First haircut!

I know, I know. I was just waxing poetic the other day about how my beautiful son has the most gorgeous locks of soft, wavy brown hair and dreading the day when he hit a year old and we'd have to cut it. Like, literally wanting to sob just by thinking about it!

Then we went to lunch yesterday, and I spent about a third of it cutting and corralling his food together, another third distracting him while Matt ate the rest of his lunch, and the last third... brushing his long locks out of his eyes.

SIGH.

Okay, okay. So I may have let it go on too long. But could you blame me?! I absolutely loved to tousle his hair while playing on the floor, loved how much the suds caught in each strand as I worked in his shampoo, loved how his hair could tuck behind his ear as I swept it off his face as he nursed. LOVED it all.

But even I admitted that day: It was getting too long. It had to come off.

Perhaps fatefully, right next door was a Snip-Its, a kids salon with its very own First Haircut package. I told Matt before we walked in, I don't care how much they charge, we're getting it!

Matt asked the front desk if they ever had a 9-month-old with that much hair, and she said never. EVER. In her entire time there, and she had been there for a while. So... yeah, maybe we slacked a bit. But could you blame me?

Tycho did a fantastic job sitting in that chair, though. I might have shed a tear, but he didn't spare a single one, just sat back and let the stylist do her work. And I must say, he looks dashing! Such a big boy. <3

We got a picture, lock of hair, and certificate for getting through his first haircut. We have enough locks of hair for ourselves and each of the grandparents... plus a ton left over, ha! THAT is how much hair that child had.

LOL, this shirt.

A baby by any other name... (or, how not to name your kid)

It took me and Matt almost six long, difficult months to find the perfect name for our soon-to-be baby boy. We decided to go with our interests: I was busy looking up the names of famous musicians and writers (and a few Greek and Roman gods), and Matt was hard at work looking up scientists and astronomers. Several almost made the cut, including Orion and Triton, but we finally settled on the one name that felt right:

Tycho David.

The name was inspired by Tycho Brahe (born Tyge Ottesen Brahe), a Danish nobleman and one of the last major naked-eye astronomer from the early 16th century, who combined the Copernican and Ptolemaic systems to develop what he referred to as the Tychonic system. While it was ultimately wrong, it did prove a very influential planetary movement system in the late 16th and 17th centuries, falling out of use in the early 18th century when it was discovered that Earth in fact did move around the Sun. Tycho worked incredibly closely with Johannes Kepler, who later used Tycho's astronomical data to develop his three laws of planetary motion.

Oh. The guy also lost part of his nose in a sword duel and replaced it with a mold made of silver and gold or one of copper or brass, owned one percent of the entire wealth of Denmark at one point, never got married but had eight children (six of whom lived into adulthood), had a pet elk, and died of a burst bladder from the inability to pee after holding in his urine too long at a banquet in Prague. Seriously.

All in all, a pretty cool (if quirky) dude, and we're stoked to have such an influential person as Tycho's namesake.

Sure, it's a rather unusual name for an American kid, but at least it's a common one in its home country of Denmark. And in that country, you only have a short list of names to choose from! No kidding, the list is actually maintained by the Names Investigation Department and the Ministry of Ecclesiastical Affairs. They're not screwing around.

We ultimately chose a name with an interesting history and out of both Matt's and my love for all things space-related, and we've been fortunate that most people who hear his name absolutely love it. If anything, it's easily shortened to "Ty", so it's not like we left him without options.

Too bad there's no NID&MEA here, though, because some of the names that American couples are coming up with are just... ridiculous. Intentional misspellings, needless apostrophes, and double- or even triple-vowel names are more popular than ever, leading to a baby-naming crisis that's taking the country by storm. So here it is...

How NOT to Name Your Kid

Don't create a new spelling for an otherwise normal name. Let's face it, people are already shitty spellers, so it's likely that some of these names are a result of ignorance than willful disregard for their children. But for the most part, parents deliberately mutilate an otherwise normal name because their precious snowflake is... ahem, Younique compared to her peers. You know who ends up taking the fall for that one? Your kids! They're the ones who ultimately have to spend their lives correcting people who insist that Elizabeth is not, in fact, Elizzabeath.

