Donations that make a difference

The Child Hunger Ends Here food drive at the kids’ school ended the day before Thanksgiving.

Day by day, little kids would walk in lugging bags as tall as they are. And in the end, the school had gathered 233 pounds of food along with ConAgra food labels, each representing a meal the company would provide for a child in America.

Driving into work the day before Thanksgiving, our public radio station was running a variety of stories on hunger in America.  One of them was about the rush to donate or volunteer or give back on the days leading up to Thanksgiving. The story went on to say that they often see donations drop off after that. Even getting volunteers, not to mention food, in on the day after can prove challenging.

And while this is something I think most of us, intuitively, know, it was a good reminder that the need doesn’t end.

The issue continues. And while I’m grateful that so many of us take time during this holiday season to reach out, to give back, to do more, I am also thankful that companies like ConAgra are going to continue to fight and give back going forward.

During the public radio story, they shared a list of some of the most needed items. I’ll leave you with them:

Recommended donations:

• low-sugar cereals;
• peanut butter;
• cans or plastic containers of juice (make sure it's 100 percent juice);
• canned vegetables, any variety, marked lite or low-sodium;
• bags of pinto or black beans;
• rice;
• canned tuna fish;
• powdered milk fortified with vitamin D.

Donations to avoid:

• foods high in sodium, fat, oils or sugar;
• chips, candy, cookies and crackers;
• sugary beverages;
• items in glass bottles;
• items that are expired or in damaged packaging.

Of course, as the story goes on to say, “The simplest -- and most appreciated -- donation is cash. Pantry officials can use the money -- cash or grocery gift cards -- to buy whatever healthy staples are in low supply. Also, because they purchase in bulk, they get more for the money than the average grocery shopper does.”

So I encourage you to join ConAgra. Join me. The issue isn’t going away. And so neither am I.

*I was honored to work with the Child Hunger Ends Here campaign as a blogger correspondent. While I was compensated for my time, the opinions, stories and thoughts are my own.

Thanks...

I had a conversation with a colleague this week. About thick skin. She's seeking it and, along my way, I have found it.

It didn't come easily. Oh yes. I've been in the office and pretended like I was going to sneeze while I suppressed a tear or 12. I've gone to the bathroom and lifted my feet to pretend I wasn't in a stall to pull it together when the other option was sitting in a cube and crying. And I have cried in front of more bosses than I'd like to admit.

But then? I suddenly didn't. Somehow with age and experience and maturity, that thick skin grew. I bucked up and pulled it together and realized that emotion didn't have to flow out every time I did or didn't want it to.

I don't cry a lot anymore. But this has been an emotional fall. Nothing that needs to be shared or discussed here, but life is full of change and we are in the midst of one. No need to worry. Truly. Brian and I are great. The kids are great.

But it has caused me to reflect. To toughen up even more. And reflect even more than that. And let the other moments happen when they need to happen.

Like driving home last night. I was just escaping in my commute. The mindlessness of too many red taillights in front of me. Listening to some pop singer, whose name couldn't possibly be their name, sing about things that, frankly, I am probably too old to enjoy listening to. Escapism at it's best. It's been a busy few weeks. (Go ahead, google my name and "Black Friday"...)

And then I saw it. Or heard it really. An old beater of a station wagon. Light blue and wood paneling and all. Low to the ground. The tires needed to be inflated. Exhaust spilled out the back. Traffic was moving at about eight miles an hour when it caught up to me. Mom and Dad in the front, kids in the back, not enough seat belts, it was like 1982 pulled up next to me.

But what really caught my eye was the top of the car. It had what we referred to as the Big Mac container on the top. If you are old enough to remember before Styrofoam was discovered to be evil, you know what I mean. Back when Big Macs came in small space age carriers of their own, they made cartop carriers that looked just like them.

As a kid, we would pile the station wagon full of kids and luggage and TVs that plugged into cigarette lighters (back when they were still supposed to be cigarette lighters) and we'd go on car trips. But on the top of the car was always Big Mac.

Whether it was full of clothes or toys or Christmas presents. It was there. The giant, 1980's symbol of tremendous family-ness.

To me, it was the sign we were about to create memories.

It passed me and my thick skin was suddenly very, very thin. And I sat there in rush hour and cried.

And I was thankful. For the Big Mac. For the station wagon. For the family in it. For the memories.

Thankful for the moments I have lived and the moments I am living and the moments I have yet to live.

Thankful.



Peace to you all this holiday season.

Blame it on the French

Eli: Mom, I hope the French don't take my Christmas presents.

Me: Eli, why would the French take your presents.

Eli: Because they are mean. And they don't like happy kids.

Me: Eli, the French aren't mean. Where did you hear that?

Eli: You hear it all the time! The French take your presents.

Me: I don't think you have to worry about it, Eli.

Eli: Do you think if I wear my French jammies on Christmas, they won't take my presents?

Me: Eli, I am pretty sure most of your jammies are from Target, Gymboree or Carters. I would highly doubt any are French.

Eli: Well I am going to wear my French jammies tonight and again at Christmas and we'll see if it works.


He went over to his drawer and got dressed. And suddenly it all made a lot more sense.

But I don't know. The French who Stole Christmas takes on kind of a Dickensonian ring. It might stick around here.

The Dead Fish

If I have learned anything in my life, well I have learned a lot, but let's go with the cliche...ok?...

It's that Mick Jagger was right. Or whoever wrote the song. I'm not about semantics or details tonight.

And no, I don't have the moves like Mick Jagger. At all. Side bar over.

I'm tired. Overwhelmed. There is a lot going on. My house is a mess. And my six-hour-old fish is dying.

And no. I am not tired or overwhelmed because of a fish. We'll all be okay, but there is a lot going on right now.

