Misogynists in Tiny Pants.

Ahhh election years…aren’t they grand? The inevitable unfriending of people on facebook, the rhetoric, the super nifty “flair”. I do love a button, you know. Mostly though, it’s mostly two dudes, talking around in circles, repeating themselves until they’re blue in the face.

So you escape to the blogosphere, and find me; a snarky sort who really enjoys sugar, long walks on the beach, fighting off Daleks, and cucumbers. Obviously, I’m quite the head-scratching destination. Don’t worry, I don’t have lice or anything.

But I do want to mention one teeny weeny little political thing. I think it crosses all political lines, cuts to the core.

When I went to school, we had art once a week, and music once a week, we had gym three times. It was my most loathed time of the day. My elementary school gym teacher was a misogynist asshat who wore too tight shorts, and a too deep scowl. Surprisingly, he wasn’t one of the THREE teachers I had who later went on to jail for things that would make you puke, or garner you a movie made for TV. *Pretty blonde teacher women apparently aren’t as disgusting…oh wait, yes they are.

Anyway, gym class wasn’t fun. It wasn’t often. I didn’t grow to love activity, I grew to loathe it.

I faked injuries, stood silently in the outfield praying a kickball never made it to me. I never wanted to be called on, and subsequently rarely was.

The “Let’s Move” campaign does what my elementary school gym classes never did, it focuses on the “fun”. It’s not about games where the theatre geek is picked last, and cannot possibly hope to catch the mother loving dodgeball, because she is CLEARLY busy living in the world inside her head. Of COURSE it’s going to beam her so hard in the legs it leaves a welt.

Our country is FAT. That’s the cold, hard truth. We just are. We eat too much, we sit too long, we sleep too little. We are our own worst enemies. We are depressed because we are fat, we are broke because we are fat, we spend untold millions on treatments for type 2 diabetes, liver disease, heart failure, heart disease, cancers, and a fair bit on anti-depressants.

There is nothing I want more for my kids than to be healthy and happy. There is nothing I want more for kids in general. I want them to play, I want them to move, I want them to embrace eating healthful foods. For this, I really appreciate the FLOTUS’ “Let’s Move” campaign, and her drive to get kids digging in the earth, planting their own foods. It’s a beautiful idea, and I hope it flies.

On another note, don’t even get me started on our country’s need for more of the arts in our classrooms, but that’s a topic for another day.

Speaking of schools, the reason I was so late in posting today, was this…

It was the Captain’s first day of PreK. He picked out his outfit that his “Aunt Emmie” got him.

I could lie and tell you I wasn’t crying as I was pouring his soymilk this morning, but that would be a lie. I may or may not have looked like I’d sprung a leak from my head. He’s just getting so big. I can hardly believe it. He is a walking, talking, human person. He has ideas, and dreams, and desires that are unique to him. He is the best of my husband and me, yet entirely himself. I am more and more proud of him every single day.

For his breakfast before school, I made him apples, pumpkin cream cheese spread/dip, and a kind bar (per his request). Trust me when I tell you that once you make your own pumpkin cream cheese, the stuff in the tub will taste of plastic and sadness.

The recipe for Pumpkin Cream cheese is so simple, you don’t need a printable recipe. For every 8 oz of SOFTENED cream cheese, you need 3/4 of a 14 oz can of pumpkin puree, 2 tsps of pumpkin pie spice, and 2 tbsp maple syrup. THAT’S IT. Please, never buy that other crap again.