Got a call from Newsweek magazine

Do you know what phrases or words brings up your blog or actual name in a search?

Now I've written about some of the stranger phrases that brought folks to my site. Seriously some strange things.

So when I answered the phone at work last week to hear a reporter from Newsweek on the other end of the line, I didn't think anything of it. My organization has been working on issues around foreclosure and I thought he was looking for some information. I started to mentally get the facts in place and was ready to explain the importance of addressing this critical issue before entire neighborhoods start to collapse.

"Are you Allison Staton who writes Soccer Mom in Denial?"

I froze. Then laughed. A loud from the belly laugh.

"You're kidding right?"

He then went on to explain he was writing a piece about sugar cereals being served for school lunch. He Googled sugar cereal for lunch and guess what?

I'll give you a minute to open a new browser and see for yourself.





Done?





Yup - I'M THE FIRST ITEM LISTED!

Suddenly Painted Maypole sticking in various symbols into the name of the opera production she is performing in seems very sensible to me.

I arranged to speak with the reporter after work and we talked about what had happened last year at the parochial school. I then go on to sing the praises of the public school my children attend this year because the kids and I chose the food days before it is served so there is no a la carte temptations for 1st graders. Fifth graders I can deal with. I think 7 years old is too young to ask "do you want carrots or Coco Puffs"?

He then tells me how he contacted the lone person who commented on that particular post, the wonderful Maggie from Ramblings of Maggie. She was one of the first to "find" me. She told him a really funny story but you have to read her blog to see what she said.

But suddenly I went from being irate about schools giving young children sugar for a meal to being defensive that he thought I had only one commenter. I mean I've worked my way up to 9 or 10! Some days I get close to 30! And I have another blog too! I mean I've got a presence here in the cyberworld.

Here I have an opportunity to wax poetic about the importance of childhood eating patterns, healthy food choices, support for school nutrition and health education. And I, a trained media spokesperson, start blabbering about my blog.

Psst - the article is in this week's Newsweek (October 15th).

Packed and ready

We're leaving tomorrow for vacation.

A two week plus vacation. This is the longest we will be away as a family, ever.

It's funny because as a family I couldn't be happier to take this vacation now. The boys' last day of kindergarten is tomorrow. We will attend their celebration concert, eat a cookie and have some apple juice. Then we will all run out of the building, screaming and tearing their school uniforms off as we replace them with Hawaiian shirts. We'll jump in the packed van - complete with bikes hanging off the back - head to the highway and get to our beach house in a different part of the country. A part of the country where everyone calls you "baby" - even in your late 30's. A part of the country where they know how to properly use "y'all".

Plus the kids are ready themselves. The boys have been packed for four days. Our daughter started to sob tonight when - standing in her pajamas, beach hat and sandals - I informed her it was bedtime and we couldn't leave until the morning. You would've thought I'd ripped her heart out. She's ready to go NOW! She is currently sound asleep with her sandals on her feet and beach hat mashed on her face.

But for my new job this couldn't come at the worst time. Everyone at the office is being so incredibly supportive about it. I told them during the interview that we had put down money on this house and they were fine with it. But 7 weeks into this job I've got projects I'm excited about, crises that I want to pay attention to and new relationships I want to keep developing. It will be hard not to check my work email or call in for updates. But I need to honor this time with my family.

Then there is this little side project of mine. The one that you all are a part of (yes, even you lurkers who don't comment). By the end of each day I literally have 2-3 posts running around in my head. I see things that I want to photograph and share with everyone. But I'm also feeling less umph to find new sites to read. Don't get me wrong, I like new people, really, and will visit you if you let me know you came by (hint, hint). I like the crowd I'm hanging with and don't feel compelled to make it bigger on my own.

So imagine my surprise when I got an international phone call yesterday from someone who was worried that I missed my 5:30am blog visit. She noted I hadn't been on any blogs for, oh, about 12 hours! That is a sign telling me I need to lay low for a while. But it was nice to hear her voice. It's quite lovely. You should really hear it someday.

I'll post a photo or two. Maybe share a vignette. But don't be alarmed if you don't hear much from me over the next two plus weeks. I'm enjoying the beach with my family.

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And thanks to the person(s) who voted for my post in this month's Blog Exchange. I'm glad others agree that my dad really is awesome.