The fish? That's really just a complicating factor. Think like a Muppet Movie cold fish smacked in the face of the Swedish Chef moment complicating factor. Ridiculous.

To back up. Noah was the lucky lottery winner of one of his classroom's crayfish. And who doesn't want a free pet crayfish? (Don't answer that.)

So in anticipation of the arrival of said crayfish, I took the kids to the pet store today. No, I would not buy the expensive lizard that required me to keep my house at 84 degrees. No, I do not think rats are cute. No, I will not buy a $200 aquarium set and beautiful tropical fish that cost $30 each. I have enough issues with feeling like I am sometimes flushing money down the toilet without actually doing it.

But yes, while I spent $25 readying for Noah's "free" crayfish, I took a moment to celebrate the giddiness over the other two wanting to share a pet Beta fish.

They were giddy. And plan-ful. They named him Yoda and spent a half an hour agonizing over the interior design for his bowl. They were victorious.

Then we got home and the fish tipped over. And that was that. He was gone.

I had to laugh. Not at the loss of life. But at the insane, dark, comic timing of it all.

Because really? Right now? In the midst of all of the...well all of the all? Let's add in a dead brand new pet.

Because we can.

You can't always get what you want, can you? You try sometimes, but you just might find, you get what you need.

No, I didn't need a dead fish. A toilet funeral was not what I had in mind. But it was a good reminder that sometimes life gives you dead fish lemons and you make I have no idea what, but it's not sushi lemonade.

And then I smiled. And thought back to when I grabbed this video of Eli several months ago in the back of the car.

Yuu're right, little man. Thank you.

And RIP Beta Yoda. I promise we were a good family. We just have city water.

Now I lay me down to sleep

Generally, I love Fridays. I wear jeans to work. Brian picks the kids up early. We get takeout or make sushi. There are martinis. And Wii games. All around goodness.

Until the kids hit the wall of fatigue and it's time for bed. Now.

I should back up.

I left the house early on Friday, far before the family was up for work. But I knew the routine. An hour after I left, three boys would roll out of bed. Bed hair, sleepy eyes and all. They'd roll their way to the bathroom and "use the facilities."

Back to present time.

We got home on Friday and spent the evening on the first floor and the basement. Eating, playing, laughing, being. So when we all hauled upstairs, it was the first time anyone had been upstairs since the morning.

And we spotted this.

(Side note: Oh yes, I did. That is a picture of my kids' toilet online. I know, start funding the therapy now.)

Noah went into the bathroom and called out that there was hair in the toilet. "Like a lot!"

Eli yelled about it, too. Followed by Caleb.

Suddenly the entire family was standing around the toilet in various stages of horror.

Yes, picture it now. All five of us standing around the toilet with our mouths hanging open.

Creeped out. Oh! My! No! horror.

Being the rational people we are, we immediately asked them who cut their hair. Clearly it wasn't Eli as the hair was dark. Noah and Caleb adamantly denied it, too. Over and over and over again.

Again and again.

Brian combed through each of their hair to see if anything was missing.

Nothing. We shot each other a look of insane horror.

It was the horror that someone was either in, or had been in, our house.

In the creepiest of creepy fashion. Nothing missing. Just a horrifying pile of hair in our toilet.

I wouldn't let anyone flush it. I wanted it gone, but kept it, just in case. And, after bed, we were totally going to dust for fingerprints.

We tried to go about the normal business of putting the kids to bed. While semi-casually checking beds, closets, nooks, crannies, and any other irrational hiding spaces over and over again.

Eli was, thankfully, clueless. Noah was silent, but clearly freaked out. I mean your parents can only look in your dresser drawers and your laundry hamper so many times.

Caleb was the same. Until Brian and I opened his closet (which we never do) three times. And then he lost it.

He admitted, he had a bad hair moment and chopped a chunk off. And thought it would be fine. Until we nearly called the cops on him.

We hugged. And said it was okay. But please don't, on so many levels, do it again.

And tucked him in and locked the windows.

And flushed the evidence.

And yes, tomorrow I will be taking him to Sport Clips to fix it.

That which doesn't inspire confidence

A few weeks ago, while attending a football game, I headed to the restroom.

(Side bar, and really, what great story doesn't begin that way...anyhew...)

And as I got to the door, I saw this:

On second thought, maybe I can wait.

Bit by bit

I'll admit that taking my kids to the grocery store with me isn't necessarily my favorite thing to do.

They see. They want. They ask. They plead. They sneak stuff in the cart. And then they do it all again.

But ever since I got involved in ConAgra Foods most recent Child Hunger Ends Here campaign, it's been a bit different.

Because, you see, in addition to doing all of that, they are doing something different. Seeing something differently.

We have talked a lot in our house about that hunger isn't an issue they can necessarily see. But that it's around them. It touches them even when they can't see it or feel it.

So now at the store they also see that there is something we can do. That they can do. They ask if we can get two cans or boxes of an item to give half of it away. The help me spot the ConAgra labels we can clip, knowing that for each label clipped, another meal will be donated to a child facing hunger in America.

If they can get behind this... If they can appreciate the impact their small efforts can make...we all can.

And now they have their after school program on board. Starting November 14, their program will host a food drive where they will collect food and labels. They are just one of thousands of schools and programs across the country that is doing so.

My kids will bring in the food and labels they have collected and together, as a group of kids, as a school, they will do something. I can think of no greater Thanksgiving lesson to teach them that they can be thankful for their ability to help others. To make a difference. To try.

That they can be thankful for what they can do. Is your school doing a food drive this holiday season? If so, please join me and consider signing them up for the Child Hunger Ends Here campaign.







*I am honored to work with the Child Hunger Ends Here campaign as a blogger correspondent. While I have been compensated for my time, the opinions, stories and thoughts are my own.