So what would happen if TIME magazine showed up and asked me for photographic evidence of all my parenting beliefs and practices? Would I pass attachment parenting muster?

HELL NO. In fact, they’d discover that I am nothing but a big bundle of contradictions, and why I refuse to claim adherence to any particular parenting style label, other than This Works, Good Enough.

Below, a slideshow of some of the many parenting (and lifestyle) contradictions and compromises that work, are good enough, etc:

I cloth diaper...but I always have emergency disposable diapers and wipes.

Look, our washer died this week. Last month our utility sink clogged. Before that, Ike got a rash only Desitin could solve. Sometimes I forget to buy the right detergent. Sometimes...I'm just lazy.

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Yesterday I read this amazing post by Jane Roper, right here on Babble, about the “missing voices” in the (stupid, tiresome, dear God please talk about something else already) mommy wars: The disadvantaged women who have no choices, no safety net, no options when it comes to raising their children. The women who are just desperately paddling to stay above water, and to whom our incessant bickering about breast vs. formula, homemade organic baby food vs. baby-led weaning, staying home vs. working must sound so steeped in unknown, foreign levels of privilege. They probably think we’re all from Mars.

But you know, the nice part of Mars. Near the country club.

I read it and raised an EFF YEAH fist, and took a few moments to really, truly, deeply appreciate how good I have it. I’ve been complaining a little lately about…oh, horribly spoiled things, brought on by my accepting of a consulting job that BOOM, doubled the number of hours I work in a week, literally overnight. Oh my God, I’m so bu-u-sy. I don’t have enough childcare hours, I’m working at night when the kids are in bed, I have in-person meetings to get to and dress for and I’m tied to my phone and my email more than ever and gaaaaahhhhh I have deadlines leaking out of my ears.

Meanwhile, I’m still working from home in my chosen profession, providing financial security for myself and college funds for my kids, while still making their breakfasts every morning, nursing my baby, meeting my oldest son at the bus stop every afternoon, shuttling them as-needed to whatever extra-curricular activities they want, and generally having the most perfect situation possible for myself and my family. We compost and cloth diaper and eat organic and also have premium cable and an Xbox.

Who’s got two thumbs and a ton of white privilege? THIS GIRL.

And how does this manifest, most of the time? Well, I felt a little guilty for buying (organic, HFCS-and-preservative-free) bread at the grocery store this week instead of baking a loaf from scratch. And then really guilty when the baby started refusing to nurse at bedtime, dropping my breastfeeding status down yet another notch.

And I felt terrible this morning when Noah misunderstood something I said and thought that I was going to pick him up directly from school, in the car, instead of meeting him at the bus stop. There were tears of disappointment, because apparently getting picked up from school in the car is so, so much better than riding the bus and walking home with me the rest of the way. Please, Mommy. Pleeeeease pick me up at school in the car.

I can’t pick him up from school in the car today. It’s complicated, but I can’t. His school is all of five minutes away, but I need him to ride the bus and arrive home 20 minutes later.

I fully realize these are silly, ridiculous things to feel guilty about. I’m embarrassed to even type them out, since they are steeped in that pesky privilege thing and probably all sound fake-humble-braggy. They aren’t monopolizing my thoughts by any means, because WHATEVER, SELF, but if I try make it through a full day without having to shake off at least one zap of a guilt zinger for letting things land beneath my super-high-perfectionist standards…I can’t.

I am so, so tired of the mommy wars, and can wind up and spew out a zillion logical arguments about how pointless they are and why we all need to chill the freak out. Ugh! Stop judging each other! Start looking at the world outside of yourself!

And yet here I am, waging the same war inside my own brain, shooting miniature guilt-arrows at myself. And I have no idea how to enforce a cease-fire in there.

Read more original flavor Amalah
Follow her on Twitter
Check out her writing at Mamapop / Alphamom

More from Amalah’s West:

I’m Taking A Stand For Once In My Life

I Don’t Know How I Do It

Exhibit 4,502,209 On Why Mothers Can’t Win

Confession: I am writing about a video that I have not watched. That I will not watch. That I CAN’T watch.

OH HI THERE I'M A CHICKEN.

Now, I’ve seen a lot of messed-up things on the Internet. I’ve seen all the shock sites and videos, I’ve laughed at truly inappropriate jokes and images, I’ve backed away slowly from the weird and unsettling underbelly of the web, like ooooookaaaaay, let’s go bleach our brains with some harmless non-stop nyan cat for awhile.

But I can’t watch this one. I could barely make it through the descriptions on Strollerderby without having a visceral reaction of anger and sadness.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about yet: A dad sent his 10-year-old son with autism to school with a recording device in his pocket. His son came home with six and a half hours’ worth of audio recordings of special education teachers and aides bullying their students. Name calling, cruel joking, open disregard for the children’s Individualized Education Plans and parents, and making them cry.

