The Food Rules

I realized the other day, as I was explaining to Woodstock why we weren't going to buy grapes at the grocery store even though they had a yellow sign (she has figured out I buy mostly things with yellow signs - signifying they are on sale), that I have an un-written list of "rules" when it comes to food.

Well, formerly un-written, since I'm about to list some of them here. Some of them are goofy. Others are based on health and research. Some are because I have to compensate for the ridiculous amount of junky food my kids get at the sitter's. Some have been long-standing. Others came as a result of playing primary food source to one kid or another for 4 straight years.

The Food Rules According to Sara

1. If a food comes in a package, it should have 5 ingredients or less.
2. Produce is consumed primarily in season. The exception to this is apples, potatoes, onions, carrots and some herbs. In the case of fruit, this means grapes in late summer, citrus and fruites I've preserved in the winter, pomegranets and cranberries in the fall, peaches in August, apricots in July, cherries in June, Strawberries in March through May, Mangoes in the spring and so forth.
3. Tomatoes come out of the garden in the summer and out of cans in the winter.
4. Cereal whose first, second or third ingredient is sugar is not to be used as a meal.
5. Dairy must be hormone-free.
6. Artificial sweeteners do not enter the house (this does indeed mean I have shaken a years-long Crystal Light addiction - I haven't had a single glass in 4 years.
7. If it can be homeade, I don't need to buy it.
8. If it is local, it is worth a little bit more.
9. If it is chocolate, it had better be good chocolate, not the cheap stuff - after years of thinking I didn't like chocolate, I have realized that a. I love dark chocolate and b. it had beter be GOOD chocolate - preferably European.
10. A well-stocked pantry is the cure for high grocery bills.
11. Roasting makes almost everything better.
12. If the word "artificial" is on the package, it is reserved for treat status. If the ingredient is wholly unpronouncable and/or undecipherable, it is better left on the grocery shelf.
13. Whole wheat pasta, brown rice and regular oatmeal are not foreign foods if one doesn't know any different (ie my kids, poor little ones who have been brainwashed for years now).
14. Fruit or veggie for breakfast. Fruit AND veggie (or two) for lunch. Two veggies for dinner. My meal-planning mantra - though it sometimes means the second dinner veggie is used to "enrich" the meal (like adding pureed cauliflower to mac-n-cheese.
15. Water is vital and is therefore not optional
16. If I'm going to consume the calories, it is going to be fabulous and make my mind, tongue and tummy happy - if not, it's not worth the caloric or monetary cost.
17. (The most important one) One can never have too many cookbooks - even when one's three-shelf kitchen bookcase is completely full of them

There are a lot of other random rules, I think I create them to create order in my life. I get mocked for them or praised for them or derided for them. I had someone tell me I was harming my kids' digestive systems by feeding them whole wheat. I am told I'm a leftist tree-hugging vegan wanna-be for shopping at certain stores and limiting meat in our diets. And yet - it works for me. All these rules and all these things that govern what I eat. They are unspoken. They are mine. They are not everyone's.

But I will say - while Himself likes to mock them, he definitely enjoys what results. I'm a half-decent cook and he gets a hot breakfast and a homemade dinner a minimum of 5-6 days a week.

Some may mock, but no one has ever left my house hungry.

The Plan

I'm beginning to wonder if there is any kind of order or plan to the chaos that is life right now. I can't help but feel a little like a hamster in an exercise wheel. Things keep happening, but the scenery is staying the same.

My brother, E2, called yesterday. He has a fabulous new (to him) house and a fabulous new job, a fabulous new girlfriend and a horse trailer that has a queen-sized bed in it (for the human, not the horse). He said, "You know, if you ever wanted, I could get you a job here back in real estate."

Sign me up and call the movers.

Except, well, that was The Other Life. Where I calculated the best opportunities and went where they were - a plan created around progress and a selfish pursuit of knowledge and challenge. Who needs anything else, really, when you're the only one around whom the plan needs to revolve? And, The Frontier isn't so bad as long as I'm not looking to do much of anything with my career.

Never mind that, cancel the movers.

I'm not a very patient person (shocking!). I'm neurotic. A reforming control freak. High-strung. An insomniac. An adrenaline junkie. Which makes the wheel spin faster and therefore takes awhile to realize,

"Hey! I'm not actually going anywhere fast!"

Right now, I'm at one of those points. Which drives a impatient, neurotic, exhausted, strung-out-on-adrenaline planner like me nearly insane (taking everyone with me along for the ride).

