A while back - oh, say 10 or 30 years ago - there was this television commercial for yogurt where the pitch (or the hook or whatever you call it in ad-talk) was something like "yogurt is the panacea for all bodily ills and eating a daily portion of the creamy stuff will enable you to live long and far into old age, far beyond the point where you've broken even with your previous Social Security deductions and now the government begins sending you free cigarettes on your 100th birthday in an attempt to get you off the dole."

To drive home the point, they had a bunch of thousand-year-old Bulgarians sitting around a fire pit eating from a vat of yogurt.

At least that's the way I remember it.

No matter...I was sold on yogurt even before I ever knew it was good for me.

Now Parent Bloggers Network is taste testing Yoplait Kids brand yogurt and I've been sent on assignment to find out whether or not yogurt and all its yummy probiotics really will keep me alive until well into the year 2066.

Until that update, I asked my kids to sample the Yoplait Kids yogurt and tell me their thoughts.

9 year old: It's good! Yeah, I like it. Tastes like strawberries. (It was strawberry yogurt, so well-done Yoplait.)

7 year old: I LOVE this yogurt. It doesn't have chunks of stuff in it. It's smoooooooooth.

My seven year old - if you haven't guessed - has a bit of a "thing" when it comes to chunks of stuff mixed in her food, and any foods with dueling textures are usually given a big thumbs down and a Yuck Face. Yes, among the neurotypical children of the world, food sensory and sensitivity issues are reserved for the well-fed and indulged middle class kids of industrialized Western nations. But this is our food sensory issue/indulgence and we're fond of it.


As a mom, I'm going to give Yoplait Kids an overall thumbs up.

Here's what I like:

25% Less Sugar

Okay, sure, if I were completely on my parenting game, my kids would be eating bowls of tart plain yogurt that I made from the milk of free-range goats living in our backyard. I would have introduced this lip-puckering unsweetened yogurt to them from infancy (made first from my breast milk, of course) and then firmly but kindly - but mostly firmly - insisted that they continue eating only this unsweetened yogurt, even through their difficult picky-eater stages.

However, for reasons X,Y and Z, force-feeding unsweetened yogurt didn't happen, and now there's just no putting that sour old genie back in the yogurt container, no matter how much I extol the delight which is "real" yogurt. My kids still need a little bit of sugar to make the Lactobacillus bulgaricus go down. 13 grams of sugar per 4 oz serving, to be exact. Compare that to the 31 grams of sugar per 6 oz serving of the generic fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt I just ate (hey, I like "candy yogurt", too) and you can see that Yoplait Kids is moving in the right direction.

Omega-3 DHA

As if Yoplait Kids isn't healthy enough with the 5 grams of protein per serving and 20% the Daily Value for calcium and all that live friendly bacteria (Live Friendly Bacteria...good name for a rock band), Yoplait goes ahead and adds 16mg of Omega-3 DHA per serving. That's 10% of the 160 mg Daily Value for DHA .

Now, we can debate the precise health benefits of Omega-3 DHAs. And we can argue whether or not and to what extent a few servings of yogurt a week might hedge your kids' chances of getting into Harvard over, say, Larry's University and Car Wash. However, I think that we can at least agree that this Omega-3 stuff isn't snake oil - algal oil, maybe - and that there are enough Google-able studies out there to indicate that, most likely, there's something good going on when it comes to Omega-3 DHAs and getting kids' brains to shift into high gear.

And what with the 20-hour SpongeBob SquarePants marathon yesterday, my kids can use all the high-shifting they can get.

My kids are slowly but surely getting hip to the awesomeness that is grilled salmon, i.e. lots of Omega-3, but until then, we'll take a cup of Yoplait now and again.


Beet Juice

Let's be honest: for all it's healthy goodness, Yoplait Kids yogurt does list some ingredients that I had to look up on the Internet to figure out what they were.

Inulin?

What the heck is that?

Maybe a kind of fish roe? A duck liver enzyme? An island off Greenland?

Turns out that inulin is type of fiber derived from plant roots.

From Wikipedia:

"...used increasingly in foods because it has unusual nutritional characteristics. It ranges from completely bland to subtly sweet and can be used to replace sugar, fat, and flour. This is particularly advantageous because inulin contains a third to a quarter of the food energy of sugar or other carbohydrates and a sixth to a ninth of the food energy of fat. It also increases calcium absorption^[2] and possibly magnesium absorption,^[3] while promoting the growth of intestinal bacteria."