I just…I CAN’T EVEN, YOU GUYS.

I have a son with special needs. He spends much of his school day in a special education classroom with a teacher and two aides, just like the little boy in this video. I have no reason to suspect that there is ANYTHING amiss at his school — certainly no reason to send him to school wearing a wire. But oh. Good God.

Several years ago I sat in a sensory gym with an occupational therapist from our country’s Early Intervention program. It was the end of another painfully frustrating session, as my son refused to have anything to do with her or the equipment or any of the activities she wanted him to try. His needs were fairly profound back then — he’s come soooooo far — so it made sense to me that he was going to struggle and fight anything that seemed remotely challenging or upsetting to him. And the therapist had admittedly struggled to establish a rapport with him. He was also for the most part, non-verbal and dependent on sign language beyond a few basic words.

“I don’t think this behavior is sensory-based at all,” she told me. “I honestly just think he’s a B-R-A-T.”

I stared at her and blinked.

“It’s probably because you’re here. Maybe we should try a session without you in the room.”

I blinked again. Yeah. Sure! I’m completely down with leaving my two-and-a-half-year-old who can’t talk yet with a woman who just called — sorry, SPELLED — him a brat because he won’t cooperate with her treatment plan. Who clearly has BOATLOADS of patience and understanding for him. That sounds like a fantastic idea.

I opted not to go with that. Instead we ceased the one-on-one OT sessions altogether (not necessarily the right call long-term, but I was a total rookie back then) and I moved him to a mock-preschool-type group therapy with a different occupational therapist.

I’ve never spent much time thinking about what could have happened if I sent my son to private sessions with that woman — a woman who had the giant balls to call my kid a name TO MY FACE, so God knows what she’d say to a small, nonverbal child who was throwing a tantrum or something. Maybe nothing. Maybe she was just having a bad day and didn’t think I would take that word so personally. Maybe she had no idea what it was like to be in my shoes — a first-time mother with a small, challenging toddler, navigating a confusing world of developmental delays and acronyms and therapies and the fear of an autism diagnosis hanging over her head. A mother who LOVED that child, that frustrating, confusing child, more than life itself, and who was just trying to get him help.

I complained to our caseworker and wrote EI a letter, and later heard that I was not the first parent to suggest that she was unsuitable to work with that young age group. I don’t actually know what happened to her, if she left EI, if she went back to her former position with the school district, or to a private center, or to work with adults, or what. Nearly four years later, that remains my Worst Story To Tell, which is pretty good, considering. I don’t want to use the word “lucky” because it should have nothing to do with luck. It should just be the way things are.

I cannot watch Stuart Chaifetz’s video about what happened to his sweet, wonderful son. But I am so proud of him for posting it, all the same.

If you can watch, please do so. And even if you can’t, please read about the school district’s unsatisfactory response to the situation. Sign his petition on Change.org, visit the website No More Teachers/Bullies, and follow Aikan’s story on Facebook.

Read more original flavor Amalah
Follow her on Twitter
Check out her writing at Mamapop / Alphamom

More from Amalah’s West:

The Food Awakening

Organics For Beginners

Fake Interviews With People I Hope I’ll Never Meet: Crazy Sports Dad

Two weeks ago today, almost down to the hour, the kids were still at school, the baby was still in the care of the sitter, and I was supposed to be working, but let my husband talk me into playing hooky and grabbing lunch and taking a side trip to a tattoo parlor for a nose piercing — YOU KNOW THE USUAL.

I’d been singularly obsessed with getting my nose pierced for all of a week before I did it, much like I showed up at the hair salon two years ago and declared my intention of dyeing my blond hair red. If I’m given the chance to overthink something or second-guess myself, it’s just not ever going to happen. I’m a certain athletic shoe’s slogan, personified.

Sometimes this impulsive decision-making process serves me well (I love having red hair!), and sometimes … not so much. (In college I tagged along with a friend to a tattoo parlor and suddenly decided to get the first of two rather regrettable tattoos right there on the spot.)

A few people who know me well — after expressing their approval of my sudden display of bad-assery — did ask me what, in particular, brought this impulse on. I’m not a very good rebel. When I was 18 I got another set of holes in my earlobes and then immediately regretted it because my mom was going to be so mad at me, you guys. I didn’t taste my first alcoholic beverage until several months after my high school graduation, and even that wildness was brought on by surviving a serious car wreck that made me realize that I MIGHT DIE BEFORE I TURN 21, BRING ON THE BUD LIGHT.  In college I really, REALLY wanted my belly button pierced but was too chicken to do it, and then my first baby turned me (and my stomach) into the saggy baggy elephant lady so that was the end of that. And also: jobs, working, professionalism, etc.