I like to know where I'm going, what time it is and approximately when I'll end up there. Whether it is a road trip or life, I have this primal need to have a map and a clock on hand at all times. I hate to not know where I am or what time it is. I would make Frank Gilbreth proud, in that most journeys from Here to There (literal and virtual) must be primarily about efficiency.

And a hamster wheel model is only efficient if you're trying to lose weight.

Then there is the whole issue of over-planning. I would plan to the last detail, years out, leaving no room for surprises, tragedies, unforseen events or the big stick that God likes to stick in the hamster wheel once in awhile to remind me who is really in charge. Come to think about it, I might be very close to one of those points too.

It's not about a career or a house or trying to figure out how to survive the looming financial crisis. It's about living. I know, life is not figuring out how to dodge the storms so much as it is learning to dance in the rain. But the thunder and lightening get more and more ominous and the dancing s getting a little freaky, and I just want to know where the exit is. I grew up in a desert, you learn to stay out of storms and come out and dance in the puddles. When does that part come in?

In last week's finance class we learned that over a 10-year-period everyone goes through a major financial setback. I had to sit on my hand to keep from raising it and asking what one does when setbacks are so common that regular life is what happens once over a 10-year-period.

I'm exhuasted. I'm sick of the scenery from this wheel-o-fun. I have motion sickness. I want off this ride - even just for a moment - to regain my equilibrium, take a deep breath and get my bearings.

And maybe, just maybe, put together a little plan. Not too detailed. Not too crazy. Just something to let me know that I'm not going to be running like a hamster until I'm dead.

The Race is On

I have a secret obsession with politics - or, rather, the game of politics. I loathe politicians as a general rule, but the psychology of it all fascinates me - and has since I was in the 5th grade and my teacher did a segment on the upcoming presidential election. I remember running home and telling my mom that the Republican candidate was going to win, because the Democratic candidate only got one vote in our class.

Oddly enough, the kid that voted differently from everyone else disappeared into oblivion several years later - small towns in homogenous states do that to you - you dare say something different, you become invisible. Even in the 5th grade.

My passion grew and grew and grew - leading me to briefly consider a career as a press person on the Hill. After speaking with several such people, I realized that my passion wasn't great enough to sacrifice my life to "handling" a politician 24 hours a day. I shelved my grand high school ambitions of running for some office when I married Himself. I couldn't imagine the nuclear fallout if his skeletons rattled out of their storage unit.

These days, my passion for politics is confined primarily to my own reading and internal debates. Himself thinks the whole thing is ridiculous, and rarely will engage in any topic of conversation relating to it (It was, in fact, a huge surprise to me that several years into our relationship, I discovered that my political views differ greatly from the few Himself hold). My political junky friends no longer live close enough to me to engage in off-the-cuff discussions. I thought I was sick of the '08 election season before it even started.

Lately, however, I've been sucked into the frenzy once again. One of my favorite authors, Richard North Patterson, came out with a new book, The Race. It is a well-written, engaging novel about a tightly contested primary race - with some real life characters only thinly veiled as fiction. I devoured it in only a couple of days, comparing the behind-the-scenes look at the glistening, pre-packaged soundbites we see.

Then, last night, I had a rare night - Baby Girl was asleep, the kitchen was cleaned up, the living room was clean, and I actually sat down to watch TV (usually the TV is something that fills up the silent void I can't stand, not something I actually watch).

I watched nothing intellectually stimulating - I was a rubbernecker, switching between The Late Show with David Letterman (which I typically prefer - but WHAT THE HECK is up with the man's beard?!) and The Tonight Show (who had more appeal last night, since it was done sans writers) to see the potentially interesting outcome after being off-air for 2 months. Mike Huckabee was on Leno, which was the reason I ended up watching The Tonight Show except during commercials.

I was fascinated. I love watching politicians on something other than their "stumping" grounds or official speeches. To me, the true measure of a person is who he/she is when (at least some of) the formalities are stripped away. Himself was sitting next to me, in awe that I was actually still awake late enough to watch the late shows. At one point I turned to him and said, "You know, the caucuses are tomorrow in Iowa - I'm actually excited to find out what will happen, everything is so close." Himself looked at me as if I was crazy.

The race is on ... and I'm back to being obsessed. At least for the moment.

All of our agents are busy right now ...

Baby Girl's social security card hasn't ever shown up.

Today, I finally had the half hour necessary to remain on hold to find out what I can do about it.

"Welcome to the SSA, blah blah blah about our website. For English speak/say one." Okay. Easy enough.

