I don't shop that aisle

I am the first to admit that it's been kind of an odd start to the school year. Not bad. Actually very good. Just odd.

What matters is the kids are loving it. Great teachers. Manageable amounts of homework. Good friends. Good stuff all around.

But I am feeling a bit out of sorts. We missed back to school night as we were out of town. We had a conflict on activity night. And with working full time... Well let's call a spade a spade, I have yet to meet the kids' teachers.

As in I couldn't pick them out of a lineup. Admittedly, that is a very, very strange feeling. I need to do something about it.

But I do feel still somehow connected. The kids bring home a homework notebook every night. It's their job to tell me what they did, what they need to do, what I need to handle and so on.

It was all going along swimmingly until this came home in one of their books.

I don't know. Maybe it's just me. I wracked my brain trying to figure out what kind of snack I was supposed to pack that, well, that wouldn't make me look like a subversive wreck of a mom.

And then I went from worrying that I was missing something to wondering what to do about this. I mean, is the teacher going to see this and wonder what in the world kind of family is this kid living in?

If I sign my name, am I endorsing that as a "snack?"

Should I write "Banana!" with a smile-y face emoticon next to it and send a banana in the next day? Crap that would mean I need to actually get to the store and buy bananas. No go there.

Should I email her and tell her that we don't use "snack" as a code word for very personal body parts?

Should I ask said child to go back and embellish the photo into some kind of an ornate decorative window to make it appear that we normally avoid phallic snack items? Then again I'd have to explain how we eat decorative windows.

Or should I just sign my name and take Friday off to show up for Special Friends Day at the end of the week positioning myself as a solidly normal mom. Yeah I'll do that.

And no, I will not be bringing bananas.


P.S. Yes, I did ask said child what snack was supposed to be that day. He reported that is a granola bar with a bite taken out of it and the wrapper still halfway on.  Not sure that helped.

So how do you get pregnant, anyways?

No! No, no, no, no!

Stop! No! Rewind!

Be 3 again.

I mean, I get it. I knew this moment would come. But I have dreaded it. More than trying to explain our electoral process (baffling). Or why I don't like my dishwater blonde hair (vanity). Or why I dance my way into "bike shorts" most mornings (three kids. hate working out. spanx.). And even more than the truth about Santa Claus (no haven't gone there yet).

I have dreaded going there.

The S question. The babies question. The big talk.

But thank you fourth grade, you ruined it all for me. All because we had to help Caleb with a project about where his name came from. How we chose it. Why.

Evidently where your name comes from, when you get down to it, somehow equals sex.

Yes, in doing so, we had to talk far too much about being pregnant. And ultimately had to tell two little boys where babies come from.

To back up, they asked, point blank. For the first time. They (and we, let's own this, after all) have danced around this in the past. But always lost interest. Them, that is.

Until last night. When like a shot. Or like the liquid one I needed after the question, it was there.

So how do you get pregnant, anyways?

I promised we'd tell him after his homework and dinner were done. (And really, if that isn't an incentive to never, ever complete your homework and dinner, I don't know what is.)

We finished dinner and homework and, quite frankly, I thought Brian was going to duck it. The kids were going to bed. They forgot.

But I didn't want it ever to be said that I avoided it.

I, the fool I am, said, oh no, we made a commitment, we are doing this. We are talking, we are sharing, we are not turning back.

And then it happened. I opened my mouth. I was going to talk. Point A to Point B. Rational and pragmatic and hard truth.

And then?

I started giggling like a fourth grade girl.

Horrible, near hiccuping giggling.

I couldn't stop it.

So I turned off the lights.

Because, you know, who doesn't want to have "the talk" with your parents in the dark. Because your mom is like 12 and can't keep it together.

I tried to play it straight. I tried to just talk. And yet I couldn't stop giggling.

It. Was. Horrible.

Eventually, I was able to answer a few questions. But not really. And yes, in the dark. I may as well have done this with a bag on my head.

Brian would turn on the light. I would face the wall. Because I was laughing like a 12-year-old.

Horrible.

When it was all said and done, Brian and I headed downstairs. He rolled his eyes.

Pretty sure you earned an F on that one.

And he is right. There are plenty of things I am good at.

Clearly, sex ed is not one.

I thought we were done. I had my composure back. Sort of.

And then Eli started yelling down the stairs:

Mom and Dad, I have a question! I ripped the monkey! I ripped the monkey! What do you do if you rip the monkey?

Innocence lost. It's over. I have no idea what this means, but it's over. It can't be good.

Turns out it really was a monkey.

No euphemisms for the three-year-old. Yet.

However, Brian has informed me I still get an F.

Thoughts 10 years after 9/11, whether he knew it or not.