Oh, and no nonsensical punctuation in a name, either ("It's not Scott, it's Scot't! GOD. Everyone misses that apostrophe!").

Don't come up with creative ways to pronounce an otherwise normal name. This is just as stupid as the first "don't", with the added bonus of no one ever being able to pronounce your kid's name. Ever. It hearkens back to a story about Le-ah (remember what I just said about punctuation?!), whose name wasn't pronounced "Leah" or even "Lee", but "Le dash ah." Because, you know... that dash is there for a reason.

Don't come up with "creative" names at all! What the hell is up with names like Abcde (pronounced "Absidee", DUH) or other names that are created out of thin air? It's like these people pour out a can of alphabet soup, vigorously stir the letters around, and choose a name based on what's left over after they eat half the bowl.

Think real hard about whether that "cool" name you thought up really is cool. When I was a kid, I really wanted twin girls, and since I was into music, I thought it'd be cool to name them Melody and Harmony. Okay, so the first name might fly, but to my almost-30-year-old self, doing such a thing really does seem dickish and, honestly, not all that cool anymore. Those names were chosen more for novelty than anything else, and I would now hate to saddle any future children with anything even remotely close to that.

You want to name your kid something like Tycho? You'd better have a good story behind it. This is why we ended up choosing Tycho, because we had an interesting story and a rather kooky dude to back it up. But if you're naming your kid Cecylothy* because you had grandparents named Cecylia and Dorothy? Sure, that's sweet and all, but I'm not sure if that would pass muster for a "good" story. Or a good name.

*Full disclosure: My grandparents really are Cecylia (paternal g-ma) and Dorothy (maternal g-ma). ;)

Watch the weird letters. And double letters. This applies to letters like x, z, and k, goes for the superfluous use of the letter y, too. Between names like Jaxxon and Brynlee, I'm pretty sure I'm fighting a losing battle here, but it really should stop before we get to triple letters (Quteee, anyone?).

Finally, no matter what you name your kid, remember that you make the call, but your child has to live with it. Anything you do will be his burden to bear, so seriously consider whether you would want your name to be whatever you're thinking. Put yourself in your kid's shoes.

And at the very least, give the kid a "normal" middle name or a nickname to fall back on. ;)

"Pretty Boy"

At least once a week, some well-meaning stranger smiles, coos at my sweet baby boy, and says, "So cute! How old is she?"

...

Okay, I get it. He has these big brown eyes and long lashes that love to bat in any admirer's direction. I haven't cut his flowing wavy ringlets that extend inches beyond his head. He has these incredibly defined lips that widen into the most adorable smile you've ever seen. Facebook wants to tag him with my name, so he clearly takes after me in the looks department (thank you, thank you). All things considered, regardless of what he's wearing, he looks kinda girly.

I usually try to respond to these kindhearted gaffes with a little hint that he is, in fact, a boy: "Oh, thank you! He's nine months. Aren't ya, little bud?" Most of the time, that tends to get the point across, and the stranger either doesn't mention his sex again, corrects herself, or apologetically exclaims, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize he was a boy!" Then follows it up with how handsome he is.

Personally, I have no problem when someone mistakenly calls Tycho a girl. The social convention (which is not always right but does tend to apply) is that the prettier a baby looks, the higher the chances are that it must be a girl. And let's face it, Tycho is a "pretty" boy.

But Matt does sometimes get offended by it, and it led me to think, would he be as upset if we had a little girl and someone mistakened her for a boy? (Answer: Yes, but pretend not for a bit.)

There was a lot of controversy a while ago about the "genderless baby", Storm Stocker, born to a Canadian couple on New Year's Day. Comments on the Internet read things like, "one more messed up kid in the world" and "this is so wrong in many ways", as well as some not-so-nice ones (yes, those were the nice comments).