Train talk

While coming home from Philadelphia, one of my guys started telling me how he likes to make his friends laugh. He described doing silly things at his table and showed me an example of such silliness, complete with wild arm flailing and googly eyes. He talked with admiration of other students who fall off their chairs on purpose to make people laugh.

My little man. The performer.

So we talked about how much fun it is to make people laugh, smile and feel good. He admitted he liked people watching him do silly things. I told him there were times to be silly - recess, free play - and times to be respectful - like when his poor 25-year-old teacher is trying to teach 20 kids. The idea that my guy is one of the class clowns has me mortified.

But I promised him we would find different places for him to perform. I'm not becoming some frightening stage mother with visions of fame and fortune (o.k. - maybe a Tony award). Just a parent trying to channel a kid's energy. And it's that time of year when you have to find summer camps. I'll hold that over his head.

"You can't go to theater camp unless you behave in school!"

Think that'll work for the next three months?

Smell of beer

"Mom! They're putting in new soap in all the bathrooms at school!" yells one boy because that is the only way they seem to communicate. By yelling.

"Really?"

"Yeah! Foam soap!" Yells the other even though I am three feet away and there is not another sound in the house. Although with their volume you would think they were trying to talk over a jack-hammer. In the living room.

"Yeah! And it smells like beer!"

This is when I look at my 6 1/2 year old sons and ask "How do you know what beer smells like? Someone told you that."

And this is where I am grateful that they can't pull one over me yet. Their eyes cannot lie. They were clearly in a bathroom today with a friend who made that statement. Maybe he was were trying to think of the yuckiest smell. Or the one that would make grown-ups upset. But they didn't want to rat on their buddy.

Pause.

One finally yells "Daddy did!! He let us smell his beer!"

Really?

Too bad your daddy's alcohol of choice is bourbon.

More tales from parochial school

One of my sons keeps asking me how Jesus died. He asks how he ended up on the cross and how they got him away from Mary and Joseph. Its been going on for days. The same questions, the same responses.

Finally, while in the tub taking a bath, he asked again about Jesus being taken from his parents. Then it dawned on me, he thought Jesus was hung on the crucifix as a baby.

"Honey, Jesus was a grown man when he was hung. I know it is only a few months between Christmas and Easter but he got to grow up and become an adult."

He visibly relaxed in the bath and hasn't asked again.

I'm looking forward to when this year is over. Then we can focus on living, not obsessing about death.

Sugar cereal for lunch

I'm bordering on apopletic.

Every Wednesday I give each boy $1.75 to buy pizza and milk at school. While they think this is a huge treat, the treat is really for me because it means one day a week that I don't have to make their lunch.

Tonight when I picked them up, they proudly announced they had cereal for lunch. Not Raisin Bran or Muslix. No. One guy announced he had Cocoa Crisps while the other had Lucky Charms. Dry. They drank chocolate milk. No fruit. No vegetable. Pure sugar cereal. With chocolate milk.

This parochial school has to be kidding. There is an obesity problem in this country and they are serving Cocoa Crisps as a meal?

So, while I commend my guys for their honestly, there was no treat after dinner. They had more than enough sugary treats for one day. They had extra helpings of green beans and plain skim milk. I am writing a note to both of their teachers and plan to complain to the principal. The school is suppose to be part of the team to help kids learn good eating habits.

I will be eating my dinner after they all go to bed. It'll be my favorite. A bowl of Mini-Wheats. With plain skim milk. Then I'll write the letters.

Benefits of uniforms

While I am not a convert to parochial schools, uniforms are good. I don't have to worry about their outfits during the week. Turquoise polo shirts emblazoned with the school name and a cross paired with navy pants.

However, uniforms are also lousy. They are expensive (two pairs of pants, two shirts, a set of gym clothes - all times two). I try to make an outfit last two days before washing. That means still having to pull together a respectable outfit for extended day so there is a chance the boys will come home with uniforms that are only a little dirty.

This is not the exchange I wanted this morning while furiously making lunch.

"Mom is the other short sleeve shirt clean?"

"No. Why?"

"I dropped the slime from the coffin and tried to wipe the dirt off."

"With your shirt?"

He stood before me with a huge chunk of Halloween slime (given to him by his soccer coach) sticking on his shirt. I brushed and rubbed off as much as I could while informing he cannot play with slime again until he is 27 years old.

He went to school with some orange substance still on his shirt.