Dang. Well you learn something every day! Sounds as if inulin will do you good!

Uh-oh....but just hold on there a second:

"Between about 30-40% of the population suffers from fructose malabsorption.^[12] Since inulin is a fructan, excess dietary intake may lead to minor side effects such as increased flatulence and loosened bowel motions in people with fructose malabsorption.^[13] It is recommended that fructan intake for people with fructose malabsorption be kept to less than 0.5 grams/serving.^[13]"

So, there you have it. Easy does it on the inulin if you're the gassy type. Or if you're hiking the Appalachian Trail. That's a lot of catholes to be digging.


The other ingredient that gave me pause was Beet Juice Concentrate.

Now, I'm thrilled beyond thrilled that Yoplait is using beet juice to color its yogurt. I mean, if you have to color your yogurt, isn't beet juice a better choice than Red #45728612? I think that the X-Files still have a case open on that food coloring.

However, word to the wise, it might be a good idea to destroy the cardboard Yoplait packaging in the grocery store parking lot and dispose of the evidence before you get the yogurt home. If my kids read that any food has beet juice as an ingredient - even cotton candy - they're going to do the Gagging Jig of Gagginess and not let the Red Beet Yogurt (as it will come to be known) pass their lips, no how and no matter that they carry the genes of generations borscht eaters.

Otherwise, beet juice! I'm all for it!

(It's also good for de-icing your driveway.)


Now, a few minor picky things.

Speaking as the beaten-down mom to at least one very picky eater, I appreciate the trials and tricks sometimes utilized in a fit of weakness when begging Skinny Little Junie to just east something, anything, besides whatever it is that Skinny Little Junie is hooked on eating that week. How can a child survive on strawberries and wheat toast? I have no idea.

And so I understand that some kids might need to know that Yoplait Kids is the yogurt that Dora the Explorer eats, and this might cajole them into trying something yummy and healthy and so Dora will usher in a life's worth of healthy eating habits to kids all over suburban United States.

However - and this is coming from someone who, remember, just allowed a day long SpongeBob fest - I'd at least like the option of purchasing Yoplait Omega-3 DHA yogurt without the added commercial. I know, there are a hundred other non-Dora brands out there, but this is the one I'm reviewing, so I had to say it.

Also, as I move away from purchasing products with more and more packaging in my attempt to move away from creating more and more garbage, I find that the yogurt brands I'm buying more often are those that offer large industrial-sized containers that I can then dish out into reusable single-serve bowls or lunch containers. With Yoplait Kids, I have individual single-serve containers and the cardboard packaging around them. I know that packaging is all recyclable, but something a little more eco-friendly seems possible. See what you can do about that, Yoplait people, wouldja?


But, all in all - and until that day that my sister sends me a goat to milk - again I have to say Yoplait Kids is a go.

Yummy, healthy, and now with more beet juice.

And don't forget the inulin. That was fun to learn about, wasn't it?

Hey! Yoplait Yogurt is making you smarter already!

See you in 58 years for the update on that Bulgarian thing.

Print a coupon for $1.50 off Yoplait Products!

I have to be honest right here and say that before receiving The White Trash Mom Handbook from The Parent Bloggers Network, I had never heard of Michelle Lamar or White Trash Mom.

I'd like to apologize for that right now.

I am sorry.

White Trash Mom is pretty darn hot for someone with a bag of cheese doodles in her hand.

White Trash Mom's blog and the spanking-new book aren't so much about how to cook possum or whether to wear the Bass Pro Shop or the Cabela's baseball hat to Thanksgiving dinner. (Answer: Cabela's) It isn't about 100 Recipes To Make With Cheese Doodles (although, sign me up!) or How To Perfect Your Tan With A Hanes Wifebeater and A Can Of Lard.

What it is is this:

Giving yourself a frickin' break as a parent.

From a quote by Anna Quindlen, from "The Good Enough Mother" (quoted in Lamar's book)

We live in a perfection society now, in which it is possible to make our bodies last longer, to manipulate our faces so that the lines of laughter and distress are wiped out. We believe in the illusion of control, and nowhere has that become more powerful and more pernicious than in the phenomenon of manic motherhood.

