Words That I Love Y Palabras Que Escribe Mal

I love words. I love them so much that sometimes they get stuck in my head.

I want to share with you some of the words that I love the most. Some of them are big fancy words, and some of them are just words I like to use and expressions I enjoy saying. Without further ado, here they are:

Vehemently

Faucet

Explicit

Pejorative

Tenacious

Crazy

Ridiculous

Sparse

Imminent

Malicious

Tentative

Pretensious

Unanimously

Ephemeral

Intuitive

Illicit

Sordid

Deleterious

Purposely

Existential

Terse

Effusive

Empathetic

Pensive

Virile

I could go on and on. Now, here are some words that I cannot spell without a spell check involved:

Necessary

Calendar

Successful

Exercise

There are many more words that I can't spell, but I have to give it some thought to come up with them.

What are some of your favorite words?

"Show Me That Smile Again, Oh Show Me That Smile!"

In 1985, an American television sitcom made it's debut on ABC. It was about a family living in Huntington, NY (Long Island for those of you that don't know). The father was a psychiatrist, who worked from home, the mother was a journalist, and they had three kids, two boys and a girl, two teenagers and a little boy who was of undefined elementary school age. The oldest boy was a perpetual trouble maker, and the teenage girl was a goody-goody type. If you grew up in the 80s chances are you can guess the name of this show.

That's right, it was called "Growing Pains" and it starred Alan Thicke, Joanna Kearns, Tracey Gold and the the infamous Kirk Cameron, who (by the way) is now super Christian and married to his girlfriend from the show, Chelsea Noble.

It sounds like such a sweet name, right? Growing Pains, oh how cute! As the kids grow up they experience mild emotional and physical pains that concurrently happen with growing up.

Well, folks, the reality of the situation is that Growing Pains are not mild or cute in any way, in fact they are painful, severe and shocking.

Last night Ari woke up at 1am screaming his head off.

Wil was sleeping in the bed with him, and asked him repeatedly "What's wrong?"

His responses were incomprehensible and he continued to moan in pain.

After about ten minutes of this behavior, Wil was mentally and physically exhausted and he yelled to me across the apartment:

"Babe! Go in there with him please!"

So I slept walked into the bed with Ari and rubbed his back while he screamed his 3 3/4 year old head off.

"Does something hurt?" I asked him groggily.

"MY KNEE!!!! MY KNEE HURTS!!!!!" And with that, he continued to scream and writhe in pain.

I just held him, while he screamed. Eventually, he calmed down, and then he climbed back into bed with Wil and went to sleep.

I remember being around eight or nine years old, and complaining to my mom that my own knees hurt. I can't remember the pain exactly, but I do remember that it was alarming enough to report. My mom comforted me by saying:

"Don't worry honey, it's probably just growing pains."

The thing is whoever named the Alan Thicke show has their head up their ass. Growing Pains are not adorable, they are scary and jarring, and the poor kid has no idea what is happening to him! I just want to know when these things are going to stop. When will Ari get some relief from waking up in the middle of the night in excruciating pain?

Has anyone else experienced growing pains personally, or with their own children?

Introducing Ari to The Classics Like Super Mario Brothers

My old friend Evan posted a link on Facebook the other day that made me smile. It was to a site called Exploding Rabbit, which recreated the old classic eight bit Nintendo game Super Mario Brothers.

You can play the game using the 'Z" key to jump, the "X" key to shoot fireballs, and the arrows to move Mario. Here's the other awesome thing about this game, you can choose characters to be other than Mario and Luigi! You can be characters from other old school Nintendo games, like Link from Zelda or Mega Man! How cool is that?

Ari was intrigued by the music, and he wanted to play immediately.

But when the mushroom killed Mario within 30 seconds of playing the game, he announced

"I don't want to play this anymore," and sighed deeply.

Upon seeing this interaction Wil said:

"What does he need with Nintendo? He's got XBox and Playstaion 3!"

"Babe, " I said sternly "He needs to start with the classics!"

I feel it's important for Ari to have a solid video game foundation.

I'm all about hooking up our old school Nintendo to the TV and showing him games like Super Mario Brothers, Arkanoid, Mega Man, Zelda, Anticipation and Mike Tyson's Punch Out.

Despite Ari's initial reservations, today I opened up Exploding Rabbit again for myself, I wanted to play old school SMB, and Ari announced:

"No, I wanna play!"