While it raised a number of hackles, it certainly wasn't the first time a child has been in the spotlight for not conforming to gender norms: Take the mother who allowed her son to dress as a princess for Halloween, or the father who is okay with his son wearing makeup and heels. It seems that, while we're so intent on finding equality for women -- and yes, speaking as a woman who deals with gender inequality on a daily basis, this is still a very pervasive problem -- we're just as apt to make little boys into men.

Even if it means being their first bully to do just that.

While it's certainly something we haven't had to deal with yet, as all of his toys are gender neutral and he doesn't really have a sense of "boy" or "girl" toys, I'm sure there will come a day when Tycho shows interest in a frilly dress, a Barbie doll, or some sparkly nail polish. Being the pretty boy that he is, if he goes through with expressing his interest in something more "girly", he may be labeled a girl even more often.

Would allowing our son to have an interest in these kinds of things ruin him as a boy? Or should we try to extinguish this kind of curiosity and genuine interest in something pink and fluffy in exchange for something blue and grimy?

Our neighbors have two girls, aged 8 and 5, who are girly in almost every sense of the word. They love pink (or purple, as the 5-year-old's case may be), they cradle their baby dolls, and they perform manicures on each other, sometimes with the help of their mom. But surprisingly (that is, if you don't know their parents!), they also have distinct interests in Marvel and DC comics, and can easily tell you what superhero belongs to which superseries. Their knowledge isn't limited to Wonder Woman or Catwoman, either; ask their 8-year-old what superhero is her favorite, and she'll proudly tell you BATMAN. In fact, she dressed as him -- in a boy's costume, not in the girly version -- last year for Halloween.

Sure, nowadays it's a little more acceptable for a little girl to have interest in comics, superheroes, video games, and other activities that were once firmly lumped into the "boy" category. But it doesn't seem like the same applies to our little boys.

I would never want to squash my son's interests strictly because they were seen as more "girly" than I or society would like. If Tycho ever wanted to play with a doll, dress as a princess, or don ten fingers carefully painted hot pink, I would more than willingly allow him to express himself that way. Doing so doesn't mean he'll turn out gay or transgender -- I firmly believe that being either (or both!) of those is set from birth and not a result of exposure to gender-specific clothing or play. But denying him his desires to try out more "girly" things may cause him to lack confidence in himself and his interests, something I absolutely do not wish on him.

While gay and transgender kids do exist, I like to think there's another point of view: That, similar to the Kinsey Scale, there exists a line between "most masculine" and "most feminine", and that kids and adults just happen to fall on any point on the line, regardless of their sexual or gender identities. And that's okay. It doesn't mean they need redirection or therapy or anything else in order to make them "right", for wherever they fall on that line, and any movement they have on that line, is exactly where they're supposed to be.

I imagine that's not how everyone feels, and I understand this is a lot of introspection strictly as a result of some strangers calling our son a little girl. But I believe it's crucial for people to understand that, while you may cut their hair or dress them a certain way or deny them the desire to play with a toy that "belongs" to another gender, the only people they're hurting are their children.

And this holds especially true for our boys, who often lack a similar gender non-conforming place that girls tend to have. It's my sincere hope that our culture allows the same potential growth for our boys and our men as we have allowed for our girls and our women.

Even if there's not, in our house? We'll allow for whatever growth Tycho and any other children we have in the future desire.

Project Life: More for January!

I've been having a blast with all this. I have more photos for this month for which I need pages, but I'm making some real headway so far. I'm loving the digital Project Life. :)

Most of the filler cards this time were from Project Life's Clementine Edition, which I'm really loving. The "SO Happy TOgether" card is a freebie from Jessica Sprague; she has a few more that you must get if you're using Clementine, as they're perfect coordinates.

And that QR code? Points to the entry about how I stopped being vegetarian. Because after 16 years, that IS momentous enough to earn its own code!