So why did I suddenly want to get my nose pierced? Well, honestly … I just needed to not feel so … old. And so … mommy. So very, very much mommy.

I’ve been making a lot of jokes at my own frumpy expense lately — har har, I weigh as much as I did the day I gave birth to Ike, I look like an unwashed oil slick at the bus stop every morning, everybody is totes fooled by my yoga pant uniform and thinks I work out, OH AMALAH YOU SO HILARIOUSLY PATHETIC.

But the truth is, it gets to me every once in awhile. I want to get back in better shape. I want to look pretty. I want to wear cute clothes and not feel out of place shopping for them in stores where I realize I’m the oldest person there. I want to take care of myself, in between all the care-taking I do for my children. I just … don’t, for a million different cliched reasons that I used to swear I’d never use, once I became a mom.

Getting a small silver stud stuck in my face didn’t necessarily solve any of those particular issues — I barely got my pants buttoned this morning and  I’m not wearing any makeup and I just noticed ugly scaly dry patches on my arms, since I’ve been neglecting to take 30 freaking seconds to slather some damn lotion on them regularly — but … it helped. It’s a tiny raised middle finger to the toll that pregnancies and exhaustion and worries have taken on the rest of my face and body. I’m still fun and impulsive and above all — I’m still me.

(alsomyhusbandthinksit’sawfulsexyohyesthattoo.)

Read more original flavor Amalah
Follow her on Twitter
Check out her writing at Mamapop / Alphamom

More from Amalah’s West:

Stay-At-Home House Arrest

You As You

Solitude: The Ultimate Parental Luxury

I’m a pretty adventurous eater. Probably a very adventurous eater, compared to the way I grew up eating, in the land of chain restaurants and very-well-done meats, where sweet-and-sour chicken at the Chinese restaurant was as exotic as it got and canned tuna fish was the only “seafood” I considered acceptable.

I was a picky kid who grew up into a picky adult (“Can I get the kids’ chicken fingers entree in a grown-up size?”)…who one day got dragged to an Indian restaurant with some friends and had a life-changing epiphany of the OMG NOM NOM NOM variety. Food was supposed to taste like stuff! Trying new things was fun! Eating like a six-year-old in your 20s is not charming or quirky…it’s actually annoying as hell. Grow up and pass the stinky cheese plate, self!

However, there are still food items that I’ve never been able to fully get over my childhood revulsions to. I cannot stand anything about raw onions — taste, texture, and just chopping one triggers a burning/crying/nose-running reaction so severe that I usually have to stop and leave the room several times. Cooked? Fine, fantastic. But not raw. (Shudders.)

And while I’ve learned to appreciate the yummy, earthy flavor of mushrooms, I still don’t really like biting into them. Oh yeah, dump them in the sauce or marinade or puree ‘em in my soup or whatever. But if you stick them in a whole or semi-whole state on my plate, I will probably eat around them with the skill level of a toddler trying to suck up every drop of cheese sauce while leaving the steamed broccoli.

And yet one of my absolute favorite baby-f00d recipes is All About The Mushrooms. I don’t want to pass along my neurotic texture issues, you see. I assume my kids will probably all develop at least one lasting food quirk on their own, and they don’t need me to make it worse by never serving particular foods that I personally deem “yucky.” (My dad hated all fish and seafood — besides the aforementioned canned tuna fish — and I grew up without ever tasting any of it. Salmon, shrimp…not even a single breaded fish stick. I was irrationally terrified of trying fish for ages, and naturally found it incredibly foreign-tasting and strange when I finally did.) (I’ve since gotten over it, thank goodness, because YUM MARYLAND CRABS.)

So I make this barley-and-mushroom recipe for my babies as soon as they’re ready for chunkier foods, and it’s always been a hit. Which always blows my mind because babies? Eating mushrooms? Gerber sure as hell doesn’t offer them up as a good stage 2 or 3 option, but there you have it. Exhibit A of why the best foods for your baby don’t have to come out of a jar, but from whatever you can dream up using whatever you have in the fridge. Whatever you like to eat. Or in this case, what you don’t, but wish you did.

(And I have at least one long-term success story: Ezra grew up eating this recipe and now I can feed him all the mushrooms that I won’t eat from my own plate. He loves them! Freak.)

Farro with Mushrooms for Baby

(For about 9 months and up, depending on if you choose to puree it or not)
(Adapted from Cooking For Baby by Lisa Barnes)

1/2 cup of farro, spelt or pearl barley

1 tablespoon of unsalted butter

1 or 2 cloves of garlic, minced

6 ounces of mushrooms, your choice (cremini, shiitake, chanterelle, portobello, etc. Or go for a mix!)

