On Monday, I wrote a long post about the Max and Claire's respective camps and how I wept when I picked them up the first day because I was so proud.
They were nervous at the beginning of the week. Yet they were game. They trotted off to their separate programs and they participated. Two years ago I never could've dropped them somewhere unfamiliar and driven away into the city. At least not without much shrieking and crying (mostly theirs).
But then–-back to the post I was going to write--Safari was all "I unexpectedly quit. Sorry." And the entry was gone. Which is probably for the best because it would've been interesting only to my mom and me.
I'm changing my eating habits. Not because it's the new year and I'm making resolutions, but because a friend was recently diagnosed with colon cancer. His wife, one of my nearest and dearest, asked me to order Coping Books and Cookbooks for her.
I stumbled upon The Cancer Fighting Kitchen, and the more reviews I read and the more I learned in the way we do on the internet, virtually staggering from one link to the next, I thought: Why don't we all eat like this? More veggies. Less red meat. Little sugar. Let's prevent the cancer before it starts. (Not that I believe all cancers are preventable, but I do believe diet has a lot to do with health.)
Once upon a time, where once upon a time means about a month ago, I ate as much sugar in a day as good stuff. An entire village could live along the hilly terrain of my sweet tooth. It was that big. But then, I stopped buying treats. I'd go to the cupboard in the middle of the afternoon, or in the evening, and there'd be nothing. So I'd shrug and find something else to do. And you know what? My sugar cravings largely faded. Not completely, mind you. Baby steps. But mostly.
Then my friend and the cancer. My research. So here I am on December 31st feeding my kids a breakfast of quinoa sprinkled with organic brown sugar. Weird.
For Christmas, I made the women in my life these fancy flax and lavender-filled pillows. I'd always wanted one myself, too.
It turns out, though, that I prefer my ratty old rice sock. It stays warm longer and smells comfortingly of a Japanese kitchen. Who'd have guessed?
Here's my favorite photo I took this week:
I'm resisting the urge to write any sort of New Years round-up, so I'll just say, have a wonderful start to a new decade.
And, as always, thanks for reading!