I’m Happy When He Eats

As the mother of a toddler, I’m happy when Baby A puts aside the bottle of milk and eats real food. I started out as most mothers, wanting my son’s diet to consist of mainly fruits, vegetables, whole grains and lean meats. Considering that his favorite foods are artichokes, Brussels sprouts and whole-grain toast I really can’t complain. The problem is when he doesn’t eat, which is lately.

Today he fell asleep in the car right before reaching our building so I decided to take him for a drive to In and Out Burger. He could nap and we could get some lunch and satisfy my burger craving. I used to be a vegetarian but after becoming severely anemic I decided that having meat every once in awhile was better than what iron supplementation would do to my already sensitive digestive system. That’s why once a month or so I usually have a hamburger. Since Baby A usually eats the French fries, we’d both win—so I thought.

Once we got our order, I cooled down some fries and gave them to him then took out my burger (a plain cheeseburger with grilled onions). He ate the three fries then pointed at my sandwich. I gave it to him and he ate nearly the whole thing on the way home. Sure, my son could be eating better but he hasn’t been eating until today. Of course, I wish my son would gobble up the berries on cut up for breakfast and share my salad with me, but right now I want him to eat something more than whole milk and whole grain toast. If that means he partakes in my hamburger fix every once in awhile then so be it.

Produce-Lined Streets

I have a dream that every city had fruit and vegetable carts on every corner. Well, every other corner would do. Right now, I’m living in it.

As I rush from appointment to appointment in New York, carts of fruits and vegetables nourish me— basket of blueberries sold for $2 and a pear for 25 cents. Yesterday was the first time in a long while that I ate my seven servings of fruits and vegetable without strategic planning.

By having these purveyors out on the street where traffic is flowing makes it easy to associate whole foods with satisfying the hunger that is occurring. And those hunger pangs aren’t the crazy, ravenous kind either since noshing on these natural fibrous fillers has kept my blood sugar steady.

Imagine a world where each city had the same availability of fruits and vegetables. My hope that it would mean a healthier population.

Happy Cinco de Mayo! (A tad early)

Last night we celebrated dos de mayo—a precursor to the Mexican holiday that in this country is marked by the copious consumption of margaritas, beer and tequila. Ya-ya, M., Baby A and I were joined by Cy and cousin J to gobble up Ancho Chile Chicken Soft Tacos and Green Rice (recipes courtesy of Rachael Ray). Besides the good food and drink (yes, we had the before-mentioned libations), it was really wonderful to have a house full of people.

When we lived in Phoenix, Sunday night dinners with another J was standard. Together we would watch either baseball or football and eat. I always cooked. It was the highlight of my week and since moving to LA the tradition hasn’t continued. But it should and it may. We have plans to get together on Friday. I have a sangria recipe I want to try.

The Pits

When I was a teenager, my dad used to go down to Bolsa Chica state beach—about a mile from his home in Huntington Beach, California—at 6 AM to claim a fire pit. This was a tradition when I was in town with my friends. We would join him later (about noon) and in the afternoon, he would return to the house to get the food for that night’s bonfire. Girlfriends from high school remember the police coming to make sure that we weren’t drinking; an old boyfriend remembers watching the Queen Mary fireworks from one of those fire pits. The whole thing is a very Southern California summer picture.

So you can imagine my disappointment at the news that the city of Huntington Beach will possibly remove nearly half of the 165 fire pits on the beach. Unfortunately the state of the economy is having its way with these memory makers. And the city council will vote on the fire pits’ fate next month. I hope that for the residents there, they remain untouched.

Photo: cc sflovestory

My Trusty Pad

This is all I need. Photo from net_efekt

If it isn’t written down, forget it. It won’t get done. I live by my to-do list. It keeps me focused in a I-don’t-need-to-think-about-what-needs-to-be-done way, because everything is written on my trusty pad.

Without my pad, my days would be chaos. I wander around the house doing things halfway and then get distracted by Baby A or something else I see that I should do, only to come back to the first thing a half hour later and say, “Oh, yeah. That’s what I was doing.” Instead, my time sans child has purpose and is productive.

Without my pad, I would go to Trader Joe’s, CVS, Ralphs, Whole Foods, and even, the farmer’s market and walk away without whatever it was that drove me to go there in the first place.

Without my pad, I won’t have a growing list of books that I want to read, websites that I want to check out, or songs that I want to download.

And without my pad, article ideas, leads, and blog posts that come to me in the strangest places would get lost in the ether of my brain, possibly forever.

Tea: The Natural Soother

Photo taken by Chumsdock

It used to be that every year the week before Christmas I would get sick—really sick. In fact, I would usually spend December 21 until December 27 in bed. Then, I decided to get a yearly flu shot and all that stopped. Well, until now.

I stopped getting the flu shot when I stopped going to an office and even then I haven’t been sick around the holidays for at least three years. Today, I have a sore throat. You know, the kind that hurts to swallow, the kind that usually turns into something bigger, and the kind that is annoying. That is unless you don’t have tea.

I love tea, especially today. Besides giving relief to the scratchiness in my throat, it is calming. Which is another thing I need since I have more deadlines looming before the holidays begin. So I will sip my tea when I can because Baby A still wants to play. Drum circle anyone?