1 cup of stock (I use a homemade veggie broth, but anything without added sodium works), plus another 1/4 cup in reserve

1/3 cup water

1/2 teaspoon minced fresh thyme (or 1/8 teaspoon dried)

Salt and pepper to taste

If you plan to puree this one at all, just chop the mushrooms finely. A couple pulses in the food processor will leave it chunky but manageable. (Add water as needed.) If you’ve got an experienced eater (*raises hand*) and don’t want to bother, mince the mushrooms into very small pieces for a uniform texture.

Toast the grains in a dry saucepan over medium heat. Shake/stir often until brown, about three to five minutes. Transfer to mixing bowl.

Add butter to pan and melt, add garlic and saute for about a minute. Add mushrooms and cook until they release their liquid (you’ll know when it happens), about three minutes.

Add farro, stock, water, and thyme. Season with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce to medium-low. Cover and simmer until farro is tender, about 35-40 minutes.

NOTE: The cooking time varies a lot, depending on what kind of grain you use. So be ready to start taste-testing around 30 minutes. I’ve also found that sometimes I need to add more liquid if it cooks down too quickly and the grains are still too firm. Thus, the extra 1/4 cup of stock I mentioned. You can add water instead, but I think it tastes better with stock.

Serve whole or mush up with a food mill or processor, or do a half-and-half mixture of puree and whole. It also — with a touch more salt — makes an excellent side dish for the rest of the family. You know, if they like mushrooms and stuff. I won’t judge.

A big thanks to YoBaby for sponsoring this campaign.  Click here to see more of the discussion.

Read more original flavor Amalah
Follow her on Twitter
Check out her writing at Mamapop / Alphamom

More from Amalah’s West:

Organic For Beginners

Weekend/Weekday Toaster Pancakes

The Food Awakening

Amalah: Oh, sweet Jeebus.

Kim Kardashian: Heeeeeey!

Amalah: For the sake of accuracy and fairness, Kim, I should probably tell you that while I do know a shocking amount of information about you and your life, I’ve gleaned it all without ever watching a minute of your shows or even — now that I think about it — seeing actual footage of you speaking at all. I think I saw a clip of you on The Soup once? Other than that, my only real sense of your voice and speaking style comes from the Saturday Night Live impression. So this Fake Interview may be even Faker than usual.

Kim Kardashian: I like your purrrrse.

Amalah: That’s…my baby, actually.*

Kim Kardashian: So where do you keep your monnnney?

Amalah: *lifts diaper bag up*

Kim Kardashian: *recoils in horror*

Amalah: What? I mean, yeah, it’s a little utilitarian and stuff but…

Kim Kardashian: It’s just so real. Kind of backpacky? The white swirly design is nice.

Amalah: Thanks. Although I think that might be old spit-up. I should…dab that off, probably.

Kim Kardashian: My sister has a baby. I held him once! Kind of like a dog. But that’s more of a Paris Hilton thing.

Amalah: Yes! I know that. I also know that she is pregnant again and her boyfriend looks like Christian Bale in American Psycho and I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW I KNOW SO MUCH ABOUT YOU PEOPLE.

Kim Kardashian: Kayne and I are just really good friends.

Amalah: I’ll BET you are.

Kim Kardashian: No, I mean the rumors that we’re dating. His name starts with a K so it’s perfect and whatever.

Amalah: Yeah, no, I got that part.

Kim Kardashian: Weren’t you supposed to like, be asking me questions and stuff?

Amalah: Yeah, I was…I just… I’m having trouble thinking of things to ask that I don’t already know the answer to. That I don’t already know about you. THAT’S how “Kept Up With” you are, so to speak.

Kim Kardashian: Thanks for watching! *air kisses*

Amalah: But I don’t watch! Have never watched! And yet somehow you and your mom and your sisters have managed to invade the pockets of my subconscious and GAH I KNOW TOO MUCH.

Kim Kardashian: *smiles creepily*

Amalah: *detects slightest sound of whirring computer processors coming from her face*

Amalah: Whoa. Are you a Cylon? An android? A robot controlled by a tiny miniature alien inside your skull tasked with protecting a tiny miniature universe or something?

Kim Kardashian: Sorry, that’s like, four seasons’ worth of plot points away. We have to do a pregnancy bump watch storyline with Kanye first before we get to that.

Amalah: Oh, I see. Well, good luck, I guess.

Kim Kardashian: We’re just really good friends, you know.

*That joke technically belongs to the lovely and talented Mira Jacob, who is actually the person who came up with the idea for Fake Interviews, and who wrote a better version of the baby-purse joke while talking about Snooki. I LOVE YOU MIRA LIKE I LOVE CHEESY GRITS WITH RUNNY EGGS ON TOP.