Cooking dinner last night, I overheard the following conversation coming up from the basement:

Noah: I don't love her, I hate her!

Caleb: How do you know?

Noah: Cause I just know. Cause there is nothing in my heart!

Caleb: Whatever, Noah. Did you know that when you're in love, seriously, I am telling you the scientific truth here. Did you know that it's not your heart that feels love the most?

Noah: Seriously?! What does?

Caleb: Seriously. There is proof. Nope, not your heart. When you are in love, it's your lungs that are really the thing that hurts the most. You feel it in your lungs.

Noah: Hmmmm.

Caleb: Yup, that's the truth. And when your feelings are hurt? Or your emotions or whatever? That's when you feel it in your stomach. Hurts baaaad then.

[And up until then I was kind of eavesdropping and giggling and wondering how long Noah would buy this as the truth.]

Caleb: But when you hate? It's your brain. When you hate it hurts your mind. And that is the worst kind of hurt there is.

Then I got chills. Here on the night of 9/11. After a day when, quite frankly, I had avoided thinking about it all too much. I hadn't turned on the TV. It was too painful. Too long. Yet too short. Somehow still too raw. And even more so knowing it had been ten years.

What a wise thought from a boy born exactly two weeks after 9/11/01.

I was moved. Still am.

But as my kids are apt to do, they then snapped me back to reality.

Noah: Yeah, well I hate Rosalina and it's totally making my head hurt.

So, yeah. So much for great intentional wisdom. They were totally talking about the Mario Kart video game. But the message stands all the same. Video game or not.
 

First Day of School - When you give in.

One of those great pieces of advice from my parents?

Pick your battles.

As in, when you have to get up far before your kids and are forcing back-to-school photos before they have even had breakfast moments? Yeah that.

You just go with it.

You may start with the "please put your hand on the railing" shots...followed by "put your hands on your hips and look natural."

But quickly you let it go.

And maybe you just let them be them. Ridiculousness and all.

And then you get those shots where you are alternately horrified and proud of how fast they are growing.

And then they rock it back to reality.

Because they are ridiculous and exasperating and wonderful.

And they make all of this chaos and the fights over what to wear or what not to wear, and all of that first day of school drama worth it.

Because they're just headed in the right direction.

Child Hunger Ends Here: Los Angeles Kickoff

As I mentioned last week, I am proud to be able to help extend the good work that the ConAgra Foods Foundation and Feeding America are doing to help fight child hunger in America.

I cannot repeat this statistic enough: One in four children in America does not know where their next meal is coming from.

1 in 4 children.

I have known that statistic for awhile. The hard part is knowing that isn't an improvement. When talking to Feeding America representatives last week, I learned that it used to be one in six.

So to help raise awareness and funds and make a difference, the ConAgra Foods partnered with Feeding America and Schools Fight Hunger to kick off a new year of raising funds and awareness for the issue. As a part of that effort, a small group of us traveled to Los Angeles to learn more about their most recent efforts and initiatives.

While there we visited the Los Angeles Regional Food Bank. In many ways, it looked no different than that last time I was there. Except this time I noticed less food.

Maybe it was the day of the week. Maybe it was that one of the thousands of trucks had just left. Or maybe not. Maybe it was just a fluke. I hope so. I fear not. I don't know.

What I do know is that we then spent the next hour digging into thousands of pounds of tomatoes to sort them for local shelters and, ultimately, local residents.

Donated by local grocers, these would be ripe and on local residents' tables within five days.

We picked and sorted.

Kept the ones we would eat and tossed the ones we wouldn't.
It became a challenge, of sorts.

This very real challenge. Sorting 7,000 pounds of produce. Knowing very real people would be eating them soon.

But we made it, as much as we could, fun. It started when I found a tomato that looked surprisingly like a happy face.

How very fitting.

In the midst of what what we were doing. Trying to do what we can. Corporations and nonprofits and individuals. Trying to make a difference. In the very real face of a horrible issue.

To find a smiling face.

We kept looking. Amazingly, mine was not the only one.

I know this is not an issue that can be fixed with smiling tomatoes. Nor can it be one that can be addressed by looking the other way.

But it can be fixed by you and I caring. By you and I doing. By clipping labels from participating ConAgra brands. By getting our local schools involved in Schools Fight Hunger. By doing what we can.

Will you join us?





*ConAgra Foods covered the cost of my trip and provided compensation to cover additional costs I incur throughout my participation in this program. As those of you who follow along here know, I only partner with causes that I truly believe in and am passionate about. This is one.

**And yes, as those of you that follow me on Twitter of Facebook know, there was a celebrity kickoff rally at the end of this trip. So to see who came (yes, including Mark Salling from Glee!) and help me identify the ones I was too old or un-cool to know, come on over to Facebook.