How Do You Win the War On Childhood Obesity? Plant A Vegetable Garden With Your Kids

By GEORGE BALL

Childhood obesity is now the nation's disease—an ailment crippling the body politic. The long-term health effects are well-established and include early onset diabetes and premature hip and joint problems. American children are prematurely aging, suffering from sicknesses that were once the provenance of older adults. Old has become the new young.

The lineup of culprits includes school vending machines, latchkey children, the endangered home-cooked meal, vanishing physical-education classes, fried everything, supersized portions, sedentary hours spent zoned out in front of the computer screen, nutritional ignorance, misleading labeling and more. But whatever and whoever is to blame, it is surely not kids. We cannot expect children to make the right food choices when healthy foods are out of reach and nutrition-smart role models are not in evidence.

The saddest thing about childhood obesity is that it's unnecessary. It's inexcusable that in the breadbasket of the world American children are eating so much lousy food. First lady Michelle Obama's anti-obesity initiative, "Let's Move," represents a  welcome beginning to what will have to become a nutritional revolution.

As an agriculturist and horticulturist, I believe that the answer is simple. As parents, educators, nutritionists and marketers, we have to imbue our children with the love of—and consumption of—the most beneficial food for growing bodies. This means fresh vegetables and fruits, whether store-bought or home-grown.

As kids, we imitate our elders, who teach most effectively by example. Right now, adults aren't doing a good job of modeling good behavior. According to a recent report by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, just 26% of adults have three or more servings of vegetables a day, a number that includes those who deem a tomato slice or lettuce on a burger as a "vegetable serving." In other words, roughly 80% of U.S. adults scarcely eat any vegetables at all.

Liking vegetables is not a given: Every food other than breast milk is an acquired taste. But children can easily learn to enjoy eating their greens. It's simply a matter of education and familiarity—as in "family." 

Children will happily eat squash, artichoke or broccoli, to the delight of the parents who taught them to do so. As for fruits, children can gobble them up, but like vegetables, they must be at the ready, at least as available as all the junky alternatives. Kids imitate their elders, who teach most effectively by example.

In our research at Atlee Burpee, we have found that kids who grow vegetables alongside their parents eat them regularly and with gusto. Peas, green beans and raw carrots—the very vegetables that kids are told to eat, their parents' admonishing fingers wagging—are particular favorites.

While not all American families have the benefit of a sun-filled backyard for a vegetable garden, companies like Burpee offer many vegetable seeds and plants that you can grow easily in containers. You can grow beets, carrots, sweet potatoes and Brussels sprouts, which can be plucked from the stalk well into winter.

Eighteen years ago, as president of the American Horticultural Society, I initiated a children's gardening program. Our annual symposium drew thousands of educators and community gardeners with the goal of educating and inspiring children to grow gardens in their school and neighborhoods. The results were heartening: Thousands of churches, schools and community centers sprouted new gardens.

Yet no single institution is sufficient; fighting a problem of this sort requires a multifaceted effort. Churches could do much more to inspire families to grow vegetables. Public and private botanical and community gardening groups should augment efforts to lure neighbors into their educational demonstration gardens. Most families, whether in the city or suburbs, can plant at least a "starter garden"—involving pre-teen children in the planting, tending and harvesting.

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About our contributor: George Ball is a past president of the American Horticultural Society (AHS) and the current chairman and CEO of W. Atlee Burpee & Co, the largest, most progressive garden seed company in the United States. This piece originally appeared on the op-ed page of the Wall Street Journal and was reprinted with permission by Mr. Ball. For more information on gardening with children, visit Burpee's Kid's Gardening page.

Help Build Strength In Numbers This Season; Donate To The Ronald McDonald House Charities

There’s a story behind the number 7 for one beautiful little girl named Ashanti.

See, while so many other children were enjoying the first rays of summer vacation, Ashanti and her mom, Saundra, found themselves taking up residence at the Ronald McDonald House in Miami. Ashanti was sick—so very sick; she was in need of a liver transplant, but doctors could offer her nothing more than a spot on a long waiting list for a new organ.

But, like a miracle, two months after Ashanti and her family received that dire news, a match was found. And between August 5 and November 3 of this year, while Ashanti underwent and recovered from surgery, The Ronald McDonald House became a “home away from home” for the little girl and her mom—a place where they could count on the love and support needed while she got well.