Read more original flavor Amalah
Follow her on Twitter
Check out her writing at Mamapop / Alphamom

More from Fake Interviews from Amalah’s West:

Crazy Sports Dad
Reality TV Pageant Mom
Back Issues Of Martha Stewart Living Magazine

So I was SO SUPER EXCITED to share this recipe with you guys. I was also so super confident in this recipe’s awesomeness that I took step-by-step pictures of the process, even though it was technically the first time I’d ever attempted it. Who needs recipe testing? Not me! And this is why I do not have cookbook publishers knocking on my door. I mean, there are probably a bunch of other reasons for that, but still.

They can’t all be home runs, is my point.

My poor baby is on antibiotics for an ear infection, so I’ve been trying to negate some of the side effects with powdered probiotics and lots of good old-fashioned yogurt. He loves yogurt straight from the container just fine, but I was feeling a bit itchy to come up with something a little more fun and creative. Some kind of yogurt-based finger food, since he’s such a big fan of self-feeding.

I was recently sent some free samples of an organic version of those Gerber Graduates Yogurt Melts, but was dismayed to see that the added sugar content in some of the flavors was OFF THE CHARTS. I might as well have been feeding him M&Ms. And they were pretty expensive to boot, for little single-ounce packages.

So I poked around the Internet in hopes of finding a recipe for making a homemade version, using just yogurt and fruit. And indeed, I found several sites and bloggers singing the praises of simply freezing regular yogurt in bite-sized drops. Hey! I can do that!

I mixed a six-ounce container of blueberry yogurt with another six ounces or so of plain, whole-milk yogurt, then added a half cup of frozen blueberries.

Pulsed until smooth and creamy. I tasted it and success! Tart yet perfectly sweet, without the need to add any sweeteners at all. Ike devoured an entire bowl of it right off the bat, but I still had plenty left over to make my brilliant idea.

I lined a small baking sheet with parchment paper and used a cake-decorating bag and frosting tip to make adorable little drops.

By the second baking sheet I was really getting the hang of it — and starting to dream of making several pastel, egg-shaped versions to hide in the Easter eggs, of taking some to the neighbors as gifts, of moving to Vermont and starting a homemade baby food empire, etc. — but then realized I’d stupidly used a baking sheet that was ENTIRELY TOO BIG TO FIT IN MY FREEZER.

The first sheet fit, and after the yogurt seemed sufficiently frozen, I offered them to the kids. This photo is of Ezra reaching excitedly for a Yogurt Cookie. Not pictured: His horror and disgust at the reality of frozen yogurt bites. Cold yet melty, crunchy yet creamy, like the world’s most pointless popsicle.

Also not pictured: Noah cautiously accepting one and then FREAKING THE HELL OUT when it immediately started to melt and got all over his fingers gaaaahhhhh mother what have you doooonnnnnneee to meeeeee.

Now, I knew these weren’t freeze-dried so they would eventually melt, and mostly serve as an at-home, non-portable snack. But what none of the recipes I’d come across mentioned is HOW QUICKLY they would melt. I couldn’t even get them off the ice-cold baking sheet fast enough. The instant warm little fingers touched them, they turned goopy and slippery and messy. Longer freezing time, maybe? Perhaps they’d dry out a bit more, eventually? (I froze these for about 24 hours.) A too-warm house? I don’t know. I tried moving them from the baking sheet into a freezer bag as quickly as I possibly could and still ended up with a bag of…well, lumpy, sticky, semi-solid yogurt.

But the good news is…

THE BABY LOVED THEM. He was a bit taken aback by the coldness and the texture at first, but once he tasted the melty fruity deliciousness he was sold, and started chowing down on them. He probably would have eaten the entire tray, if I could have kept them from melting so freaking fast.

Of course, I also needed to hose him down after breakfast.

A big thanks to YoBaby for sponsoring this campaign.  Click here to see more of the discussion. (And yes, Ike’s wearing a bib they sent me. Total coincidence I swear, but hey! Thanks for the bib, YoBaby. It was certainly a lot more necessary than I realized.)

Read more original flavor Amalah
Follow her on Twitter
Check out her writing at Mamapop / Alphamom

More from Amalah’s West:

Organic For Beginners

Weekend/Weekday Toaster Pancakes

The Food Awakening

Amalah: Hello again! I’m SUPER excited about this week’s fake interview, you guys, because instead of inventing some fuzzy composite of a mostly-fictional person, I’ve gone and booked a real live celebrity! Martha Stewart has agreed to come to my home and give me some organizing/decorating advice. And by that I mean I just found a back issue of Martha Stewart Living magazine under the couch and there’s a photo of her on the cover.

