I care about Nutrition

"At least I give a shit about the stuff I eat, Yeah I care about nutrition!"
(A line from the song 'Nutrition' by The Dead Milkmen.)
I sing this song on every grocery trip.


I try to eat right. I really do, but if ever there were an enigma wrapped in a mystery it is 'good nutrition'.

We've gone from this:

To this:

To this:

According to this, I should eat a lot of grains. Eating a lot of grains exposes me to gluten. Should I avoid gluten? How do I know if I should avoid gluten? I've heard rumors of gluten being linked to autism, but I don't really know if that's true, because I've also heard that gluten isn't linked to autism.

Besides that, I've also heard that carbs are bad.

Ok, I'll eat a lot of vegetables. Does it matter if they come frozen, in a bag, covered in a "cheese flavored sauce"? What is that, really? My kids really dig on the "cheese flavored sauce", but I don't think it's good for them. However, they won't eat broccoli with out it. The canned vegetables are full of sodium so buy frozen ones. Without "cheese flavored sauce" or "butter flavored sauce". Unless you want the kids to eat them.

Protein. Meat, cheese, and nuts.  Grass fed beef is best, but have you seen the price of that stuff? Would you like your ground beef with or without pink slime? That chicken you're eating lived an absolutely miserable existence. Don't you feel terrible about that?  I would, but I can't afford to eat the happy, free range chickens or eggs. I've adopted a 'don't ask, don't tell' relationship with my meat.

Then there is the ubiquitous evil, high fructose corn syrup. This is one I do try in earnest to avoid. It isn't easy! I'm an avid label reader. This works great at home, but not while dining out. Unfortunately, being a busy working mom means we eat out more than we should, and we eat a lot of 'convenience' foods. 

With every meal I think to myself, "Ok, I may have lost this battle, but in the long run, I'll probably lose the whole war as well."

Bon appetit!

Do I have to take a bath?

Or perhaps the title should be, "Do they have to take a bath? Really?"

I've never had a problem getting my boys to take a bath. They love it!

I don't like bath time. Not one little bit.

Bath time is a nightmare for me. Every night.

I give the kids a bath most nights because it's part of their bedtime routine, and I believe very much in routines for my kids. I also believe in cleanliness (believe it or not!).
I have such grand delusions about bath time. I remember when they were little babies, and would splash and play so gently in the water. It was precious. Then I'd get them out, lotion them up, put clean PJs on them, and put them to bed, plump, soft, and sweet-smelling. Ah, I was such a great mom!

My boys are bigger now. Bigger and rowdier. And I swear my house is shrinking.

This is our new nightly routine:

Bath time! With bubbles, of course, because they like them and I do like to see my kids happy. And toys, too, because despite all the evidence to the contrary, I believe this bath will entertain my boys and occupy them for forty-five minutes so I can floss and brush and get caught up on my Words with Friends.  I find my naivete endearing...

SPLASH! Here comes the tidal wave! They are no longer little boys, but sea monsters. Writhing, splashing, spitting, urinating sea monsters. And I'm shouting orders amid the chaos.

"Stop that!"
"No you can't wash his winkie, just wash your own!"
"Get your nose out of his rear end!"
"Why didn't you pee before you got in the tub?"

They are spitting on each other. Big Brother is pointing at Little Brother's rear end and laughing hysterically, "Butthole!! Butthole!!", because for some reason they both think butthole is the funniest word in the world to say. I swear I don't know where they learned it.

So my dream bath comes to an abrupt end. I quickly wipe them down and get them out of the tub. Their forty-five minute bath has been shortened to ten minutes. A very loooooong, messy, violent ten minutes.

But the fun doesn't end there. No, after bath time is run-around-like-a-naked-lunatic time. The chase is on. Catch Little Brother and get a diaper on him before he pees in the floor. I have found him before, splashing in a puddle of his own urine, which he made while I was getting the diaper. He's an animal.

Catch them, comb their hair, brush the baby's teeth (which is another nightmare), and prepare them for bed.
Ah, bed time! The storm is over.

I fall into bed, punch-drunk and exhausted. Asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

I'm trying to learn to embrace the chaos. To take pleasure in the unbridled joy they experience in the water. A wet floor is not the end of the world, and they will grow out of this phase (I hope). And as much as I try to plan ahead, to arrange things in a way that would prevent many of the problems, I can't seem to do it. This is our nightly battle, and I will fight valiantly. Or at least try to suffer through it without so much screaming and yelling and threats of violence (from me).

Maybe I will start bathing them every other day. Or bi-weekly.