Food and Exercise Edition, alternately titled Maybe I Will Feed Them Ratatouille


One of the joys of motherhood (if you believe the parenting magazines, and you shouldn’t) is giving your children the opportunity to expand their palates by providing a varied diet, and encouraging them to try new foods.  My children are spooked by such exotic fare as rice and mashed potatoes (the horrors!), but they are getting old enough to eat like real people, and I am TIRED TO MY BONES of chicken nuggets.  (I believe I’ve mentioned the concept of eating anything in a form labelled “nugget” strikes me as vastly unappealing, but WHAT DO I KNOW.)  Anyway, I have been trying to occasionally vary our dinners, and let’s just say the concept is not a popular one.

Last night I decided to make Italian sausage with linguini in a red pepper cream sauce.  (Dear Safeway:  It’s fine that you charge six dollars a pound for organic bell peppers, it really is.  And it’s fine to stick stickers on them.  But is it too much to ask that the stickers actually PEEL OFF?  I had to throw away a chunk the size of a golf ball, which by the calculations I just randomly made up in my head cost roughly $1.72.  Not cool.)  The kids will eat spaghetti and meatballs, so how bad could it be?  I will tell you!  I got the reaction I would have expected had I presented them with RAW GOPHER SPLEENS.

Okay, that perhaps sounded extreme.  Here is a summation of what actually occurred. Gregory hid the “red things” in his napkin, and amazingly ate the noodles and “meatballs”(!)  Matthew decided starvation looked like a better option, and took off like a rocket.  Michael raged over how unfair his life is and offered to personally deliver his meal to a child in a third world country, but the lure of fruit snacks won out, so he DRAMATICALLY AND WITH GREAT DRAMA held his nose and shoveled pasta in (and I do mean shoveled, I’ve seen elephants with better manners.)  Andrew refused to even look at his food, and communicated his displeasure with our evening meal by wailing until the walls shook.

I’m thinking that approximates a 43% success rate.  WE’VE HAD WORSE.

(** Update!  Tonight I made a Thai Chicken Stir Fry.  It was actually really good.  Gregory said it smelled like nail polish.  Michael ate half of his, the other’s remained untouched.  I WILL WIN, I SWEAR IT.)


There is an article in the March issue of Vogue that discusses how a short, high- intensity workout can be just as effective as a longer, lower-intensity one.  It ended up being a very interesting article.  I will [no doubt break lots of copyright laws and] share an excerpt:

“The research I’d read on high-intensity interval training (HIT) made it sound totally excellent- effective and efficient.  In the lab, rats that worked out hard (swimming with weights) for four and a half minutes, in 20-second intervals, reaped all the same physiological benefits as rats that slogged through six hours of swimming at lower intensity.”

I found this research to be extremely compelling.  Rats working out!  Who knew?!  With weights!  Little rat weights!  The article didn’t mention the little rat elliptical machines, or Beyonce squeaking out of little rat ipods, it went back to talking about “people”.  (Sheesh.)  And what are these benefits, exactly?  Little rat six packs?  Do the rats wax their tummies, like the guys of Jersey Shore?  (They must!  How else to see the six packs?)  (Rat packs!  Ha ha!)

And here all this time you probably thought Vogue was about “fashion”.  Luckily you have the benefit of my journalistic detection skills to bring you the BREAKING NEWS in animal science.  I do not take this responsibility lightly, fellow citizens.  Next up- SELF (“Beauty Special- The 2-Minute Trick To Looking Well Rested!”)  (Let me guess- a RAT NAP!  Ha ha!)


February 25, 2010. Uncategorized.

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