Driving Your Kids to School Makes Them Fat

Didn't you know? In other words, columnists continue to piss me off.

Seriously, what is this?

In this column, Andrew Clark asserts that school-drop-off zones are filled with angered, crazed, road-ragey selfish parents attempting to get little Johnny to school on time at the expense and injury of any who dare get in their way. Taunting them for driving to an out-of-reach school system when they could just do the local public and call it a day. He's joking, but not really. Not really at all.

Excuse me?

Because parents of school-aged children don't have it hard enough getting them to school now that bus-budgets are being cut. Now that school systems are so embroiled in No Child Left Behind that parents must scramble to enroll in magnet schools, or move to another district, or take other measures within their financial means to ensure their children get the best education possible. (the author is in Canada and speaking of a Canadian school system but blatantly crosses the line into the U.S. to call us all fat because of school drop-offs, so I figure I can rightly speak of my own country here). I'd venture to say the school system, nay, the governmental rules forcing the school system's hands is broken, not the parent.

He further states that parents are ridiculous for driving their child two-blocks to school. At first nod, you'd think, well, yeah, that's silly. But is it? Now that the rules about walking are being enforced. Rules that are there for good reason. Rules that are there because children have been abducted on their way to school.

He writes as if safety were an afterthought. It's not.

So, walk your child to school, Clark says. Oh, okay. Because working parents definitely have an extra half hour in the morning to devote to this. I'm a stay at home mom. Sometimes, I walk my kids to the bank a half mile down the road. Sometimes I drive. Because even I'm busy, and even I sometimes don't have time to walk. Let's not forget that walking with young kids is like trudging through three feet of mud with your eyes closed. They are that slow.

Get up earlier, he says. I don't have a mature response to this, it makes me too mad, so I'll just fall back on my old favorite: No, you! I mean, it's not just the parents here. We can get up at the crack of dawn. We could stay up from the night before, just to be ready to walk our kids to school. I can guarantee you, the children will find some way to dawdle, and that last backpack will be on at exactly ten minutes before school starts. It's magic, I swear.

I'm not touching the man Clark concentrated on; the one who hit two boys with his car in a fit of road rage. I'm appalled the writer would focus on this as if it's a normal occurrence, going so far as to mock the situation, saying, "in (his) defense, if he hadn't done all that his daughter might have been late for school. I repeat -- late -- for school. Late for school."

Okay, big guy, I highly doubt that incident had anything to do with the typical worry about kids being late for school. But you're hilarious, really.

But this is my favorite part right here: "In the United States, just 13 percent of kids walk or bike. As a result, many North American kids are so obese they look like they could play offensive line in the NFL."

No, totally. Our kids are all fat because they don't walk to school. True facts. What an odd and inflammatory conclusion to make. It couldn't be due to anything else at all. If they only walked to school, they'd all be slim as supermodels.

Okay, he actually won me over a bit with this next bit, not going to lie. I laughed.

"I see the school drop-off as a perversion of the automotive experience. Everyone knows that cars are for sex and racing (at a proper, legally sanctioned track). You don’t put children into the back seat of your car to take them to school. You put yourself into the back seat of your car to create children. We’re sending the wrong message to our young people."

But the joke doesn't excuse the other half-serious statements, half-jokes, and it doesn't excuse the blatant judgment of all parents driving their kids to school. As if they shouldn't. As if there were no good reason for doing so. Like, say, keeping the kids alive.

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Turn It Around

Unless you're a perfect parent, with perfect children, or a much better disciplinarian than I am, you're well accustomed to the dreaded adult-stare your toddlers can garner when out in public.

Maybe they're playing a bit too loudly. Maybe they knock into someone accidentally. Maybe they're actually tantruming, and you're left holding the bag. Whatever the reason, some adult is giving you the death-glare, shooting daggers right into your happy little family unit. It's hard to describe in words on a page just how that look of disgust, shock and utter judgment feels. I'll just trust you know about it.

This happens to me a lot. Shocker, I know. When the girls were just 15 months to 2 years old, these looks petrified me. I chose where we went very carefully, to avoid angering or bothering any possible adult in the near vicinity. As they grew into lively 2.5 to 3 year olds, we had to get out more, meaning we got more looks. You'd be amazed how many adults feel it's totally okay to wrinkle their faces in disgust at someone just trying to live their own life. And it's not like I'm not on top of it. The girls are loud for two to three minutes tops before I can calm them down, and if I can't, well, I football hold them out of there. All 80 pounds of them. I'm all over it.

Still, those first six months were mortifying. I believed them, those adults. I believed that I was the worst mother ever, and I had the worst kids ever. I was so embarrassed, almost all of the time. It was no way to live. I continued on, and, eventually, I got used to this unbecoming adult behavior. I usually ignore it, but yesterday, I'd simply had enough.

The patent adult stare of disgust is, in its way, a tantrum of its own, is it not? The only difference is that it's quiet. And isn't that a major difference between children and adults? That they are loud where we are quiet? That being the case, why should adults be let off the hook for throwing a tantrum--directed at me, no less--right out in public. I should scold my toddlers but these grown ups get off Scot free? No. I'm done.

