Friday, June 3rd

Rules. Goddamm rules. Sometimes it feels like I'm being swallowed whole by dictates, edicts, laws and regulations, formulated and passed down by the powers that be. Sure, some of them are well-intentioned, but most of them I find utterly unnecessary and inapt.

Like this one, a new edict from our state government via preschool: Cut all lunch components into too-small-to-choke-on bites. This includes peaches, cheese sticks, and asparagus. I swear. For now, sandwiches appear to be gliding by undetected, but surely those rascals will set off alarm bells soon enough.

Look, I want my kids to be choke-free, no doubt. But I also want them to learn how to bite and chew while they still have teeth in their head. I want them to know the pleasure of biting into a (whole) crisp apple, or working from one end to the other of a (raw!) carrot stick. Call me crazy. And considering there is another rule that prohibits kids from sharing their lunches, can't I sign a (g.d.) form that waives my right to sue if my child gags on the lunch I made her at home but that she just happens to be eating on their property? I'm just askin'.

For now, I grumble most mornings as I prepare their midday meal. Noooo, don't send half an avocado in its skin so it stays nice and green, cut it up and let it brown! Nooo, don't use that apple slicer to make eight wedges because even then they're still not small enough! Nooo, don't send blueberries, they're way too small! Oh wait, small is good, right. I feel like I have a bunch of cranky schoolmarms inside my head yelling nyet!

This morning I sent in long, razor-thin sections of cucumbers. So the police may be on their way. I simply couldn't cut them into that same bloody size and shape -- my sense of composition rebelled. And now no doubt eyebrows will be raised and I may even "make the teachers angry" as my girls have said about past food infractions. Well, all I can say is, I'm not a robot. I have my own mind. And anyway the rules are kinda vague so it's up to swashbucklers like me to test the new system.

Here's another rule that rankles: My local ice cream and hot dog stand cannot give out cups of tap water. This we learned yesterday from Beata who works the window. She says that it's against the law because of "health reasons and the faucet." (Here she pointed behind her as if to finger a guilty party.) She went on: "They say bottled water is safe, and tap water is at your own risk." Whaaaaa?!?

My gut tells me companies like Coca-Cola are behind this, lobbying the government to declare drinking water dodgy in the name of safety. (Disclosure: If I didn't like my house so much, maybe I'd move Concord, Mass., where they outlawed the sale of bottled water. How cool.) I also smell a business-insurance rat -- maybe Beata's boss can't afford the costlier coverage that includes the faucet, so instead he opts for providing (revenue-generating) drinks in a shiny, branded fridge. That, my friends, is what we call a win-win.

So amidst all this muck I'm becoming a silly bag lady, especially when we go out to eat. If you look inside my sizable tote, here's what you'll find: a stainless steel water bottle, hopefully recently filled up but sometimes I forget; stainless reusable straws for the girls (waiters pass those plastic ones out like nobody's business and then the wee ones dreamily chew away at them, yuck); bamboo utensil sets; cloth napkins; hankies for the perpetual runny noses; a glass or metal storage container to bring home the inevitable leftovers; and reusable shopping bags so I can be more of a bag lady! Meanwhile I'm sure I'm forgetting something...

But let's get back to those pesky rules which sometimes come in the form of "suggestions." Like the whole guilt-ridden culture around breastfeeding, as if you commit milk-murder when you resort to formula because your own milk hasn't come in and the kid is losing weight and you think she might seriously waste away before anything noteworthy shows up in your now-raw titties -- or maybe you have a life and want to go to the movies or the moon and don't want to be hooked up to one of those moo-pumps only to sit there and feel stupider and more violated than you did in junior high school when your best friend decided to feel you up. 

News alert: Formula is food! The powers that be want to scare you into thinking mother's milk is the only responsible option, but with all their studies and  reports they still can't figure out whether we should eat salt let alone what causes obesity. So the jury's still out on formula vs. breast milk. And don't you know tons of healthy adults who were formula babies, riding around unbuckled in cars filled with second-hand smoke and some old tootsie rolls stuck between the cushions? That's gotta count for something.

And anyway, aren't we getting just a little too precious, paranoid and obsessive here? I lay a lot of the blame on our competitive, puritanical culture and especially on the manic, overstimulated and overstimulatING news media. Which is why I practice a religion of No News Unless It's Very Local and Also Involves Kittens. Then my ears prick up.

Which brings me to my morning run on Memorial Day. I hit the road at about six, staying mostly to the right and easily within the white line... for safety. Impediments like puddles or big tree branches sometimes caused me to breach the line, but so briefly that the safety police watching me via satellite probably didn't notice. Good girl.

I proceeded down our main street and came upon the stretch of potato fields that are stunning if slightly disturbing because I've heard that they use (unorganic) pesticides because it's a cash crop and they're not willing to rotate crops, la la laaaaa -- kittens, please, give me news of kittens! Where was I? Yes, I was running down our extremely quiet and (superficially) bucolic byway. When I got to my destination which is the second yellow arrow past the big tobacco barn, I slapped the sign, took off my windbreaker, turned around and headed for home. 

Somewhere in that about-face, though, I got a notion to stop short of crossing all the way to the other side of the street. Instead I... wait for it... ran right down the middle. Double yellow line all the way. Badass. I had no plans, no idea how long I wanted to stay out there. But the more I did it, the more I liked it. No, loved it. It was like the oxygen was different, more rich and expansive. I felt stronger, more alive (and alert! Though only once did I have to "pull over" to let a car go by). I felt just plain free.

*Who said* you have to run on the side of the road even when there is no one in sight on a straightaway? How did I get that lodged in my head? So many voices whisper and shout that it's the safe, considerate thing to do. Well, it's not what *I* do anymore. I'm listening to my own voice on this one. As it happens, I've got my own powers of reason, and it feels good to use them.

Hmm, maybe I'll get a tattoo next.

Comments

[Ellen Underwood]

can't help myself....gotta resond with this

http://www.flickr.com/photos/babymilkaction/500815510/