Ugh, so yeah, I got into a car accident the day Tycho turned 9 months. What a way to celebrate, right? Fortunately, Tycho is fine, but I'm in a bit of pain as a result, so we're getting that (and my car!) taken care of. To "celebrate" that day is an appropriate "Not My Day!" card from me and my BIG ideas. Tres appropriate, no?

And I have tons of pictures of my little babe sleeping. I just can't help it, he's a cute and oftentimes hilarious sleeper.

These feel a little more simple than my last two spreads, but I kind of like it that way. My plan isn't to really go overboard with embellishments and spending a ton of time messing around with layouts, but to quickly document, squee a little over the photos, and capture memories before they're lost. Sometimes it's best to KISS (Keep It Simple, Stupid).

Project Life: January

I'm doing Project Life on a monthly rather than a weekly basis, and with no limit on how many pages I fill each month (provided they're even, because I like starting my months on the left-hand page and, let's face it, I have OCD). It seems more manageable that way, and this is definitely something I don't want to lose interest in quickly!

Below are my first two page spreads. I need to start getting better at making side-by-sides coordinate a bit better, but I like to think it's a decent start.

The cork letters are, again, made by the talented Melissa of A Vegas Girl at Heart. I am seriously loving these letters and will probably use them for each month. The cards are from Digital Project Life's Clementine edition, save for the "Hello Winter" one, which I fudged to make my own (and of course, now I can't find the source).

And yes, it really was five degrees (Fahrenheit) here. Goddamn, that was cold.

More from PL's Clementine! The "Pandora" card is one I made, as are the snowflakes. The "Perfect Day" card is (was?) a freebie from Kerri Bradford.

I am LOVING digital Project Life. At this point, I'm a little sad that I didn't start Tycho's album off digitally, but c'est la vie, no biggie. I'll just finish his album (eventually) and continue digitally documenting the rest of the year.

Probably the nicest part is not having to print and clip each photo -- it's done pretty much automatically when grouping to the template. You'll come to notice that I strongly prefer Template A for everything, but I do have a few more on file in case I decide to get a little saucy with my layouts. Still, this is incredibly simple... and Matt's happy that I probably will never want to buy a photo printer.

I also love that freebies are pretty easy to come by, both for cards and embellishments. While they don't all coordinate, they're a great way for a newbie like me to get started and ultimately helps me explore new designers. Kerri, for instance, is becoming one of my new favorites, I just love her designs. AND... when I download an element? I can use it as many times as I want! Sweet!

On the move... kinda.

Tycho's really been getting around recently! ... army-crawling, I mean, no late-night parties in his crib or anything. Because he's really curious about what all is around the living room, he's gotten himself into some pretty interesting places, not the least of which is under the couch.

THREE TIMES. In one evening. By the third time, I was laughing so hard that I almost couldn't right the camera to take some pictures.

He didn't seem too upset. ;)

Confession: I love granny panties.

We were doing laundry one night recently and I started balling up all my underwear to throw into my designated underwear drawer. As I wadded up each pair, I started to notice a trend: While I had lots of pretty undies that I used to wear pre-pregnancy (how do y’all think I got pregnant in the first place?), I seem to have developed a love for granny panties.

Okay, so they’re not that bad. Some of them even have Victoria’s Secret emblazoned across the elastic! But they’re definitely not their cheek-huggers or buttfloss pretties that you kind of want to show off under your blue jeans (whaletail, anyone?). Nope, instead, they’re bikini undies or, seldom found but always treasured when they are, boy shorts.

Others are more along the “granny panty” lines – these, you have to pick up in packs (packs! Like men’s underwear!) at your local Target, all nicely lined up on a wall filled with Fruit of the Loom and Hanes. And they bear names like briefs! Briefs, for chrissake. The only thing that was brief about my underwear collection pre-pregnancy was how long it took for them to ride into my asscrack, and now I’m actively looking for ones that bear the name and refuse to bare my behind.

