Food.

This is truly one of my favorite things to eat. With slight variations, for breakfast, for lunch, or for dinner. One (or two) soft-boiled egg(s) with buttery toast sliced into strips for dunking. I usually include lots of salt, pepper, and butter, too.

Marley's still into eggs, even though it seems like every day she's deleted another reliable, favorite food from the continually shrinking list of foods she'll eat. When mac and cheese went, I was incredulous. Sometimes she'll refuse the yogurt she sucked down the week before. Maybe this is typical preschool behavior? I don't care. It's still annoying. And then last night, she sat on Todd's lap and munched on some maki rolls while we were feasting on sushi with Jeff and Danielle. Sushi? This is the little pipsqueak who turns her nose up at apples, blueberries, and BANANAS. C'mon, Bean!

Rudy will eat just about anything I put in front of her, except for, come to think of it, eggs. And I hope that her accommodating appetite continues, but I'm pretty sure that it won't. I'm still not getting to the point I wanted to make. Something about how hard it can be to make sure that your kids are eating enough, and eating enough of the right things, even when you're a food fanatic (like, the kind who eats out with friends and actually discusses other meals you've eaten together or cooked yourself while devouring the one in front of you), and a pretty healthy one.

I have long been a fan of the Food Network. I've watched Top Chef like a maniac since the days of relaxed and resigned Harold and weepy, peroxided Dave. And I've whipped up a few delightful dishes and desserts of my own in the past few years. And I guess I'm writing to proclaim at least part of my food philosophy, since I've recently starting watching Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, and it's got me thinking. And by the way, about ten years ago, I loved him as the Naked Chef. And then later puttering around his ridiculous garden in Jamie at Home. Anyhow, Jamie's all appalled at the way that kids in America eat. He's waging a battle in school cafeterias in West Virginia, and reminds it me of how Todd, along with several other teachers and students, got our high school's cafeteria to start serving better food. It took YEARS.

I read Michael Pollen's In Defense of Food a few years ago, and I believe his simple guidelines: "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants." At the same time, I don't beat myself up for kicking back with way, way too many Oreos or picking up a Happy Meal. Because I believe in moderation. Marley and Rudy watch television, but it's not on all day. And who are these nuts who can eat sugar and flour (as in, they're not allergic) but made it a point of some sort of sick pride not to? How can you learn limits, resolve, or reward, if you're always at one pedantic, joyless end of the spectrum? I coach high school girls, and out of the forty or fifty that make up all levels of our lacrosse or field hockey teams, there are usually about ten to fifteen serious athletes (if we're lucky), fifteen to twenty pretty great kids, and then the others. Who either always have a complaint about a new injury or can't even finish the warm-up laps.

I'm not totally rambling. Because I think an active lifestyle is closely related to healthy eating. When I played sports in high school, I loved that I could gorge on a pint of Ben and Jerry's because I'd be running (slowly, but still actually running) to get ready for preseason early the next morning. I've had months of watching what I eat, especially after having Bean and Toot, but I've never really been on a diet. Like, counting calories or points. I just eat less junk (not no junk), and I exercise more. And I want Marley and Rudy to see that. Because there's also always at least two or three girls on our teams with some pretty messed up attitudes about food, too. And, by the way: their reactions to boys always disappoint me, too. Don't get me wrong. I remember high school and the sweet highs and crushing lows of those romances. But I also remember my first year as a varsity coach, fresh out of Smith College, climbing onto the bus with my field hockey team, and noticing that one of the girls was crying. When one of her teammates told me what was going on, I pulled her aside and scolded, "You're crying about a BOY? Oh for crying out loud, don't cry over BOYS! They're all a waste of your time."

Okay. Now I'm rambling. I am going to eat some ice cream and watch Rondo make some sneaky passes and go to bed. (Todd appeased me this afternoon by tossing a lacrosse ball with me in the front yard for about ten minutes. And we thought we were so funny when we threw it over our shoulders or behind our backs while yelling, "Rondo!" all quick. Obviously, we didn't catch any of those passes.)