Right the hell on.

Now, I'm going to admit something else here: I don't think that I'm exactly Lamar's target audience for this book.

You see, once I turned 39 and found out that I was pregnant with my third child, something in me that was holding on to any residual image of myself as Donna Reed cum Martha Stewart cum Gwen Stefani (yeah, I laugh about that one too) was completely shattered as I came to the slow but inevitable realization that chaos would be my way of life for the next eighteen years or so. With three kids, the parents were outnumbered. With three kids, two heading off into opposite directions each evening while the other was pooping and crawling and climbing and screeching, we were down to zone defense and pizza for dinner for real at least twice a week, not just as a special treat.

The fastidious and meticulous Virgo in me rebelled.

However, the Coal Cracker Hillbilly in me rejoiced with a war whoop.

And then upon turning forty, something additionally weird and wonderful happened. I became, at the same time - and somewhat paradoxically - very understanding and compassionate when people were less than jolly or loving or kind or copacetic toward me, while at the same time finding my voice when it came to saying things like, "Unless you're giving instructions for CPR right now, either you're going to put down the cell phone at the dinner table or you're going to end up with braised endive up your doopa." And this was to perfect strangers.

However, if you have not yet found your inner trailer park or hillbilly or other sorta-slurry word for those folks that some people ridicule for not seeming to give a hoot when it comes to taking part in the that segment of society that measures human worth and value by Egyptian cotton thread count or correlates immorality with fried food -

not that we hillbillies don't know and appreciate a good thread count, don't be fooled -

if you have not yet let loose and said goodbye that part of you that is pretending to be someone else's parent, then this is the book for you.

I'm gonna cheat a bit here and direct you to Karianna's review, because it's a great review, a solid recap, and why try to say all that she has already said so well?

See? That right there would gain the seal of approval from White Trash Mom. Cut corners, smile, and go heavy on the compliments.

Did I ever tell you how much I adore the sandals-and-socks look? You wear it well.

Instead, I'm going to tell you about my favorite parts. Okay? Yee haw!


White Trash Mom's Fake Purse Escape

When I worked in a building filled with cubicles, but before I had kids, I had my own version which went like this: No matter where you are walking in the building, always carry a file folder or two. Are you going to a meeting? Walking to the vending machine for a Baby Ruth? Who can say?

If I were working in cubicles again for an employer with family-unfriendly policies, I might be tempted to employ the Fake Purse Escape. It's a good one.


How To Volunteer

I think that volunteering for the school should be required, full stop. I have no well articulated reasons for believing this. I'm just a volunteering fascist, so ignore me.

Lamar, on the other hand, does a great job of explaining why volunteering, if not required, is a Really Good Idea. And not because it's a swell thing to do and you'll warm the cockles of your own heart with your selflessness. (Although there is that.) Lamar explains how your being high-profile and a Good Egg in the school can only grease the wheels (as opposed to the brakes) for your children when it comes to navigating The Hidden Curriculum and remaining above the waves but below the radar when it comes to playing the system at your school.

Did you know that your school has a shadow system that comprises teachers, parents, other kids and possibly an unknown mastermind called "The Architect"?

Okay, that last part was from The Matrix, but the rest of it is true.

If you aren't a crazy person who actually enjoys volunteering immensely (raising hand) White Trash Mom has some pretty darn tootin' ideas for high-visibility/low-volunteer hour volunteer jobs that will leave you with enough time and energy at the end of the day to still pat yourself on the back.


Rookie Moms

I like this section because it reminded me of my own "If you're not going to listen to my advice, then just wait here while I let out a long enough length of rope" story.

I'll just skip to the punchline:

When planning Valentine's Day party activities for 25 kindergarteners, 16 of whom are rowdy little boys, do not fill the entire hour and a half by expecting the kids to make various heart and cupid crafts involving glue, glitter, and Hershey's kisses. Just give them the Hershey kisses and turn on Kids Bop Four.


Children As Cleaning Crews

This is a great section and good advice for all parents to follow.

And I'll tell you why.

You see, it came as a complete surprise to my children when I finally revealed to them that, although mommy and daddy were doing all of the laundry and cleaning and cooking, mommy and daddy didn't actually enjoy spending a large part of their waking hours doing laundry and and cleaning and wiping butts.