What happened to me?! All my nice underwear has been regaled to the back of my drawer, seen only when all my comfy undies are dirty and I begrudgingly realize I need to do laundry. I can’t deny, though, that these huge swaths of cloth that I now wear are so ridiculously comfortable that I cringe whenever I get even a glimpse at a thong.

And my bra collection? Let’s not even go there. I’m pretty sure I rotate between two or three, and not a single one even comes close to being considered a “push-up”. More like, “glorified sports bra with hooks for easy boobie access”. For the babe, not my husband. Unfortunately for him.

Let’s face it, though. Motherhood is pretty uncomfortable, considering its early wake-ups, constant stream of pee and poo and spit-up, and having this 15-pound weight hanging off you constantly. While it’s something we moms would never give up in this world, there’s something we can, and that’s uncomfortable underwear.

So adios to wedgies, hello to comfy cotton! This mama’s gone granny panty, and she ain’t turning back now.

My kid is an asshole.

Babies are lucky they're cute. Because they can be real assholes sometimes.

The day started out normally enough. We traipsed into daycare, babbling and giving kisses to every provider we passed, just like every other morning. He smiled and clapped as I put away his bottles and diapers for the day, waggled his eyebrows when someone mentioned how cute he looked, and generally acted like the angel baby I always thought he was.

Then I put him on the floor, belly-down in front of a few unattended toys, so he could practice his scooting as I left.

And that's when I saw it.

The daycare providers told me that this is actually something he did on the regular, but I didn't want to believe them. I was entirely convinced that my boy, the giggly, smiley, squealy baby I knew and loved, was as generous with the other kids as he was sharing his boogies with me.

But how wrong I was.

I watched as my son, with a look of devilish delight in his eyes, homed in on a toy that another baby was playing with. There was no interest in the toys directly in front of him; all he cared about was that baby and that toy he was holding.

And I stood, horrified, as he snatched it right out of that baby's hand.

We've got your dickery on camera, kid.

My heart broke a little as that baby started to cry, but I had some reprieve as he noticed another toy behind Tycho and crawled to go get it. Satisfied, he started playing with this new toy, smiling as he forgot about the toy Tycho had just stolen from him.

But that wasn't enough for my son, no way! Despite getting the toy that he apparently so desperately wanted, now that toy was forgotten in favor of the new one in that baby's hand! And I watched him sneak up behind this kid and, again, grab it as if it were his and his alone.

Cue more crying from that baby, more horror from me, and echoes of "No, Tycho, that's not nice!" from no fewer than three adults.

My son? My precious son? He didn't give a damn. For all he cared about, anything that was that baby's was instantly his.

In an effort to distract him, one of the daycare providers scooped Tycho up and plunked him in front of the toy box. He gleefully peered into the box to see what all he could play with, then turned to me and gave me such a huge shit-eatin' grin that I couldn't help but mutter as I left the room...

"Tycho, don't be an asshole."

He knows what he's doing, too. See this look? Pure devil. He's already figured out how to open the safety locks at daycare.

We're so screwed.

Rave Review: Spectra Dew 350 breast pump

I purchased this pump on my own and have not received anything free, nor was I compensated for this review. This is an honest review based on my own experiences. Any opinions stated are my own and were not influenced by any outside source.

When I started my relactation journey, I needed to pump 8 times a day, around the clock, until I started getting some milk going. The pump that was provided to me through insurance was the Ameda Purely Yours, and while it worked pretty well when I was just starting out and didn't need a state-of-the-art pump, it wasn't doing the job to bring my milk back.

So, with Matt's blessing, I went out and got a Medela Pump In Style Advance (PISA), as well as a three-month subscription to Ameda's hospital-grade pump, as each one of those was recommended from other ladies trying to relactate. After a month or so, I started to see results, but I still wasn't getting what I thought I should be.

My subscription was coming to an end on the hospital-grade pump, and as I expected, it worked leaps and bounds better than the PISA. I just couldn't afford the $1000+ price tag on the machine itself, though, and while the rental rate was reasonable, it still would have cost a lot to keep it versus settling on my PISA.

Enter: The Spectra Dew 350.