He's starting his video education early. What do you think? Video game fans, would you introduce your kids to the original Super Mario Brothers? Or would you move on to the modern systems, like Playstation 3 and XBox?

Feeding Therapy is Fun!

I've heard the expression many times before "everything happens for a reason." Here's a sequence of events that led me to meet Adam Kolesar, my son Ari's food therapist.

I met a woman named Emily. Emily told me about this great art studio called Barking Cat that had children's art classes. I signed Ari up for classes there, and he loved it! I met a woman at there, also named Sarah, whose daughter went to classes at Barking Cat. We got to talking, and I was complaining about the fact that Ari was a notoriously picky eater. Sarah commiserated with me.

"My daughter was the same. She's two now, and she just started eating. She was refusing food for the longest time. But you know what finally worked?"

"What?" I asked her.

"Feeding Therapy."

Sarah went on to tell me about Adam Kolesar, a food therapist. Adam runs Brooklyn Feeding Academy, a private practice where he helps problem eaters get back on track. The more I talked to Sarah, the more I realized that Ari was not just a picky eater; he was considered what is called a "problem eater." That is to say he eats ten foods or less and engages in problematic behavior at meal times, i.e. spitting food out, refusing to eat, refusing to sit at the table and texture refusal, just to name a few.

I decided to call this Adam dude and see what was up. The minute I got him on the phone, I got a good vibe. Adam is a speech language pathologist and has worked in the field for many years with a variety of populations. He told me the process involved in feeding therapy. There is a 32- step process to eating.

Adam came to our house and observed Ari being fed a meal first, by me, and then by Wil. After he made those observations, he developed a plan, and we started food therapy. Here is our first session. Adam started Ari with an orange progression. Take a look at how Adam makes food fun in order to get Ari to interact with it.

What do you think? Would you try feeding therapy with your child?

Forget Walking, I Want to Dance!

Samara started walking at 11 months. We were visiting Wil's family in Texas and bam! She walked. Now that she's mastered walking, she decided that she needs to master the art of dance. Check out her moves to Hot Chelle Rae's "Tonight."

Happy Birthday Samara

I can't believe it's been a year. Samara, you are a miracle. I am so happy you're daddy and I created you. I like to tell people that you delivered yourself. I thought I was in labor so many times, falsely. But when you were ready to come into this world, you shot right out.

So much has happened in your first year of life. We became a family of four, each of us was changed by your entrance into the world. I was afraid when you came out that I wouldn't be able to love you as much as Ari, but I was wrong. You amaze me every day with your bright eyes, your inquisitive nature. I wonder what you'll be like in three years, when you're as big as your brother is right now. I love you Samara! Happy first birthday!

Love,
Your Mommy

The TSA Gives Samara and I a Present

Today at 4am, Samara got a 1st birthday present from the TSA. We were at the Fort Lauderdale airport and I was carrying Samara in the Ergo on my back.

Apparently, the TSA thought I looked suspicious and when we entered the security checkpoint, they asked me to step aside with the baby in the "backpack," which I guess they'd never seen before.

"You can leave the baby in there," they said falsely reassuring me. I went through the metal detector, and thought that I "passed," but instead I was told to move to the right of the machine for further inspection.

Once they had sufficiently cornered me, they told me they needed to "test my hands." The TSA agent whipped out a white cloth.

"What's on that?" I wanted to know. I didn't want them to put extraneous unknown substances on my hands since I am handling my own children.

"Nothing." The agent replied mysteriously.

The TSA agent placed the white cloth into a machine and it beeped. He then called over another agent, who turned to me with an overly serious expression and said:

"Ma'am, I'm really sorry about this, but your hands are setting the machine off. We're gonna have to pat you down.'

"What?!" I exclaimed "Is this because of the Ergo? Can't I go through the machine again and take it off."

"No, I'm sorry, we have to search you."

I was so angry. It was Samara's birthday, we had a flight to catch and I was not in the mood to be felt up by someone I didn't know.

"Don't worry, " The agent said "It won't be him who searches you."

Instantaneously, and seemingly out of nowhere, two female TSA agents materialized and took my into a private room.

"Ma'am, I'm gonna have to pat you down. This will include some sensitive areas."

"Okay..."

"I'm going to have to pat the baby down too."

"Okay," I said again. "By the way, it's her birthday, she's one."

"Happy Birthday!" The two agents said simultaneously.

The agent patted my breasts, my inner thighs, my crotch, my butt, and all over my body. There was no reason for this, in my mind. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. I wanted to make conversation, but it was tough. The best I could muster up while they were touching my crotch was:

"At least they have female agents doing this."