Martha Stewart: Great style at home! Ideas for every room! Martha’s favorite sandwiches!

Amalah: Oh, awesome. I’m glad you’re as excited about this as I am. Because I could really use some help getting organized.

Martha Stewart: Create your dream craft room in a single weekend!

Amalah: Wait, craft room? Is that…a thing? That people have? I was hoping more for advice about the living room, but…

Martha Stewart: Wallpapering shelves adds a pop of colorful personality that can easily be extended via handmade lampshades!

Amalah: Again, if we could maybe dial back the ambition a little bit. See, my kids have a ton of ugly plastic toys and since I can’t wallpaper the exersaucer, do you have tips for families about finding style amid the Fisher Price chaos?

Martha Stewart: Saturday morning project: Colorful hand-cut stencils make organizing your kids’ toy drawers easy and adorable.

Amalah: Ooh! I like it! So I just need to buy…drawers?

Martha Stewart: (Well, yeah. It’s the first thing on the supply list. “Drawers.”)

Amalah: Hmm. Okay, two problems, right off the bat. One, I think I would need approximately 16 dozen of these “drawers” to make a dent in our clutter. Two, I am not confident in my ability to sketch and cut my own whimsical toy-shaped stencils.  The last time my kid asked me to draw a picture of a train he took one look at it, patted me on the arm and said, “That’s okay, Mommy. Daddy will be home soon. He’ll know what to do.”

Martha Stewart: Festive ideas for the Fourth of July, plus the perfect beachfront dinner.

Amalah: Why are you changing the subject? We haven’t even talked about the Legos yet. Oh my God, the Legos.

Martha Stewart: This alfresco summer lobster menu really brightens up a boring steamed lobster in a way that is sure to delight your guests.

Amalah: I’m starting to remember why I didn’t renew my subscription.

Martha Stewart: Take a tour of Martha’s Bedford kitchen, page 48.

Amalah: Wah!

Martha Stewart: Mismatched wicker baskets from Ikea embrace an eclectic, laid-back style, and a green garbage bag of quarantined stuffed animals is a playful reference to the lice outbreak at your child’s kindergarten…wait WHAT?

Amalah: HA HA I CAN MAKE YOU SAY ANYTHING I WANT. THIS INTERVIEW IS OVER. NOW I’M GOING TO WATCH DIY NETWORK WHILE EATING ICE CREAM ON THE COUCH.

Read more original flavor Amalah
Follow her on Twitter
Check out her writing at Mamapop / Alphamom

More from Fake Interviews from Amalah’s West:

Crazy Sports Dad
Reality TV Pageant Mom

Lemme really quickly address a couple great questions you guys left in the comments recently:

Jen asked: Could you share where you started doing your research and the types of things you read? We are in the “before” part that you talked about – eating out, lots of packaged things, etc. I feel guilty about it and I hate having to feed the kids b/c I feel like every meal is just me failing but I don’t know where to start to understand *why* I am feeling guilty and why all the stuff you mentioned (red dyes and HFCS and parabens(???)) are bad. Is there like, a beginners guide to this?

There’s certainly no shortage of information out there. And a lot of it (on both sides) is biased, inflammatory, misleading or just plain wrong. It’s definitely hard to suss out your sources sometimes. Random food blogger on the Internet with a ton of self-diagnosed food-related illness? Some quack on TV who claims you can cure cancer with beet juice and supplements? The FAQ section on a website for the Corn Refiners Association or some soy industry lobbying firm? I’ll take all of those places with some grains of salt, please.

But here’s where *I* started, and how *our family* got to where we are now. Two books and a movie! Obviously I’ve done a lot more reading and research and stuff since, but if you’re interested in the whys and hows and where-to-starts, I think these are quite good:

The Omnivore’s Dilemma, by Michael Pollan: The whole push for local, humane and sustainable food goes beyond trendy marketing by Whole Foods — or it should, anyway. This book is a wonderful, balanced look at WHY where our food comes from is important, for our own health but also for our species and the planet. Why sustainable farming practices matter in a big-picture way, why we should care about the lives of the animals we eat, all from the perspective of of someone who really loves food and loves to eat. You’ll feel educated and empowered, not shamed. (I actually recommend any of Pollan’s books, but this is the first one I read. There’s a kids’ version too, for older readers.)

The Unhealthy Truth, by Robyn O’Brien: Now this one gets into the nitty-gritty about the crap we feed our children, often without realizing it. Allergens, misleading ingredient labels, genetically modified foods, HFCS, artificial dyes, all that. This book will light a fire under your butt to take control of what you feed your family back from Big Food and all the horrible processed crap they slap some Red 40 into and call “Froot Flavored.” And if you’ve got that deer-in-the-headlights feeling of not knowing where to start or what to change, the book includes a great buying/shopping guide, complete with specific brands and products to consider swapping. This is the book that turned me from a well-meaning, vague-ishly educated food shopper into someone who is incredibly passionate about what I put into my kids’ bodies. And we’re all happier and healthier for it, though I admit I may not be as much fun at dinner parties if you set me loose on this topic.