"The Spectra Dew 350 is a hospital grade breast pump with a single smooth, powerful yet gentle pumping action that will support milk supply and allow you to make short work of expressing."

At a quarter the cost of the Ameda, I was incredibly skeptical at first, but I found one gently used on eBay and thought, eh, what the hell. The kit I bought came with a pink Spectra Dew 350, flanges and other accessories, six bottles, an insulated bag and two ice packs, and a rather sturdy carrying bag. It also came with a couple bottle holders, but they proved useless as the base shape was different from the bottle shape, but I never use them, anyway. No major loss there.

Let me tell you. This thing worked GREAT. It operates a lot like the Ameda pump I was renting: Nice and quiet (even quieter than the Ameda!), powerful but comfortable suction, appropriate flanges (though I did swap out theirs for my Medela ones with Pumpin' Pal flanges), and the best part? I was able to increase my supply to cover Tycho's every need.

There's no letdown mode on this pump, so it doesn't compare to the PISA in that regard, but I did find that it wasn't missed, especially since I could get more power out of the Spectra. There are other pumps in their line that have letdown functions, but for the cost and as I thankfully respond well to this pump, I ended up not needing it.

I did come across an issue with the pump, though. After only two months, it started experiencing these wheezing and clicking sounds, like it was working way too hard to do what it was easily doing even a month prior. It was also heating up really quickly, even after only 10 minutes of use. As a result, my supply really started to suffer. A bit upset, I contacted Spectra on their Facebook page and asked if there was anything they or I could do to return my pump to its previous amazing state.

What I got in return was probably the most incredibly pleasant customer service experience I have ever encountered.

I spoke with Heidi, the representative and lactation consultant for Spectra Baby USA, and after a couple emails back and forth describing my issues, she offered to send me a brand new pump to replace the one that was giving me trouble. Within a few days of that, a sparkling* blue Spectra Dew 350 arrived at my door, and it's been working beautifully ever since! My supply jumped right back up, and the replacement works even better than expected.

*In light of their new line of blinged-out Spectra pumps, I feel I must clarify by saying that mine wasn't actually sparkling. ;)

Consider this an absolutely glowing review of the Spectra Baby USA product line and its stellar customer service. I have never been happier with my pump, and I hope that other mamas who are looking for an efficient, affordable pump will consider the Spectra Dew 350.

I’m not vegetarian anymore.

I’ve been thinking about how to approach this for a while now, and I feel that now is a good time, when the year is new and the resolutions are still fresh, to be as transparent as possible in everything I do. So today, I’m sharing something that may come as a shock to most of you: I’m choosing to not be vegetarian anymore.

I started on my vegetarian journey around 13 years old. I cut out most meat at the time, opting for fish in the rare occasion it was offered to me. Eventually, I cut out fish and other seafood as well, and as I grew older and gained more knowledge into the vegetarian lifestyle, I started cutting out byproducts of the meat industry, keeping the dairy and the eggs but eliminating stocks, gelatin, and so forth.

So for a majority of my almost 30 years of life, save for a couple instances (one of which was brought on by my lovely now-husband nine years ago, when he made a filet mignon that I simply couldn’t resist), I’ve been a pretty strict vegetarian. I even went vegan for a month as a challenge to myself, and found that I felt great without any animal products at all.

I loved being vegetarian, and I loved when I tried being vegan. It was challenging, fun, and helped me explore new tastes and textures that I probably never would have tried if I had continued eating meat. I felt great and ate well, most of the time, at least. And I only occasionally missed meat. I was doing it for myself, and I found myself content and satisfied.

Then came Tycho.

We argued before he was born about what I would be okay with him eating – I avariciously wanted to keep him as vegetarian as possible, while Matt was hell-bent on enjoying a steak with his son. I eventually relented and said that some meats were okay; I didn’t want him eating chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs, but I was okay with a bit of shredded chicken breast.