During her stay, Ashanti celebrated her seventh birthday, surrounded by her new Ronald McDonald House family and friends. And today, Ashanti is doing extremely well—looking for a fresh start with her new, healthy liver.

Talk about lucky number 7!  For Ashanti and her family, there is strength in that number.

Seven days a week, 365 days a year, Ronald McDonald House Charities (RMHC) help families like the Jacksons find the support and comfort they need as they deal with life-changing illnesses. And the charity needs our help to continue its mission to serve children and families in need of a safe, comfortable, loving place to stay while they undergo treatment.

I’ve written before about all of the interesting ways Ronald McDonald House Charities fundraises, including the RMHC Day of Change, in which I urged MyBrownBaby readers to drop off their spare change at a local McDonalds. This time, I’m urging you to open your eyes—to pay attention to numbers all around you. Through December 31, pedestrians, football and basketball fans, shopping mall goers, employees of local businesses, and the general public will find numbers painted on retail windows and sidewalks, projected onto buildings, posted on scoreboards, or stamped on uniforms. These numbers represent meaningful stories about RMHC, its programs and the families the charity has helped along the way. A URL including the number will take people to a website that explains the story behind the number. It’s a bit of mystery and intrigue that will get people clicking to learn more about the stories behind the numbers and, hopefully, donate to a local Ronald McDonald House. 

In this season of giving, won’t you please consider helping families find strength in numbers? RMHC—along with MyBrownBaby—is encouraging those looking to do some good this holiday season to donate to RMHC. The organization’s goal is to reach 4,200 donations by December 31.

Won’t you help? Children like Ashanti need your support. Follow this link to Ashanti’s story and, if you’re so moved, donate to the cause. No amount is too big or too small, but every penny is appreciated.

Candy Apples, 12-Inch Subs and Quarter Waters: 3rd Graders Lunches = One Step Closer To Type 2 Diabetes

By NICK CHILES

I was pleased to see that the class trip was a big hit. My daughter Lila’s third-grade class had hit the Salvador Dali exhibit at Atlanta’s High Museum in full 8-year-old curiosity mode. They bounced around the cavernous rooms, wide-eyed as they took in Dali’s unique and whimsical view of the world. They had studied him in class; now they were seeing the real thing, close enough to touch (but keep your little hands off!). A painter who could put the Christ child, floating rhinoceros horns, a waterfall and a lovely portrait of his wife all in the same painting was clearly a genius in their eyes. The High Museum made it extra fun by creating an audio-tour that was narrated by Dali’s “mustache.” When the third graders put the headphones on and heard the silly, French-inflected voice that was supposed to be the painter’s mustache, they all broke into giggles. Nothing like seeing giggles coming from 8-year-olds in an art museum.

I was one of two class chaperones, meaning I had to help the teacher and the other chaperone, a grandma, keep 20 8-year-olds moving along the exhibit at a brisk and coordinated pace. Yeah, right. Certainly you’ve heard the expression “herding cats.”

When we reached the end of the exhibit and the kids had to regretfully hand back the audio kits, we announced that it was time for lunch. They were happy. And that brings me to the point of this here diatribe.

We sprawled out in the museum’s courtyard and handed the students the lunches they had brought from home. I was having a great time eating with my little Lila and sharing our impressions of the tour. Then I heard a whole lot of giggling and loud exclamations to my right. I looked over and saw that one little boy was struggling to put away a mammoth 12-inch sub sandwich.

“That’s too big!” one little girl said, pointing at him and laughing. “You can’t finish that!”

I agreed with her, shaking my head and wondering what form of dementia would move a parent to send a child to school with a sandwich that was bigger than my forearm. But it got worse.

A chubby girl (yeah, I know, a little mean, but I’m just keeping it real) sighed and looked down at her lap. What stared back at her was a feast that could have fed half the class, no exaggeration. The girl had about eight sandwich quarters, cut up and stuffed into a gallon-sized Ziploc bag. She had a large bag of potato chips. And she had three large containers of those cheap, sugar-water-with-food-coloring bottles of liquid that we used to call “quarter waters” when I was little because they only cost a quarter. She had finished the pink one; now she was looking down at two blue bottles, wondering if she should crack open another. But it got worse.

The girl sitting next to her, who also was a bit chubby, was wrestling with a large red candy apple, covered with nuts. I don’t know about you, but I still have nightmares thinking back to those post-Halloween candy feasts as a child when I had to figure out how to eat a candy apple without losing several molars. The idea of handing one to my child in the morning and telling her to eat it for lunch at a museum…well, I really am unable to understand. I checked in with her a few minutes later and she had shorn off the top layer of hard, sticky, red lacquer—much of it of course winding up on her hands and face—leaving the abused, browning flesh of a sad little apple. But it got even worse.