My kids were stunned.

They actually thought that mommy and daddy would choose to do laundry and scrub bathtubs over, say, riding a bike or playing a game or reading a book. They thought that household chores were our vocational calling and that communing with the Maytag washer was following our bliss. They thought that I was born fully-formed and with a dishrag in my hand and a scrunchie holding back my pony-tailed hair.

I set them straight, but fast.

Now, every summer, we too begin with a week of "boot camp" during which my children are presented their weekly chore charts for the duration of summer vacation, and then I set about breaking their spirit with words like "I'm not your Cinderella!" and "As God is my witness, as long as I have children to do it, I'll never fold towels again!"

Lamar pretty much outlines the entire program.

The reason I'd like for all other parents to read it is because that means that eventually my neighbor Bob will read it, and maybe then he'll start giving his kids some chores to do instead of telling them to call our house every morning and ask if they can play with my kids. At my house.

"No, Seconda can't play until she finishes her chores."

"Why not?"

"Whaddaya mean, "Why not"?! Don't you have chores to do?"

"No. My daddy doesn't give us chores. He loves us too much."

"Well, I'm going to have to have a talk with your daddy. It's high time for you yougin's to learn how to scrub a floor and peel some taters. Kids like you give kids like mine bad ideas, ya understand?"

"No."

"Well, Seconda can't play. And if you show up here before noon, I'll set ya ta pullin' weeds and milking the cat."


Good lord, that child is an instigator. I'll have a coup on my hands if she puts a bug in my kids' ears. Worse than that, I'll have more towels to fold.


-----------------

Anyway, there's a lot good in this book. A lot of down home hillybilly affirmations for those of us who are already traveling the path.

My only criticism is one of not going far enough at times, not stepping closer to that fine line that separates civilized behavior and good etiquette which makes others feel comfortable and at ease from

"Good lord, is that a live, frothing raccoon on your head! You can't wear that to the PTA meeting!"

The Muffia (read the book) may have the power, but that power is only an illusion born of fear. I pity them their fears and feel compassion for their life of anxiety which has driven them to excesses of caring about perfect cupcakes and thread counts to the point that they are truly unhappy with themselves, think less of themselves, if things aren't Just So. I still have my Virgo moments, after all (usually for one week every month or so) when I care that our lawn has more weeds than grass, so I know, I know.

But where compassion and understanding and attempts to turn them from the dark side fail or leave off, the trailer park moms must regroup to become the militia (to hold a metaphor.)

There are more of us then there are of them, surely!

Like neon beer signs at last call, we must light the way and not go gently into that good night, giving into the "shoulds" and "musts" that we know are not the "shoulds" and "musts" best for our family, our own sanity.

The White Trash Mom Handbook must someday - and someday soon! - become The White Trash Parenting Manifesto so that Coal Cracker, Hillibilly, and Slacker Parents of all ilk can walk with heads held high, confident and fearless in knowing that being good enough according to their own definitions is actually being the best parent out there according to their own family...and no one else's.

And what a glorious day that will be.

Yee haw!

First stop: The PTA.

Today, we’re reviewing underwear and socks for The Parent Bloggers Network and Hanes Underwear.

A very serious matter, underwear.

Nothing to giggle over.

Nothing to be embarrassed by.

Some of you may call them “underpants”. Others may refer to them demurely as “panties” or by the more proletariat “undergarments”.

Others still may call them “gotchies”. (For a colorful example of the usage of this word, look here.)

But by whatever name or euphemism, I think we can all agree that of utmost and most serious importance in choosing any type of underwear is consideration of the following:

1. Are the underwear comfortable?

2. Can they be sufficiently hidden from view while in both London and France?

Here at Bleenies! - located in the heart of Pennsylvania - we recently tested Hanes Girls’ No Ride Up Panties in the brief and bikini styles. Hanes’ Comfort Fit Promise touts “No Ride Up fabric leg bands " that are “guaranteed to stay in place so that she can be ‘wedgie free!’” In fact, Hanes is so confident that their underwear are The Most Comfortable, that they’re offering a money-back guarantee on any Hanes Comfort Fit underwear that do bind or ride-up or otherwise wedge into wedgie-dom. Well! If only I’d known about these super wedgie-resisting powers when I was in fifth grade! Ralph Watson’s underpants bullying days would have been cut short, I can tell you.