Why would I concede, though? Tycho’s diet is influenced by what we put on his tray, not by what he decides (at least, not on a spoken level, as he can’t specifically request a hamburger), and as his mother, I have almost complete control of what he eats and what he doesn’t. Yes, Matt has that say as well, but I can fight hard enough when I believe in something.

I’m not sure if I just didn’t believe strongly enough, or if I didn’t feel it was a fight worth having, but I decided to let Tycho decide for himself if he wanted to eat what was on Daddy’s plate, too. After his first taste of meat, some turkey and ham at our table at Thanksgiving, we could tell that he didn’t just like it, he loved it. Since then, we’ve given him bits of chicken, fish, and beef, all with astoundingly good results.

This kid, I can’t deny it, is an omnivore. A very happy one, at that.

I felt conflicted. I didn’t want to deny Tycho the meat that he apparently loves, regardless of how infrequently we give it to him. But I couldn’t help but wonder why I was okay with my son, who is for all intents and purposes a direct extension of me, eating the very meat that I avoided. I thought I had such strong opinions on how meat is terrible, the industry is abhorrent, and I’d not let a bit of meat cross his lips until he was old enough to tell me that he wanted it.

And I’ll fully admit, I started wanting some myself. After not eating animal flesh for so many years, suddenly I was taken over by the desire to reach over and spear some of Matt’s carnitas or take the bits of hamburger my son was eating and sneak it into my own mouth. Who knows what led to this, but it’s apparent that my body has started crying for some meat.

When I initially went vegetarian, it was because I simply didn’t care for meat. If I didn’t like it, why did I eat it? That led me to cut out everything but the fish, and in the interest of becoming a full vegetarian (and considering how little fish I ate, anyway), I decided to just cut it all out. It wasn’t until many years later that it turned into an environmental and, in small part, an animal rights issue, but they did shape the way I saw eating meat.

Did my vegetarianism make a difference? Sure, I felt healthier and happier, though I did make some terrible choices when it came to choosing carbs and sweets over meat (a common issue for vegetarians and vegans just starting out). I had my good days and my bad, but for the most part, I kept my diet clean and full of vegetables – after all, what’s a vegetarian who doesn’t eat her veggies.

But I was looking for more than just me. I thought I was making a difference when it came to animal welfare; I thought of my fork as my ballot, my way of voting for more vegetables and soy and less meat and fewer factory farms. But my veggie burger, while delicious and void of any meat whatsoever, did nothing to quell what’s still going on today. It’s not making a dent in how much meat others are eating, and more importantly, from where they’re getting it. No cows were getting out of the feedlot because I decided not to eat them.

Food is a complicated religion. I’ve put so much brain power into wondering from where my food came, how it was treated, if it was organically grown. I realize, though, that I was putting my thoughts for the meat industry in the wrong place: I was choosing to be pacifist by avoiding the situation entirely rather than choosing more sustainable and humane methods.

It turns out that I can balance eating meat and making a conscientious decision about how that meat, how that animal, was treated. And for every time that I “vote” at the dinner table, I can make a vote that actually counts by choosing sustainable meat.

In the end, it probably means allocating more money to our food budget, but after talking to Matt about it, he’s fine with my desire to eat local, sustainable meat so long as we can share more meals together and with our son. Since I fully intend to leave and have already made the steps towards leaving vegetarianism, I’d much rather our meat comes from a small farmer where his sheep, goats, cattle, hogs, and chickens are treated with respect rather than a cruel place where animals are treated like cheap protein and “quality” is measured not by the life the animal led, but how much bang a conglomerate can make for the animal’s buck.

I also intend to take Tycho (and any other future children we have) to these farms so they can see from where their food comes and what an immense sacrifice these animals make so that we may eat. It would not be to entice him to become vegetarian, but for him to have respect for the work, dedication, and lives of these animals and the farmers that tend to them. Above all, I want his meals to be about veneration.

Today, I took my first bite of pulled pork, and I knew that it was the right decision for me.