Food Inc. (available on Netflix Instant, Amazon OnDemand, etc.) Watching this documentary just made me MAD. In a good way! Everybody should watch this one, especially if you don’t get the outrage over factory farming and GMOs and all this talk about “Big Food.” I really enjoyed that it didn’t veer into crazy PETA-level propaganda or rely heavily on disgusting shock footage, but remained extremely educational and fascinating. Plus, my beloved Chipotle burrito chain gets a shout-out as a Big National Chain that’s managing to do things the right and responsible way. Mmmm, humanely-raised barbacoa.

Speaking of meat, Jo asked: We also try to buy organic, but my difficult issue is with meat. I try to buy organic meat, but it is sooo expensive. As a result, I’ve turned to my dirty hippy Moosewood Cookbook and have been cooking more vegetarian meals (slightly to the dismay of my carnivore husband, but they have all mostly been a hit). It just seems that a lot of meat is horribly produced in awful conditions and contains all kinds of bad additives. I’ve thought about going to a local butcher, but I am not an expert and am not sure this would be any better. I would like meat that is ethically raised and slaughtered, sustainable and not full of antibiotics and other weirdness. Do you have thoughts on this? Would love to know where you buy your meat?

It depends. Depends on the meat, depends on where we’re shopping. Usually the farmer’s market is our first choice. We have a couple “big” ones around here on the weekend that a whole bunch of small farms sell at. Some have gone through the (extensive, expensive) hoops to become certified organic, while others haven’t. But the non-certified farmers are usually more than happy to talk to you about their practices. (Most bring binders with photos and have websites and Open House days for visits.) So we can still get a sense that the animals are treated well, never given hormones, humanely slaughtered and that the meat isn’t full of fillers and pink slime or whatever the hell. I won’t buy Perdue at the Giant, but I will buy from a small farm upstate that might not be certified yet…but I know is still doing the right thing by their flock.

And those are basically the questions you can ask of any local butcher — who are his suppliers? Where is the meat coming from? How was it raised/fed/killed? Hormones? Antibiotics? Fresh ground with no fillers? Not all butchers are equal, of course, but the benefit from buying just one step closer to the source is that you’ll usually get better, more honest answers about what you’re buying than some random supermarket employee who might not even know what truck the ground beef came from.

And there’s something just…great about having a relationship with a butcher shop, fish market or farmer. An ownership of knowing more about where your food comes from, beyond the packages of styrofoam and plastic. I’m no longer squicked out at handling raw meat or confronting the fact that it was once a living, breathing thing. If I’m going to make the choice to be a carnivore (OM NOM NOM NOM BACON), I feel like I owe it to the animals to be respectful, caring and honest about the realities of their lives.

If we do need to spring for organic meat at a supermarket, we try to balance out the price difference by embracing cheaper cuts of meat. We do a TON of slow-cooker meals in our house, with stuff like brisket and stew meats and flank steaks and chili. We buy organic ground turkey or local bison over non-organic ground beef, packs of chicken thighs (or whole chickens) instead of just the skinless boneless breasts, etc. (I can de-bone a whole chicken now myself, thanks to Julia Child! It’s…definitely a skill I never thought I’d have.) (And yes, I’m always looking for great vegetarian meals — we eat meat-free several times a week as well, both for health and budget reasons.)

And since several commenters requested MOAR RECIPES, here’s one for the absolute best turkey meatballs EVER, for all your spaghetti-and-meatball fans out there. (And this is another “make a big batch and freeze” recipe — just drop frozen, uncooked meatballs in some sauce and simmer for 30 minutes or so.)

Spaghetti with Turkey Pesto Meatballs

(adapted from Bon Appetit via Epicurious)

One jar of your favorite tomato sauce (we love Mario Batali’s Marinara)
One pound ground turkey
1-1/4 cup whole wheat bread crumbs (more or less)
1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese
5-1/2 tablespoons of prepared jarred pesto (Trader Joe’s is EXCELLENT)
2 egg whites
1/2 teaspoon salt

One box of whole wheat spaghetti (we use De Boles whole wheat angel hair with jerusalem artichoke flour — it’s delicious)

Spread about an inch of pasta sauce in a large skillet. Mix turkey, cheese, pesto, egg whites and salt. Add the breadcrumbs about a half cup at a time — the amount you need really depends on the kind of pesto you use and how liquid/dry it is. Shape meatballs (we go about golf-ball sized, loosely formed) and arrange a single layer skillet. Spread remaining sauce over meatballs and bring to a gentle boil. Cover and reduce heat to medium-low and simmer for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Cook pasta, top everything off with a little more parmesan. Done!