"Yeah..." The agents said with a chuckle.

Wil, my parents, Samara, and Ari were waiting for me, nervously on some benches near by.

We were going to miss our flight if this took any longer.

After Samara and I were searched to their liking, they went off to test the potential residue on our clothes. They went out of the room and came back within 45 seconds.

"You're clear. Happy Birthday!" The agents said.

Though they were relatively friendly, I felt violated.

Was that all really necessary? Couldn't I have just taken the Ergo off?

I Have a Confession To Make

I have a confession to make. I'm addicted to my IPhone.




I have a mixed relationship with technology. I love the convenience of certain aspects of it; for example being able to order items online like diapers, movies, food, furniture, clothes, pet supplies and collectibles. I can do this all on my phone! There's even an amazon app for Iphone's sake!




One can pretty much do anything on the Iphone. I use the Iphone the most for communication:

Email:




Facebook:





And, of course texting.





Like I said, I have a love/hate relationship with technology. I've previously written about how my old cell phone made me lazy. But this...THIS...is out of control. I have to get a handle on myself.


I was at dinner last night, in beautiful Fort Lauderdale with my dad. We were eating Vietnamese food. I put my phone down on the table like this:





*Note, there were no Cherrios at the Vietnamese Restaurant.

The phone was facedown. The whole time my dad and I were talking, and he is a fun interesting fellow, I was itching to pick up my phone. What if I got a Facebook notification? What if there was a text message waiting for me? What if someone was trying to call me. And then it hit me,

I am totally, sickly addicted to my phone. I told my dad:

"Dad, there's something wrong with me."
"What's wrong?"
"I'm sitting here, and I want to look at my phone. I'm trying to fight the urge to pick it up and look at it.   But it's so hard."

And then...something miraculous happened he said:

"I know what you mean!"




My dad confessed that he is also very much addicted to his Iphone.

"You can do anything on this thing!" He went on to say. "I have all my music on here, I'm constantly looking on IMDB (Internet Movie Database) to see who was in what movie. Sometimes if someone wants to know the answer to something, and we can't figure it out, I google it on my phone!"

I wanted to hug him. We both had the same problem. And then something else happened. I started to get mad...at my phone.





This small device that (theoretically) was designed to make my life easier, was becoming an addictive nuisance. It was impeding on my connections with real people and things!





I found myself longing for the days before cell phones. When you made plans with someone, and you were running late, you'd better hurry because there was no way to tell them that you were running 15 minutes behind! If you wanted to talk to a friend, you had to consider when they were at home, because they were not always accessible to you. If they weren't home, you had to leave a message on their answering machine!

Sometimes, I just want to throw my phone out the window, because I certainly don't have the self-control to stop looking at it.




It's become apparent that I have to do something about my problem. So I'm starting with this:




I've known his family since I was six years old, or thereabouts. He's really nice, and he even says "hello!"






I'll consult him instead of my phone the next time I need to add something up, or subtract, or multiply something. He can't be used to Facebook, text or email, but he's a start. He's a symbol of the fact that I am taking technology back. I'm kicking it old school a little bit.


Is anybody with me on this? Are you addicted to your Iphone?

My Babies are Different

Babies are different, we know this to be true. I've found that my children differed as infants. I wanted to note the differences for myself so that I will remember them when they're older, and they have their own kids. Maybe one day, Ari will ask me "what was my first word?" Perhaps Samara will want to know, "how old was I went I walked?"

Without further ado, Here's what Ari did as a baby:

Sat Up: 7 months

Started Solids: Baby food at six months, "real" food at 14 months

Crawled: 8 months

Talked: 18 months "What's that?"

Walked: 14 months

Here's what Samara did as a baby:

Sat Up: 6 months

Crawled: 6 months

Started Solids: Baby food at five months, real food at around seven months.

Talked: 11 months "Hi!" "Ari!"

Walked: 11 months

I can't believe that Samara is almost one, and Ari is almost four!

What were the differences between your kids?

Almost One in Texas

On Saturday night, January 14, 2012, Wil, the kids, and I boarded a plane from JFK and flew to Austin. In Austin, we were picked up by his parents, and drove an hour to San Antonio. Texas was the first stop on our itinerary, we will be traveling to Florida next. We came to San Antonio to celebrate a year, a year in the life of our amazing daughter, Samara Olivia Fader-Van Luyn.