Dear Stroller: Thanks for the Memories

Baby A's Chariot

Right now, I’m waiting for Baby A to fall asleep. It’s nap time and normally we would be coming back from running errands and having breakfast. His little eyes would’ve gotten heavy as we rolled down the driveway and by the time we made it to the elevator he would be asleep. I would then transfer my 25-pound bundle of joy to his crib, where he would reach for puppy and sleep for two hours (three if I’m lucky). Not today.

Today there were no errands to run so we went to join the playground set. A lot of running around followed by a ride home in the stroller modeled above should send him off to dream land, right? Wrong. So as I sit here, listening to him try to settle down I look back on our 16-month relationship with our stroller.

1. It was in the stroller that we found out that Baby A was afraid of the dark. Walking home after having dinner, he’d cry when we were in the night but stop once we hit a street light. At first we thought it was a fluke until he cried during an entire after-dinner walk through the retire community where my mom lives.

2. The first time he drank from a sippy cup he was sitting in his stroller watching kids play in the fountain at Desert Ridge Shopping Center in Phoenix.

3. Baby A’s first real throw-up was while we were eating at Sauce in Scottsdale. Sweet potatoes everywhere. He, me and the stroller were orange.

4. Each Wednesday the stroller carries Baby A around the farmer’s market when he has experienced numerous tastes and smells for the first time. Where else can a kid learn to love asparagus, basil and cauliflower?

5. Finally, and this memory will continue for a long time, thanks to the stroller for allowing Baby A to see and experience the world and meet new friends. Whether it’s playing with our bankers and the students at Starbucks, or exploring San Francisco or Palm Springs, these four wheels help him get outside of the four walls that are home.

Beer Builds Bones? (Say that three times fast)

Beer Bubbles taken by Atilla1000

Really, I’m not a lush. In fact I talk about having a drink way more than I actually have one. And on the occasion that I finally get over my laziness to open a bottle, it’s usually of the wine or beer variety. So imagine my surprise when I read a study that found women beer drinkers have greater bone density than their wine drinking or abstaining peers.

According to the Spainish research published in the October 2009 issue of the journal Nutrition, it’s the possible phtyoestrogen content of beer that helps keep our skeletons stronger, though these findings need to be tested more. And this was no small study. Nearly 2,000 women were surveyed about their lifestyle habits (i.e., smoking, drinking, caffeine and eating). When it came to factors determining bone mass density, beer drinking was a significant factor as well as age, BMI (body mass index), and reproductive hormone status. What’s more: the ultrasounds of the bones of beer drinkers were greater than wine drinkers or abstainers.

So the next time I’m deciding on an alcoholic spirit to partake in, I think I’ll choose the hoppy goodness of a beer. Cheers!

The Thanksgiving To-Do: Shop

Thank you Trader Joe’s clerks for reminding me that I should probably think about shopping for Thanksgiving. Better yet, I should cook a whole turkey and bring it to them—two single men who don’t have anyone cooking for them this year. They’re right (about the shopping). I need to decide exactly what I am going to make. So far, there will be three and a half (me, M, Cy and Baby A).

Last year I was a food television addict. I watched everyone to figure out what I should cook. I decided on a turkey breast rolled with a corn bread/cherry stuffing compliments of Martha Stewart and assorted steamed vegetables and sweet potato casserole (The one with the marshmallows is M.’s favorite. However, I do a recipe that has meringue from an old Cooking Light magazine.) It was a good dinner that was relatively easy. I imagine this year to be the same.

A Monday of Possiblities

It is eerily quiet. There’s parking. I’m in Westwood, right? I walk across Wilshire Boulevard and I’m the only person in the crosswalk. It’s Monday, isn’t it?

I turn down Broxton and begin walking to my Starbucks—the one that knows my drink and Baby A’s name—and hear the buzz of restlessness.

There are thousands in the village awaiting the premier of the latest Twilight film, New Moon. Some started camping out on Thursday, others joined them on Friday, by Saturday the line of tents covered a couple of blocks, and last night, Westwood’s sidewalks surrounding the Bruin theater looked like a tent city. Personally, I don’t understand this fanaticism.

As I stood in line for my coffee, I  overheard the group of people behind me discuss whether they’ll be waiting 6 or 7 hours for the stars to appear on the red carpet (Yes, this line was to look at the parade of stars on the red carpet. Not even to SEE the movie.) and whether they should have In N’ Out Burger for lunch or go straight to Diddy Reese for dessert. All of this sounded good to me and it isn’t because cheeseburgers and cookies are my thing (They’re not). The influx of star-gazing women brings money (hopefully) to my neighborhood—one that despite its close proximity to UCLA has struggled in the past.

So, welcome Twilight followers. Please drink lots of coffee (you can take your pick from Starbucks, Coffee Bean, Perfectto, Peets), and eat lots of donuts (Stan’s), cookies (Diddy Reese), sandwiches (Sandbags) and the plethora of other food offerings in the village. You have lots of time to kill, might as well enjoy all that Westwood Village has to offer.