blame but myself. The other day he informed me that he could live on chocolate. Unfortunately, that is not exactly practical. Damn society and its health standards!
By adminAn Eater of White Foods Discovers Color!
My eleven-year old son, Nick, was one of those picky eaters.