Sitting next to me was another little boy. He wore glasses and he also was a bit chubby. I will call him Raymond. Raymond was steadily making his way through a giant chocolate Twix bar. When I say “giant,” I mean one of those 8 ½ x 11 candy bar sheets that you see near the check-out counter at the CVS and wonder to yourself under what circumstances any person would ever need to eat a pound of Twix. Well, I found out the answer: apparently when you send your child on a class trip. 

Michelle Obama would have had a coronary.

We hear a lot of grousing in this country about the poor health of our children, and how we are hurtling scarily toward a day when like half of the population will be suffering from Type 2 diabetes. We shake our heads and wonder how we got to this point. Well, on that recent afternoon at the High Museum, I got a little glimpse at the root of the problem. My wife has written here at MyBrownBaby about how unhealthy and plain bad school lunches are, and how Congress needs to get off its behind and get a Jamie Oliver-type Food Revolution going in all of our schools. But we can't just blame Congress and schools for feeding our kids crap. Nope—some of this has to fall squarely on the parents' shoulders.

I feel compelled to add one more fact: all of the children with the ridiculously inappropriate lunches were African American. Of the 20 kids in the class, about 8 are black. The rest are a little model U.N. of white, Latino and Asian. But only the black kids had the bad stuff. And, I might add, the black kids were the chubsters. Come on, people, we gotta pay more attention to what we are feeding our children! So many of us fight so hard to keep off the bulge as we get older. Let’s not put that burden on our kids before they even learn their times tables.

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About Our MBB Contributor: Nick Chiles, a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, is the author of seven books, including the New York Times bestselling tome The Blueprint: A Plan for Living Above Life's Storms co-written with gospel legend Kirk Franklin. Nick also writes for several publications including Essence, where he frequently pens stories about fatherhood and manhood.  

{Bringing Up Boogie} Tantrums & Tears For Fears: Waiting For the Boogie Man

Bassey with Boogie in the belly. [Photo by Kimberly Gaines]

By BASSEY IKPI

I didn’t want to have children. I told people that it was because my life was too cosmopolitan, too six-inch heels and $200 jeans, too travel ready to tote a child about. I said I didn’t want to parent because parenting wasn’t for me. I had all kinds of reasons and excuses, but the truth was I didn’t want a child who would end up like me.

Don’t get me wrong, I love myself, but that took awhile. I didn’t want any child of mine to inherit these oddities and ticks that I grew up with. My memories of my early childhood are blurry. I have stories that I tell to amuse my friends and incidents that make anecdotes in conversation or writing, but there were a lot of scary parts. I was hyper. I couldn’t sit still. I was always doing something and moving and unable to stop myself from being too loud or too “wiggly.” I talked too much. I talked too fast. But there were other times that would come out of nowhere, where I was so sad, I couldn’t breathe. Normal things that would upset any grade schooler would devastate me. I would walk to school thinking about “What if my dad died?” and by the time I got to school, I’d be crying hysterically. When the Challenger shuttle carrying the first teacher in space exploded, I was inconsolable. Everyone in the class, including the teacher, cried, but I was wracked with such grief I stayed awake for days staring into the night, wondering if there was something I could have done to save them. 

Anything. 

For some reason, the world’s problems fell on my thin shoulders. I had to win races and spelling bees and parts in plays because if I didn’t, then something terrible would happen. I never knew what. 

I started getting stress headaches when I was around 9. Parts of my head would have these sudden flashes off pain. Sometimes on the left side near my ear, sometimes on the left near my forehead—the pain would move around. I didn’t realize then that it was stress. I thought it was brain cancer. My mother thought that I was on drugs. Nobody knew that I was suffering in other ways. It took two decades before I was finally diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder.

My son, Boogie, will be 4 in November. And every day of his life scares me. I watch him like a guard dog for any signs. I’ve taught him to tell me when something hurts and how it hurts. I’ve made sure he can come to me with anything. I’ve done all that I can to protect him. He’d been having problems in school for the past few weeks, but nothing like this. He was fidgety and couldn’t sit still and disrupting the classroom. He never went through the terrible twos, so I just figured he was getting on that late. She said that the typical acting out behavior she had dealt with before was heightened. She said he’d tripped a little girl. She said he spit in another child’s face. She said he threw a pencil at another child. She said, "I don’t know who this kid is." I could hear him in the background screaming and crying. It was a tantrum. I didn’t know who he was either. He throws those every once in awhile, but they stop within five minutes. She said he’d been like that for 30 minutes at least. And refuses to settle down or stop disrupting the class. I started crying immediately, I asked if I could speak to him and did my best to keep my voice even. 

