On Tuesday of this week the Preschooler woke up wide-eyed, bushy-tailed and busily talking about how she needed to do some sort of science “spearmint.” I knew we were in for a long day because: 1) I’m not a morning person and it was 7:15 AM, and 2) I’m not a science person and she was totally serious about this idea.
I took Biology 101 in college because it was required, but I steered clear of any elective hours in the science department. Doing “spearmints” has never one of my strengths. I’m especially not capable of thinking or talking about science with a high-energy person before 8 AM. But, I could tell she wasn’t going to let this plan die over my lack of enthusiasm.
So, later in the morning {post-coffee} I did a quick search on Pinterest for preschool science and found a super simple experiment that required only three things: Skittles, water, and a plate. I figured we could handle that.
I had her line the Skittles around the edge of the plate in a pattern of her choosing. Once she was happy with her candy circle, we poured medium temperature water in the center of the plate just so it touched the edge of the Skittles. Then, we waited to see what would happen.
Much to her delight, this was the result after just a few minutes:
Once the colors had worked their magic, she swirled the water around with a toothpick to make things more interesting. This was a later attempt:
It might be the simplest “spearmint” ever, but it involved very limited prep and clean-up and saved our morning from a lot of drama.
Another one of the Preschooler’s spring interests is gardening. I think they’ve been talking about this at school and even growing some of their own little plants there. Sadly, I’m no more a gardener than I am a scientist. So, for weeks I’ve been ignoring her chatter about how we need to plant a garden, plant a garden, plant a garden…
Alas, she got to me. And, over the weekend I convinced the Spouse we should put together a 4×4 raised bed where we can attempt to grow something this spring/summer. After much debate and a lot of sweat, we have this empty garden just waiting for a few more bags of soil and someone who knows what they’re doing:
In my heart of hearts I want to be a whole food eating, grow-your-own vegetables, compost-piling kind of person. I may not be clinical enough to fully grasp the ins and outs of scientific research, but I’m a reader. I come across health articles all the time that convince me our family might be eating or drinking something that could be silently killing us. I think there’s a lot of truth to the adage, “you are what you eat.”
Just yesterday I met a friend at a trendy eatery where they’re known for serving all manner of locally sourced, healthy food. My mind wanted to order the organic yogurt parfait with fruit and chia seeds, but my mouth ordered the cranberry scone instead. This is what happens every time. My flesh is weak.
In the past, many of my most sincere attempts to initiate real change in the food department have been a bust. Like the time I tried to switch us from skim milk to non-homogenized, local whole milk. I know it works for many people, and I really do believe it’s the better way. But this was our experience six years ago when we tried to do it…
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Usually when I get an idea about some change we should make in our grocery shopping rituals, the Spouse rolls his eyes and prays that the phase will pass quickly. And, often it does. But lately my concern has been our milk. If there’s anything we drink a lot of, it’s milk. I keep seeing news about the “six secrets” of skim milk {our preferred variety}, and if the claims are true, we should all make the switch to drinking non-homogenized whole milk from cows grazing on the grass of a local farm… or we’ll surely die.
So last night we drove across town to the EarthFare, and I was so excited to finally purchase a gallon of the life-changing milk that I could hardly wait to get it home and try it out. We made a quick run through the Krispy Kreme drive-thru (because one has to ease into lifestyle changes of this sort), and headed home. The Spouse played along with my excitement about the milk and eagerly opened the jug as soon as we arrived at La Casa de Reformed Eating.
It was then when, to his horror, he discovered what he kept describing as “a huge glob of sludge” on top of our brand new “real” milk. I confidently explained to him that the milk was still a week away from expiration and was surely perfectly safe for consumption by him and the girls and anyone else who wanted to try it. Meanwhile, I called my mom (the daughter of a dairy farmer) to ask her if she remembered anything about non-homogenized milk looking strange. And, this is an excerpt from our conversation:
Mom: Did you shake it up?
Me: No. It didn’t say anything about shaking it up on the jug. (Shouldn’t important instructions like this be in bold print somewhere on the product packaging?)
Mom: Well, it’s probably just the cream from the milk that’s risen to the top of the jug. Try shaking it up.
Me: Ok. Well, do you remember it smelling or tasting different?
Mom: Oh, I don’t know about that. We didn’t drink it.
Me: What do you mean you didn’t drink it?!
Mom: Well, we bought our milk at the store, and by then it had been homogenized.
Unbelievable. The dairy farmer’s family didn’t even drink their own farm-fresh milk.
While I had been on the phone with my pseudo-farm girl mother, the Spouse had been googling pictures of non-homogenized milk himself and had discovered that it was indeed normal for the cream to rise to the top. The mystery of the “sludge” was solved, and we breathed a collective sigh of relief knowing that our milk had not been tampered with between the local farm and its arrival on the store shelf.
So, after wildly shaking the jug for a few minutes, we sat down to begin enjoying our healthier, creamier milk with a renewed peace of mind about what we were putting into our bodies. Honestly, though, I’m not sure we can adapt. Real milk tastes and feels wildly different if you aren’t accustomed to it. Neither the Spouse, the girls, nor I can hardly stomach it.
I’m afraid I would have never made it on the farm. Well, maybe on my mom’s version of a farm.
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About a week after I wrote this post in 2011, we retuned to our skim, homogenized-milk drinking ways.
Let’s hope the story of our tiny garden has a better ending.
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