Tag Archives: healthy

Daisy cooks, too.

30 May

Now, I know Violet has been the resident recipe poster, but I can get down with some cooking too. Violet asked me to share a few little tips and tricks that I’ve shared with her, so here you go..

I have great eaters. I really can’t complain, they will eat just about anything. Why? Not sure. Is it luck? Did I expose them to different foods when they were young, via my eating habits & breastmilk? Who knows. Maybe a good combo of both. Even with my great eaters, one of which (Diva) lists raw broccoli as one of her favorite foods, I still like to sneak in even MORE vegetables than they would normally eat.

Funny story, when Diva & Intuitive were about 2 or so, we were grocery shopping, strolling through the produce section, in fact. Diva begins a full on tantrum because she thought I didn’t put broccoli in the cart. Can you imagine this little pig-tailed girl, screaming her little brains out because she thought that mean old mommy DIDN’T get broccoli? The laughter coming from the other shoppers was pretty excellent when they realized that she was yelling for broccoli.

Anyways, “hiding” veggies in meals isn’t a new concept. There are cookbooks written on the subject. These are just some of the things that I’ve done.

Making spaghetti? Using jar sauce? Good shit, go for it. Whenever I make it, I will use a large grater and grate a few carrots, some squash, zucchini, finely cut spinach. Dump the jar of sauce in a big saucepan and dump the veggies in, simmer it all while your pasta is cooking. The veggies will cook down, and be completely unnoticed by even the pickiest eaters. My kids KNOW I do this, and couldn’t care less!

Tacos? Grate some of the same veggies into the meat while you’re cooking it. Same concept as the sauce, noone will notice.

Has your kiddo said no to baby food? Is she ready for the real stuff? Don’t worry. I’m sure you have 8 million extra jars of baby food sitting around, so USE them for your cooking. Dump a jar of carrots into your spaghetti sauce. Any veggie, really. Have some fruit ones? Make your kiddo some PLAIN oatmeal, and put some in the oatmeal.

Sneaking good stuff in is easy. It’s easy, and no one will ever know.

You’ll probably feel kinda bad ass for pulling a fast one on your family.

Any other ways you guys sneak some good stuff in? Let us know!


Celebrity Parents

30 Mar

Celebrity culture has always been somewhat of a twatwaffle to me. I don’t get into the drama; I don’t understand the hysteria. I don’t follow Perez Hilton’s blog. For all intents and purposes, I think celebrities are a bunch of middle class morons who happened to fall upon fame and wealth because they were either a) favored with big tits or b) can make themselves cry on cue. (Daisy and I are blessed with both of these attributes. Where are our millions?) At some point in their journey from mediocrity to internationally irrelevant, someone issued them all (collectively) a license for weirdness.

I didn’t used to mind the weirdness. Tom Cruise wants to put his money in a tax shelter and call it religion? Fine. Follow that up with a critique of psychology as a legitimate medicine practice? He’s an asshole, but I didn’t give him enough credit to care. Fergie wants to pee-pee in her pants without a Huggies, then shower in champagne to cover it up? Have fun! But then these weird-ass movie stars decided to tell the world how to parent. That’s when I became annoyed.

First, we had Mayim Bialik telling us that we need to breastfeed our kids until they’re five. (Anyone else think of the movie Grown Ups when you hear that?!)  January Jones, of Mad Men fame, wants you to eat your own placenta after you deliver your afterbirth. (And I know that in some less civilized cultures, that’s acceptable, but I’m a middle class American. We don’t cannibalize our extraneous organs.) Now, Alicia Silverstone wants us to feed our children like we’re pigeons by chewing our food and spitting it into the waiting infant’s mouth. Oh, hell no.

Here’s my problem: for one, parenting is a completely individualistic practice. No two mothers are alike, and no two children are alike. Prescribing any parenting practice is risky business (haha, Tom Cruise joke!) because methods that worked in one family may fail in another, and who will the failing family blame? The person who offered the advice in the first place. Not a wise idea if your income is based on your likability. My other problem with this celeb-mommy-culture is that too many people put these assholes on a pedestal. For these people, anything a favorite celebrity spews from her mouth is scripture. Cameron Diaz wants me to exfoliate with llama fetus eyeballs? Sounds great! Jack Black suggests I huff Dorito Cheese dust to make my hair grow longer? Yum! So when the Hollywood-types tell you that you should cover your kid in olive juice every day to prevent AIDS, some ignorant imbecile will take that to heart and buy a Costco-sized jar of olives.

Weirdo celebrity parents: keep your strange-as-shit thoughts to yourself. If you want to name your kid Pilot Inspektor or Jermajesty, be my fucking guest. No skin off my back. But to promote your strange (and possibly harmful) parenting tactics to your unassuming, impressionable fan base is wrong. You’re fucking with a child’s well-being when you tell his parent to eat a lock of his hair every year on his birthday, or whatever unusual shit you do with your children. Just like with politics, Hollywood Freaks, keep your nose out of shit you don’t understand, and stick to acting/singing/slutting.