We came to celebrate this year with her Lola Anna:

Lolo Jon:

Her Tita Marygold:

Her pinsan:

Her other pinsan Daryl:

And of course, her parents and brother:

Happy early birthday, Samara! More to come on January 22nd.

Growth

I subbed for Pre K the other day, and I was surrounded by four-year-olds, so I drew this with crayons:

I love sitting down with the kids and drawing, it's very relaxing.

This particular Pre K class gave me hope for next year. While I was making my masterpiece, I was talking to one of the parents, who happened to be volunteering in the class that day. I told her about Ari's aggressive, defiant, and even combative behavior.

"How old is he now?" She asked

"Three."

"Yeah, don't worry," She said "She was like that too," she said gesturing to her daughter who was happily creating artwork with us.

"Really?" I said in disbelief looking at her child who appeared to be spirited but not aggressive by any means. "What did you do? How did deal with that behavior?"

"You know what, you basically just have to ride it out. Nothing much you do is going to change it. It's a phase. One day, you'll see, he'll just stop. It's an annoying period, but you get through it."

I hope she's onto something here. I've been trying to be more patient these days, but there's only so much irrationality I can take. I can only watch my kid cry over a broken cookie so many times before I break myself.

But, then I thought, maybe she's onto something. The 4-year-olds that I was teaching behaved markedly different from Ari. All of them did. I would say 95 % of the class actually listened and followed directions.

So maybe these defiant behaviors are part of a phase. Only time will tell, I suppose.

Can anyone attest to the difference between three and four?

Perpetual Teeth Grinder

Today, I got an email asking if I would check out Top Dentists, and also, if I'd be interested in writing a post about how dental care has impacted my life. I had to think about this for like three seconds and then I remembered, my night guard.

I've noticed lately, that I manifest my stress in my body. That's why I love going to acupuncture, because it allows my body and my mind to relax. One of the things I do is grind my teeth. In the morning when I wake up, my jaw feels so tight, I sort of feel like Dr. Frankenstein's monster.

My dentist said I needed to use a night guard, which is this bizarre plastic looking thing that is molded into the shape of my teeth. It looks like this:

I was skeptical about using a night guard, because I felt like a total dork, but my dentist was laying it on thick about how my teeth were crowding, and how eventually, if I didn't use my night guard, it would result it tooth decay and other scary things, so I listened to Dr. M, and popped that suck in at night:

I still feel like a nerd, and I never had braces growing up, so it's not like I'm used to wearing such dental accoutrements. But I have to say, in the morning my jaw didn't click as much, and I felt more relaxed.

So, in the spirit of good dental care, if you don't have a dentist, check out Top Dentists to find one.

In the mean time, I'll be wearing my night guard so my teeth don't fall out!

Do you guys grind your teeth? Tell me about it!

The No Pants Subway Ride 2012

Today, the kids and I, along with my friends Donna, Rita and some of Rita's friends, went on the 11th annual No Pants Subway Ride. Every year, since 2001, New Yorkers have been boarding the subway for one cold day in January and promptly removing their pants one person at a time, stop by stop.

It all started when Rita and I hung out in December. Rita and I see each other, on average, once every six months, and when we do hang out, it's epic. There's so much to catch up on. On our date, we ate some huevos rancheros at Perch, and Rita mentioned that she was planning on attending the No Pants Subway Ride in January.

"Wait, what?" I asked "I need to know about this immediately!"

Rita told me all about disrobing that occurred on the subway back in January 2011.

I told her to count me in, sans pants, for 2012.

Then I told my Donna about NPSR. She was psyched, and told me she was in too.

Today, January 8th 2012, we all met at the Stone House playground in Park Slope, and listened to this guy for instructions:

Then we were divided into small groups separated by the last number of our phone numbers. We all walked in a large group to the 9th Street train station. Once we boarded pants-less-ness ensued!

I was glad that right before the NPSR, I purchased a down coat from Brooklyn Industries for

50 % off. It kept me warm, when my legs were pants-less. Ari was so funny, he saw everyone removing his pants, and wanted to join in!

Pretty much right after he removed his pants, he demanded to put them back on, which was fine by me. A typical three-year old, he wanted to do the opposite of what everyone else was doing.

When we were on the R train, we ran into a nurse that treated Ari when he was in the hospital back in April.

She was also, as you see, pants-less.

Samara was the youngest attendee of the NPSR. Here she is pre-ride.

The NPSR ended at Union Square where Donna, Ari, and I took some glamorous pants-less shots. Here's one of my favorites.