"Blah blah blah about our website and all the fabulous things you can do there. Let me go through some options."
It gives me a list of options for things I can do through the automated process or over the website. Locating your baby's social security card is not one of them. I hit zero, hoping I can cut through the automated nonsense and speak to a real live government drone.

"I'm sorry. That is not an option." At this point, I'm using my handsfree system in my car, driving up State Street on my way to a meeting. Frustrated, I yell, "I just want to talk to an operator!"

The voice-activated system says, "Just one moment and we'll transfer you to an agent." SUCCESS! Except, I forgot I was talking to the government - and the SSA generates almost as much red tape as the IRS.

"We're sorry. All of our agents are busy now. Let me blah blah blah about our website and everything you can do through the automated drone." Which knocks me back into the system I just left - which still doesn't have an option for finding out what happened to Baby Girl's social security card. I yell in frustration, "I just want to talk to an agent!!"

"We're sorry. All of our agents are busy now. Let me blah blah blah about our website ... if you would like to continue holding, please press or say 2."

Of course, I follow the command, which immediately says, "Thank you for calling the SSA. We're sorry we are unable to help you at this time. Goodbye."

At this point I'm staring straight at the state capitol and have half a mind to march myself in there (my meeting was across the street) and find out how on earth I can talk to a real, live government SSA drone. I refrain.

Two hours later, after the meeting, I try again. This time, miracle of miracles, I get through to hold music. Elevator music has never sounded so good in my life. Thirty minutes later, it's not sounding so good. Finally, a real, live government drone gets on the phone. I explain that Baby Girl has never received a social security card. (My comments, or rather what I would have LIKED to have said, follow the SSA drone's statements).

"Well, Baltimore issued her a number." Um, that's nice, but she doesn't have a card.

"Maybe you moved?" No. Not since she was born. What I'm really worried about is that the card was swiped and someone else is being Baby Girl and using her SSN. The nurses at the hospital told us that the postal carriers were not allowed to deliver to a mailbox that didn't have our last name on it somewhere, for just that reason.

"Well, ma'am, there isn't any way I can tell to where the card was sent or if it is being used by someone else. But I wouldn't worry about it. The envelope says right on it 'if this person doesn't live here, please return to sender'." Um, right, and that is going to deter someone from stealing someone else's identity. Who can I talk to to make sure it isn't being used?

"Ma'am, that isn't going to happen ... the envelope says right on it ... I don't know who would steal it." Um, I live on a BUSY, five-lane street. My mailbox doesn't have a lock. I realize it's a far cry, but it was supposed to be here WEEKS ago. You say it was issued and sent - so where did it go?

I resign myself to just trying to get her a new card and then worrying about identity theft.

"You have to request a new one. We sent you one, which you should have received if you gave the correct address. You have to fill out a form. It will take 6-12 weeks to arrive." Okay, but what if the SAME problem happens again? That's what I was told the FIRST time I filled out the form. I was told to call if it didn't arrive.

"Well, there is nothing we can do here. The card is issued in Baltimore." Fine. Can I go online and do it?

"Yes. Print out Form XYZ and send it in. But Baby Girl is going to need identification." SHE IS 12 WEEKS OLD - what kind of ID does an infant have? What about her birth certificate?

"I'm sorry. That is not an acceptable form of identification." It's her birth certificate - the only thing I own with her official name on it. I had to use MY BIRTH CERTIFICATE to get a driver's license (which, by the way, IS acceptable identification - unless you're 12 weeks old). I also used it to get my social security card changed when I got married (along with my driver's license). They didn't need ID the FIRST TIME I filled out the form (when she was 2 days old).

"I'm sorry. You'll have to provide some other form of ID." Like, what, exactly? "You can have her pediatrician write a letter, stating she's a patient, last seen on xyz. Make sure it's on letterhead." Okay fine. Whatever. Because my pediatrician has time to vouch for my child being mine.

"Oh yes. And since she's too little to request her own replacement card, you will need to submit ID." Okay, so I'll enclose a copy of my driver's license.

"Ma'am, we can't take copies." Um, you told me I could SEND it in. How can I SEND an original of my driver's license or other ID?

"Well, you can't send in a copy. You'll have to come to our office then." And then what? You can give me a new card?

"No. Baltimore issues the cards. You have to come in and show your ID and Baby Girl's ID and we'll send the form on to Baltimore." Do I need to actually bring my baby?

"Well, it would be helpful...you know, because you don't want anyone representing her fraudulently and using her SSN for identity theft..."

I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS. I am so not having this conversation again. *Banging my head repeatedly.*
No wonder new mothers go insane.