A big thanks to YoBaby for sponsoring this campaign.  Click here to see more of the discussion.

Read more original flavor Amalah
Follow her on Twitter
Check out her writing at Mamapop / Alphamom

More from Amalah’s West:

Journey to the Center Of the Mall Santa Universe
I Don’t Know How I Do It
An Open Letter To Certain Random Strangers at the Grocery Store

Photo credit: AndersonCooper.com

Amalah: Welcome back to another exciting installment of Fake Interviews With People I Hope I’ll Never Meet, in which I pretend to sit down and chat with figments of my imagination. This week I am talking to a mother from Toddlers Wearing Tiaras While Tantrumming, or whatever that show is called. I don’t know. I’ve never actually watched it.

Reality TV Pageant Mom: …

Amalah: Oh, no worries! I totally did some research. Like, 10 years ago I saw that Living Dolls documentary and also I watched this on YouTube.

Amalah: I assume that pretty much sums it all up?

Reality TV Pageant Mom: Majaydelyn, get your shoes and put your fake teeth back in. We’re leaving.

Amalah: No! Wait! I swear, I’m not a hater. I actually think your show sounds amazing.

Reality TV Pageant Mom: Thank you. It’s truly been a wonderful experience for the world to see…

Amalah: Like Hoarders-level amazing! Like after I watch that show I have to go clean my fridge. Every. Time. I sense watching a marathon of the pageant shows would be like that. Only with more hugging of my children and continuing to resist the urge to hot-roller their hair.

Reality TV Pageant Mom: *scrolls through cell phone contacts, mumbling something about firing a booking agent*

Amalah: But hey, I’m not judging.

Reality TV Pageant Mom: Well, people really do have a lot of misconceptions about pageants. We’re only doing this because Majaydelynne WANTS to do this. She LOVES to do this.

Amalah: Hmm, so this YouTube clip of her screaming and crying while getting a spray-tan is…?

Reality TV Pageant Mom: Unfair editing. What you didn’t see is the part where MaJaidalyin got burned by a curling iron. But she’ll tell you it’s worth it, because she just really wants to be a star.

Amalah: You know, I don’t doubt that. When I was four years old, I wanted to be the world’s first female ballerina princess astronaut. My mom told me I needed pants under my tutu and sent me back outside to play.

Reality TV Pageant Mom: Listen, I’m not pushing her. I’m not exploiting her. I’m not living vicariously through her like every single one of the 10,528 comments on YouTube claim. I am helping Mayjadelynson achieve her dreams.

Amalah: Of being Miss America?

Reality TV Pageant Mom: Oh my goodness, that’s completely unrealistic. Hardly ANYONE becomes Miss America. And you’re supposed to use the money for college, or something. No, we’re aiming more for a reality-TV franchise of our own. Something like the Kardashians, maybe.

Amalah: …

Reality TV Pageant Mom: You’re judging. I can tell you’re judging.

Amalah: No, I’m not. Much. I guess I don’t quite get how — as genuinely fun as these pageants may be — you are able to ignore the glaring problems with encouraging little girls to seek fame for fame’s sake, to allow them to be judged (at sexualized, adult standards) on their looks? Why not insist she wait until she’s older to let her decide if being a “star” is what she wants, or to develop a talent that doesn’t involve parading around in a dress and makeup? Why put her on TV in a format that’s guaranteed to invite mockery and…wait, what’s that?

Reality TV Pageant Mom: Oh, just a little homemade something I make to keep her energy up.

Amalah: Your four-year-old…doesn’t have enough…energy? This is a problem that…exists?

Reality TV Pageant Mom: Oh, don’t worry. A little Red Bull mixed with Mountain Dew and a Pixie Stick will perk her right up!

Amalah: Okay. Now I’m judging.

Reality TV Pageant Mom: MacJadeLyneveahson! Come drink your go-go juice, baby!

Amalah: *sorts through notes* Hang on, could you tell me how to spell your daughter’s name?

Reality TV Pageant Mom: I have no earthly idea, anymore.

Amalah: And…we’re done here. Thanks.

(Got an idea/request for a future Fake Interview subject? Let me know!)

Read more original flavor Amalah
Follow her on Twitter
Check out her writing at Mamapop / Alphamom

More from Amalah’s West:

Fake Interviews With People I Hope I’ll Never Meet: Crazy Sports Dad
Journey to the Center Of the Mall Santa Universe
An Open Letter To Certain Random Strangers at the Grocery Store