Growing up in Eugene, Oregon, it’s no surprise that I developed a few hippie habits. My mother added wheat germ to my yogurt, and my chocolate chip cookies were often made with carob and zucchini. I didn’t plan to become a “crunchy” mom, but one day I found myself grappling with self-judgment, feeling I wasn’t doing enough or being strict enough with my kids’ diets.
We frequented the farmer’s market, eliminated high fructose corn syrup, diluted their juice, and cut out artificial sweeteners. I invested in grass-fed beef and hormone-free milk. As our family grew from one child to three, I purchased BPA-free containers and reusable fabric snack bags. I even allowed myself the occasional compromise with a single Capri Sun alongside a stainless-steel water bottle—to grant them a taste of normalcy.
But then I stumbled upon articles discussing BPA-free containers leaching chemicals, and I felt a pang of panic. My formerly judgmental self—who believed in paraben-free and organic everything—snapped. “What do you mean they’re leaching chemicals?” I thought. I had discarded all the plastics, celebrated my BPA-free choices, and trusted the products I bought.
Then, the hormone-free lunch meat I had proudly purchased was recalled. Somehow, I had convinced myself that by spending more money, adhering strictly to the rules, and pursuing the “better options,” my kids would be shielded from harm. “No carcinogens here,” I would declare. Clearly, I was mistaken.
Alright, I decided to switch to metal and glass. But glass can break, and metal has its drawbacks too. What about paper? No, plastic? Maybe just let them choose their snacks. You know what? I’m done. I’m waving the white flag. I’m fatigued from hunting down paraben-free shampoos, and I’ve had it with buying produce from the Dirty Dozen list only to find it spoiled before I even get it home. I’m tired of my children eyeing the fruit snacks their friends have, only to turn their noses up at the “healthier” options I provide.
The financial cost of groceries doesn’t bother me as much as the toll this obsession takes on my sanity. I worry about whether their lunches are homemade enough, if the containers are safe, and if the food is pure. I’ve come to realize that the price of being a frazzled, short-tempered, and judgmental mom far outweighs the occasional sip of milk with rbST or a snack pouch containing a bit of HFCS.
A friend once pointed out, “At the end of the day, your kids are going to school with food to eat.” That’s a solid perspective. This school year, I’m shifting my approach—not because I care any less about my kids, but because I love them enough to recognize that I need to ease up. So, let’s raise a juice box and a pre-packaged snack together and toast to the school year with a hearty, “It’s going to be alright!”
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In summary, sometimes it’s essential to let go of the pressure to be perfect. Embracing a more relaxed approach can benefit both you and your kids as you navigate the complexities of family life.
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