On the way home, Ari was so tired. Donna and I found an elevator, and went down into the subway, she with her pants back on, me with mine still off. She, headed uptown toward port authority, me downtown toward Brooklyn.

When the kids and I got on the train, Ari exclaimed:

"I want to sit down!" A woman scooted over and attempted to give him a seat next to her.

"No! I want a big seat!" He carried on.

Another passenger offered him her seat. He was flailing his limbs, and was thus too distracted to notice the empty seat set aside for him. So I physically transported him to the seat awaiting his behind. But even that wasn't enough for this double Taurus child.

"I want two seats! One for me and one for you, mommy!" At this point there was audible laughter from the train passengers. A man graciously gave me his seat so I could sit next to my demanding child.

After we were all seated, Samara started kvetching, and clearly wanted to nurse. So I navigated through several million layers of clothing and nursed her. While I was doing that, this happened:

We had a blast! Thank you, Rita, for introducing us to the NPSR! We'll be back next year!

If you want to know more about this pants-less extravaganza click here.

"I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" In Real Life

I went to visit Ari's doctor on Friday, because he had been complaining that his feet hurt for some time. While I was in the waiting room, I met a dad who was playing in the play kitchen with his daughter. The daughter was around Samara's age, she had just turned one. The baby and Samara were fascinated by each other. They kept touching one and other's faces, and trying to bite each other. It was very cute. While the babies were playing, Ari was occupying himself in the refrigerator playing with the pretend eggs.

The dad was young looking, if I'd have to guess, I would say around 25. He had square rimmed dark brown glasses, dark brown spiked hair, and was dressed in a black tee-shirt, jeans, and high top Adidas. He and I got to talking, and it turned out that he worked for Trader's Joe's. We talked about my intense obsession for the store.

A few minutes later, the baby's mom came out. She was petite, and had short black curly hair, which was held back by a tan headband. She appeared to be biracial but I couldn't tell what her heritage was. She was beautiful. He was holding her son, who was around two. I asked them how far apart their kids were, they were 15 months apart.

She and I got to talking about how crazy two and three-year olds are. Her situation is a little more intense than mine, having two kids just over a year apart. We were particularly dwelling how difficult parenting boys can be.

Before we left, we exchanged information.

The next day, I got a text from her asking if we'd like to join her and her family for a birthday celebration for her daughter. I text her back an enthusiastic response.

We came to her place in crown heights, which was huge, had beautiful wooden floors, two bathrooms, and I don't how many bedrooms.

We got to talking about labor. And she opened up about her pregnancy story with her son.

"With my son, it's a crazy story. I stopped getting my period. So I went to the doctor, and they said, I wasn't pregnant. In fact, the doctor said that it was very unlikely that I could ever get pregnant, and that I had endometriosis. I continued to feel weird, and I knew something wasn't right, so I eventually I went back to the doctor, and they were like...oh, yeah, that's because there's a giant baby in your belly! It turned out I was six months pregnant!"

"Whoa," I said. I didn't quite know what to say. "What did he say when you told him?" I said gesturing to her boyfriend.

"He basically threw up in his mouth."

"What did you think?" I asked him.

"Um, I freaked out, went to sleep, woke up and gave her a key to my apartment."

And the rest was history. I cannot even imagine being six months pregnant, and not knowing the whole time. She delivered her son with a midwife, and was able to have vaginal birth in a hospital.

Her son, by the way, is lovely. He is a charismatic rambunctious healthy two-year-old.

But this story got me thinking, what is going on with western medicine that these sorts of situations are able to happen? The women in question are made to think that they're crazy and delusional. They believe they may be pregnant, but are shamed into thinking that there is some other bizarre heath concern going on.

It's a shame that anyone would have to go through what this woman went through.

What are your thoughts? Have you ever been made to feel "crazy" by a western medical professional? I know I have.

I Wish You Could Purchase Patience at The Store

A long, long time ago, when this blog was a tyrannosaurus rex, I wrote about hitting a frustration threshold. At that time, Ari was a baby. I was lamenting about how I'm impatient, I became utterly frustrated when I couldn't figure out what he wanted or needed at 11 months old.

Nearly two years later, Ari can talk. I know what he wants most of the time, because he is hyper-verbal, which is a fancy phrase to mean that he doesn't stop talking.

Don't get me wrong, I love the fact that my son is loquacious and bright, but it makes for very challenging, and sometimes infuriating, days.