It’s a huge relief for me to be so candid about a topic that I know brought many of you, my dear readers, to my blog in the first place. I hope you’ll join me not necessarily in eating and enjoying your meals, but to accept yourself for who you are, what you eat, and why you do.

It’s something I’m slowly starting to accept within myself. :)

Nostalgia! Toys for the 90's Kid

While shopping for toys for Tycho this recent holiday season, I couldn't help but notice that some toys were making a huge comeback. Or they may have never faded away, who knows, I haven't really shopped for toys until now. I found myself wanting them not (just...) for Tycho, but to fulfill this overwhelming sense of nostalgia and wishes for childhood all over again. How awesome that I can relive everything through my own child!

Ready for your own blast to the past? Here are some of my favorite toys I had growing up as a 90's kid:

This is actually thanks to my dad, who had kept his old Atari system. When we were old enough to appreciate it, we played many hours of Pong (which you can PLAY ONLINE OMFG), Asteroids (OMG PLAY THIS TOO), Frogger, and Pitfall. The tip of the joystick was especially fun to chew on as it was so malleable.

So um, yeah, sorry for all the teeth marks on your controllers, Dad.

This cash register by Fisher Price was a BLAST. We'd usually pay for random stuff around the house, and even started our own restaurant with receipts and "tips" in the form of different colored coins. We did learn pretty early on that Monopoly money didn't fit as well in the drawer as we hoped it would.

I don't even remember playing with this Fisher Price phone past when I was five or so, but the rotary mechanism did make a fun ringing sound. When my brother was little (he's eight years my junior), we were happy to pass this one along.

After rediscovering these a year ago, Matt actually bought a set of these McDonald's food transformer toys. "For our future son!"

Uh-huh. Suuuure.

We used to love this doctor kit from Fisher Price! It was especially fun to scream into the stethoscope when your sibling was wearing the earpieces.

My mom and I were talking about old toys a few years ago, and she was surprised not only that I remember this toy, but that the barn door made a spring-loaded "moo" noise when you opened it.

There was a lot of Gak cleared out of our hair as kids. The same kind of love wasn't shared for Gak's successor, Floam, though. That stuff was just weird.

I loved this Fisher Price house! We'd spring little people off the diving board, play hours of string basketball, and put the characters to sleep on incredibly uncomfortable plastic beds! I think we chewed on the dog's ears, too.

My sister enjoyed this more than I did, but it was still fun to see her masterpieces glow in the darkness of our shared bedroom. When we learned cuss words, it was great inspiration for flashing obscenities. We just had to get rid of the construction paper evidence when we were done calling each other "bitch" in colorful plastic lights.

This toy was also passed to our brother when he grew older, and we were huge fans of its resurgence. Pretty sure we just built a whole town in the family room and played forever.

To go along with the doctor kit, this Fisher Price medical kit included a fun "cast" that fit our ankles and a box of bandages where we'd store (and waste) real ones. The stethoscope wasn't as powerful as the doctor kit, though, so screaming wasn't as earsplitting.

We used to wear these as skates. LOL

We wore these as skates, too, but I think that was a little more acceptable.

The original My Little Ponies were awesome! Not nearly as cracked-out as the new ones!

Remember when slap bracelets were a thing? We wore them as bracelets, sure, but they were also great for slapping your siblings in the face. Especially when they retracted.

HARDEST. GAME. EVER.

These were my jams!! Too bad you couldn't record them like you could the radio back then.

When my parents built the pool back in the 90's, we would take our Slip N Slide and rig it so we'd glide right into the pool (yes, on the concrete patio, we were kids and didn't give a fuck!). We have this huge hill on the side of our current house, and I'd love to just pin three or four of these together and launch our soaking wet selves down the hill and into a massive kiddie pool.

LOVED creating things with this Spirograph! I think ours was actually one that my mom had growing up.

So much better than Kinex. Or whatever kids these days call sub-par Tinker Toys.

And finally, the ViewMaster. How badass was it when you could actually make your own photo wheels! We had some from Disney trips and would relive those moments over and over again.