Our first tester was nine-and-a-half years old, and don’t let that half fool you: it really equals a full seven years. However, other than in attitude and her interest in NPR, she really is a typical nine year old girl. She’s 50th percentile in both weight and height, and she adores the colors purple and turquoise.

She tested the bikinis in a size 8, although when ordering I was going back and forth between the size 8 and the size 10. According to the Hanes size chart, she was right in the middle of an 8 and 10, and having been burned by other brands by guessing too high on underwear sizing and then becoming the proud owner of six pairs of tents, I opted to size lower.

I should have sized higher.

After washing, the bikinis fit, but just. My bad. I should have trusted Hanes on this.

After two weeks of wear, the nine year old had this to say:

Fit: “Pretty well. The waistband was tight at first, but once I started moving around, I couldn’t feel it.”

Three words to describe the bikinis: Soft, Comfortable, Secure. (Mom: “Secure?” Kid: “Yeah, like, they didn’t fall off my hips.”

Pattern and Color: “Cutest patterns in the world! Purple frogs and hearts and dots!”

What would you change or improve, if anything? “Waistband was a bit tight.” (Mom: Again, my bad. Should have sized up.)

If these Hanes underwear were a piece of fine art, what would they be titled? “Perfection”

Now onto the seven year old. Seven year old is also of average build according to those pediatrician charts, but the Pennsylvania Dutch in me thinks she needs more fat on her bones. She is also my Super Sensory child, i.e. the child most likely to complain about a string in her sock or a leg band out of place. This is where Hanes underwear was really put through its paces.

The seven year old tested the Hanes Girls’ briefs in a size 6, and they fit perfectly according to the size chart.

Fit: “Yes”

Are they itchy? “No”

Scratchy? “Nope”

Tight? “NO!”

Pattern and Color: “Fancy. Neat.”

How do these underwear compare to others you’ve worn? “I don’t know. Just as good as the others.”

If you had to give these Hanes underwear a grade, what would you give them? “A+”

Well! It may not sound like it from my more taciturn test subject, but I can tell you, that was a ringing endorsement.

And so far, no memos from either London OR France in regard to viewability from across the Atlantic. Well Done and Bienfait!


Now, onto the Hanes Shaped To Fit Ankle Socks, also with Comfort Fit Promise.

Disclaimer: From about Mid March through to The Feast of the Epiphany in early January, my children barely wear shoes, let alone socks. So, in reading the sock reviews, please keep in mind that even getting them to try on the socks was akin to shoeing a wild mustang.

First, the nine year old’s review. Her shoe size is between 2.5 and 3, so we tested the socks in a size Medium which should fit between a shoe size 10.5 and 4.

Fit: “A little tight in some places. The ankle is tight. But the toes are saggy.” (Mom’s note: the socks looked a bit small on her. The ankle band didn’t reach up around her ankle. I’d probably size a bit higher next time around because her feet are wide.)

Fabric: “Excellent! Awesome! I feel like I’m walking on a cloud!”

Anything you would change or improve? “Make the top less scrunchy”. (Mom: I think she means “tight”.)

If these socks were a song, what would the title be? “My Fleecy Buddies”


Now, onto the seven year old, who also has wide feet.

Fit: “They’re clinging to my ankles. It hurts.” (Mom: The tops didn’t seem too overly clingly. I’m as likely to put it down to Wild Mustang Sock Syndrome.)

Fabric: “Excellent! Awesome! I feel like I’m walking on a cloud!”

Anything else you want to say? “No. Can I go now?”

If these socks were a rock band, what would they be called? “SOX!”

------------------------------

All in all, I think that the underwear were a hit, the socks a bit less so.

I generally wish that the fabric in today’s kids’ underpants were of a bit heavier weave. Even though these underwear held up well enough after multiple washings, I just find that for line-dryers like myself, the thinner cottons need a turn in the gas dryer to get the starchy stiffness out of them.

And maybe it’s just me, but there’s something comforting - as opposed to just comfortable - and, yes, secure as in “I know my place in this world and I am loved, even in London and France” when my undergarments have that extra heft of cottony thickness - cottony goodness - to them.

Then again, I’m very serious about my briefs.

Gotchies are nothing to giggle about.

Cheerio and Merci!