Perhaps my children aren't the only ones who need to learn a lesson, who need to be called on their behavior.

Yesterday, I was in the Goodwill with my twins, doing our yearly dump-the-old-toys run. I usually let them inside for a bit after the drop off, and on this day, they'd found an old broken shell of a camera that they were sharing beautifully. Until the end. Just as we were about to leave, one of them freaked out over having to share it and dissolved into loud, toddler-crocodile tears. She wailed away for about 30 seconds before I got to her, and I talked her down. The whole scene took no more than three minutes from start to finish.

There was a couple in line who stared at me, absolutely aghast, as if I were the worst mother in the world and should never leave the house again. When I looked up from my now-calmed child, I saw the woman still gaping at me. Really?

I squatted down to my child, and said in a very loud voice:

"Dulce, would you like to apologize to that lady for making her stare at me in utter shock and disgust while you tantrumed?"

Dulce looked up at me, wide-eyed, and shook her head.

"That's okay," I said. "Just remember that some grown up people aren't used to little girls making a ruckus."

And we left.

Kids do things that kids do. Adults do things that adults do. When you are an adult, and you do something that a child would do, regardless of how quietly, it's unbecoming and unattractive. Think about where you are. Think about the family on the other end of your weapon.

By all means, if a parent just ignores a screaming kid for a while, well, retaliate as you should. But for those of us (most of us!) like me who are working their hardest to keep everything under control, give us a break. Your tantrum isn't making your experience any better, is it? It's not making mine any better either. And you probably don't like when it's turned around on you like that. So what's the point?

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Dear Journal

My girls are already excellent journal keepers. They insist on going over their day every night before bed. It's become part of our bedtime routine, and it's one I really enjoy because I get to hear their side of things. Many times they've interpreted a situation in a way I'd never have thought of. In some cases, it allows me to gently correct them, like, "no, mommy did not tell you no because you were a little kid. She told you no because touching the stove is dangerous." In that way, I think it's really helpful to reinforce important lessons.

I also get to see what they like the best each day, which activities are their favorites and which events stick out in their brains. For instance, the fact that Dulce didn't finish her cookie yesterday and that her balloon popped totally eclipsed buying ingredients for Daddy's birthday cake, which, to me, was what the trip was all about.

This oral journal has another twist. It's always told through a third-person character. A little stuffed Toadstool from Mario, to be exact. He's the child. A stuffed Superman and Supergirl doll are the parents.

 Each night, Toadstool goes through magical adventures that mirror everything the twins did that day. If we went grocery shops, he goes grocery shopping. If we chased squirrels, he chases squirrels. Along the way, he tells us how he felt about each tiny occurrence in his life that day.

Another benefit of this is that it forces me to continue to give them new experiences and take them out each day. I wouldn't want Toadstool not to have a story one night, would I?

I love this ritual. Toadstool is often inappropriate and the girls step in and show him how they learned to do things in the kind, caring way, or they'll call for my husband (or Superman) to reprimand Toadstool.

One of Toadstool's main characteristics is his selfish and greedy nature. He eats all the food, drinks all the milk and wants all the turns. He is the best and worst of my children all rolled into one stuffed animal with a rather large head.

Other than reading, it's one of their best activities, I'd say, to keep their little brains sharp and working.

Recipe Monday - Turkey Cream Soup

This came out absolutely amazingly. I recommend it for all of your leftover turkey needs.

• 1 leftover turkey carcass (I just used the meat).
• 3 medium onions, chopped
• 2 large carrots, diced
• 2 celery ribs, diced
• 1 cup butter, cubed
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 2 cups half-and-half cream
• 1 cup uncooked long grain rice
• 2 teaspoons salt
• 1 teaspoon chicken bouillon granules
• 3/4 teaspoon pepper

Directions

1. Place turkey carcass in a soup kettle or Dutch oven and cover with water. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; cover and simmer for 1 hour. Remove carcass; cool. Set aside 3 qt. broth. Remove turkey from bones and cut into bite-size pieces; set aside. (I just boiled some water, bouillon and broth.)
2. In a soup kettle or Dutch oven (I just used a pan), saute the onions, carrots and celery in butter until tender. Reduce heat; stir in flour until blended. Gradually add 1 qt. of reserved broth. Bring to a boil; cook and stir for 2 minutes or until thickened.

3. Add cream, rice, salt, bouillon, pepper, remaining broth and reserved turkey. Reduce heat; cover and simmer for 30-35 minutes or until rice is tender. (I poured the vegetable mix into the larger pot with the warmed broth, and cooked it that way).

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Moment of the Week - 73: Happy New Year!

We dragged the girls out and kept them up until midnight. It was hard for them, but they did it, almost breakdown free! We did dinner and a concert on the green.

The woman with the bubble gun was like the pied piper of toddlers. Especially my two.

And finally...Happy New Year!