He tries to negotiate everything. I tell him "put your shoes on." He lies on the floor and begs me to help him with them. We get into a battle about the damn shoes. Finally, I say

"Okay, if you don't put your shoes on, you're not going to art class."

"I want to go to art class!" He shoots back.

"Then put your shoes on!!" I shout.

Then a yelling match ensues, and I end up feeling like a terrible parent, because my kid doesn't listen to me and his shoes aren't on.

We have the same battle with pants. We have the same fight about steak. We argue the same way about washing his hands. You get the idea.

I'm exhausted. I feel like singing that Tina Turner song "I don't really wanna fight no more. Too much talking baby!"

Sometimes I wonder if it's just me. Am I the only one going through this? Am I doing something wrong? How can I stop the arguing? Is this a developmental phase?

I was in a coffee shop today, and Ari and I were fighting over splitting a bagel. I told him we were buying a plain bagel, and I was going to have half, and he would have the other half. He insisted that he wanted the whole bagel. I told him, I only had enough money for one bagel, and that was that. He kept whining about the damn bagel.

A beautiful blond woman in a striking green coat, with a striped shirt underneath smiled from behind her lap top.

"I'm smiling because I have an 11 year old." She said. "That used to be me."

"Oh really?" I asked. "So does it get easier?" I questioned, eyebrows furrowed with anticipation.

"It does." She says. "Trust me on that. It seems horrible now, but I promise it gets easier. My son is my little buddy now."

I sighed a huge sigh of relief.

One of Wil's co-workers told him this:

"It's not the terrible two's you have to worry about, it's the terrible 3's and 4's."

Is it true? Is anyone else out there having these kinds of days?

Magical Kosher (I Might Add) Beef Marrow Bones Soup

Ari is a notoriously picky eater. I've been at my wits end trying to get him to eat anything other than peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Even though the peanut butter, honey are organic, and the bread is whole grain, it's still not enough to survive on.

There was one day, in particular, that really freaked me out. We went to Blue Sky for a muffin and coffee for me, and a chocolate chip cookie for him. He refused the cookie, which was really bizarre because he ordinarily loves those cookies. He insisted that it was "gross" and wouldn't eat it.

Desperate for a solution, I took him to my acupuncture clinic to see if they had any suggestions for holistic care to treat his eating issues. The clinic has a pediatric shift, and the practitioners were really patient and understanding. The supervisor, Melanie, recommended making a soup, and putting beef bones in it for extra nutritional value. Beef marrow bones, she said, all kinds of nutrients in them that Ari is currently not eating from his peanut butter diet. I wish I could be more scientific about this, but I'm too lazy to point you to a statistic or a source. I'm sure you can find one if you really want to.

I know Ari likes chicken soup. Well, he'll eat the chicken and the broth, for sure. So I made chicken soup with Kosher chicken drumsticks, organic kale, organic carrots, organic short grain brown rice, organic garlic, sea salt, and lastly, I stuck Kosher beef bones in it. It came out delicious, and had a ton of vitamins and nutrients it it!

It was great for me, as well, because I'm still getting over a nasty stomach virus. Ari ate up the broth (even though it was neon green) voraciously! And I was glad for that, because I knew he was getting so many essential nutrients from it.

I've actually started feeding therapy with him. I'll keep you posted on how that's going as well.

Happy New Year everyone! Hope you're having a great 2012 so far!

Tell me, is your child a picky eater? What steps have you taken to get him/her to eat? How about you? Were you a picky eater as a child? Are you still a picky eater as an adult?

**Update- Some of you have requested the recipe for the soup, here it is!

Magical Kosher Beef Marrow Bones Soup © 2012 Sarah Fader

1 package kosher chicken drumsticks (usually there are 4-5 in a package) *You can substitute chicken thighs if you don't have drumsticks

1 cup short grain brown rice

2 carrots (chopped)

1 bunch kale (chopped)

1 package kosher beef marrow bones

1 1/2 lbs kosher beef marrow bones (click on the link to see the ones I used)

6 cloves of garlic (chopped)

kosher salt or sea salt (to taste)

pepper (to taste)

1. Fill large soup pot 3/4 of the way with cold water.

2. Place pot of water on the stove to boil.

3. Throw in drumsticks and beef bones in the water

3. While waiting for the water to boil, chop up the remainder of the ingredients (with the exception of the rice) one by one and throw into the pot.

4. Boil the soup for an hour - 1 1/2 hours.

5. Enjoy!