A Salute to the Chubsters at My Gym

19 Mar

This morning, while running on the elliptical machine at my gym, I was sandwiched between two rather large women. They were both working up a huge sweat, and after a little nosy snooping, I noticed that they were running on higher inclines and higher resistance levels than I was. It took every ounce of class in me not to lean over and give them each a high five. Here’s why:

If there’s anything America has an excess of, it’s victims and fatties. Often, these two characteristics are found within the same person. We love our McDonalds, our frozen dinners filled to the brim with preservatives, and our Lays potato chips. Americans live to eat, as opposed to many other people groups, who eat to live. We’re also a bunch of victims. We whine when our own decisions render us in bad circumstances and seek to blame everyone else for our misfortunes. How did we become so sue-happy? Because some asshole with no hand-eye coordination spilled some McDonalds (See? There it is again!) coffee on her lap. We’re the nation that reminds people that our overactive thyroid/bum knee/whatever prevents us from exercising and making healthy food choices. I loathe these people. My daddy, The Irreverent Reptile, and I, even have a game where we make fun of the Victimology of America.

But those plump women in the gym? They’re doing something about it. They’re not in line for the passive yoga class; they’re pumping iron in the free-weight section. They’re running like the cops are chasing ‘em on the treadmills. They’re taking control of their lives and opposing the victim culture so many people embrace.

You go, Chubby Chicks. You kick ass in kickboxing, and show me what’s up at the bench press. You continue defying stereotypes. Get rid of that fat, and show the world that you’re not just another statistic.

High fucking five!

(Oh, and I want to give a little shout out to the massively pregnant woman I saw there, too. I quit the gym at the beginning of my third trimester, but this bitch was running at full-speed with her tight little baby bump bouncing in rhythm to the music on her iPod. Rock on, Mommy!)

© Daisy and Violet 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Shrink Rap

16 Mar

Mental health is a funny thing. Your body could be operating at 100%, while you run five miles daily and eat nutritious meals, but if your mental health is imperfect, the rest of your world fails you.

I’ve been wondering why we have such a stigma against mental health treatments in our society. My husband and I are both in therapy (for different reasons), and we’re both medicated for what psychologically ails us. My family is completely supportive of our efforts to improve our mental health, just as they are of our efforts to lose weight, eat healthy foods, and exercise. Coming from a family where mental health is valued, I am shocked when I hear of the stigma that accompanies it in the rest of American society. I know my parents and siblings are more liberal than the norm when it comes to their perspectives on psychology and psychiatry, and I’m sure that is why I can’t comprehend how mainstream society perceives it.

What’s the problem, people? Why, as a culture, do we look down on people who treat their mental health with the same focus as they treat their physical health? We’re a society who will admonish a smoker for polluting his lungs, but we choose to look the other way when a loved one is trying to cope with depression, anxiety, or stress without a physician’s supervision.

I have the MyFitnessPal app. Dozens of friends send me encouraging comments online when I remain under my calorie intake goals for the day. When I joined a local gym, I got virtual high-fives all around. When I lose pounds, I’m rewarded with congratulations. Everyone wanted to hear the gory details of my graphic and painful labor and delivery, and congratulated me for pushing the kid out with strength and gusto. But when people find out I’m in therapy, and especially that I’m on medical leave from work to focus on my mental health treatments, they’re astonished. “Mental health isn’t real health – why did you use up all your sick days and take leave?” If you haven’t lived at the mercy of debilitating mental health, you can’t possibly understand.

I even quit breast-feeding for the sake of my mental health. Those of you who read my “Why I Quit Breastfeeding…and that’s OK!” post remember that I was struggling with internal and external triggers for depression after I had my baby. My choices were to either continue breast-feeding and try to fight my demons independently, or to resume my medication schedule and stop breast-feeding. (And yes, they were mutually-exclusive choices. Psych drugs are categorized as a Class 4, which means that they do effect fetuses and do transmit to baby through breast milk.) A stable, healthy mother is so much better for my child than a crazy mother with active mammary glands.

For those readers who are wondering if therapy is a good choice for you: it is. Whether you suffer from extreme depression symptoms or are simply passive-aggressive, therapy is an excellent way to exorcise those problems and get to the root of your troubles, thereby extinguishing them. Contrary to popular belief, therapy IS for everybody. Shit, even my therapist goes to therapy. We all come with baggage. (Reminds me of that episode of How I Met Your Mother where people are carrying around suitcases that say things like “Daddy Issues” or “Oral Fixation” lol) Some people have more problems than others, but I don’t know of one perfectly stable, confident, mentally- flawless person. Insurance is a bitch, and these treatments can be costly, so research what your insurance will and will not cover. Did you know that in many states, Medicaid even covers mental health treatments?

Before you resume passing judgment on those of us who take charge of our mental health, why don’t you check out the benefits that therapy has for yourself? You may find, like I did, that you love it. To those of you who are already working toward psychological Nirvana, mazel tov. You’re making a fantastic choice for your life and the lives of those around you.

© Daisy and Violet 2012. All Rights Reserved.

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