I asked him if he was hurting in any way. He said, “no.” I asked him body part by body part. He answered no. Then I asked, “Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you acting up in school?” and he said, “I don’t know, mommy.” And I burst into tears.

I know he’s only a kid. I know that kids act out sometimes. I know that your sweet innocent little boy can be a terror in other places, but not my boy. I was so happy that I could take Boogie anywhere and he would sit still and amuse himself while grownups talked or I performed. I tell stories of Boogie Antics, as a friend calls them. He’s a good kid. And I’m scared to death that I broke him. I speak openly about my issues with mental illness. I’m not ashamed of what I have or what I’ve been through, but I don’t want it for my baby. I want him to be normal. I want him to live his life free of all the pain and heartache that I went through. All the confusion and chaos that was in my head. I don’t want that for him.

As a mother, there a lot of things that we have to be careful about. Especially, while raising brown boys to be good, alive black men. But on top of that, I need to make sure I raise a sane brown boy into an emotionally healthy black man. I don’t know how to stop it. I know he’s young, but on top of all the other fears that mothers have, this is one that scares me the most because if it happens, I gave it to him. And I will never be able to forgive myself for that. I know it’s early and I’m probably emotional and jumping to conclusions, but I didn’t realize how much this scared me until that phone call. He’s probably fine—just tired or upset about something or disappointed that they didn’t make it to the field trip due to the rain. I pray that’s all it is.

I pray with everything I own that’s all it is.

I would never be able to forgive myself if it’s anything more.

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About our MyBrownBaby Contributor: Bassey Ikpi is a Nigeria-born, Oklahoma-bred, PG County-fed, Brooklyn-led writer/poet/neurotic who is the single mother of an amazing man-child, Elaiwe Ikpi. She's half awesome, a quarter crazy and 1/3rd genius... the leftover bit is a caramel creme center. A strong advocate of mental health awareness, Bassey is currently working on a memoir about living with mental illness and producing Basseyworld Live, a stage show that infuses poetry and interactive panel discussions about everything from politics to pop culture. This essay originally was published on her site, Bassey's World.

If you would like to be a featured contributor on MyBrownBaby, email your essays/ideas/blog posts/rants/musings to Denene at denenemillner at gmail dot com. 

Salma Hayek, Kim Kardashian and "Creepy" Breastfeeding

I mean seriously: What gets people so worked up about breastfeeding? The baby is hungry, nature put milk in your boob to satisfy that hunger—pop a boob in the baby’s mouth and everybody’s satisfied. It’s free. It’s (relatively) easy. And it comes with some health benefits for the kid and some quick weight loss for you.

Everybody wins.

Why, then, all the vitriol? I swear, when I made the conscious decision to breastfeed both of my daughters for at least a year, everyone from the nurses where I gave birth to some of my closest family members and friends tried to shove Similac into my refrigerator—as I recount in THIS BLOG POST. I always felt like at the base of it, folks were so busy sexualizing my boobs that they couldn’t accept that I wanted to put them to use for purposes other than turning on men.

This was on my mind recently when I read the June issue of In Style, when Salma Hayek expressed shock over a legion of racist hate mail from people who took pen to paper to express outrage after the Mexican starlet breastfed a hungry, crying African child while on a humanitarian trip in the motherland:

This baby was hungry and I was still nursing [my daughter] Valentina, so I fed the child. What was shocking were the hate letters I received. What offended some in particular was that I breastfed a black child. It was not even in my universe, such a thought. For me, it was a baby who was just born and was hungry. He was healthy but malnourished at this hospital – it was really just a clinic in the countryside – and I was able to help.

My girl Erica Kennedy of The Feminista Files had me sending up hallelujahs when she broke down why someone would waste printer ink, paper, a stamp and the spit it took to make it stick to an envelope hollering at a woman whose sole purpose was to feed a baby:

I think this has to do with the messed up, puritanical ideas we have in America about sexuality and our own bodies. A rich Latina woman married to a white French billionaire whose gigantic tatas are always on delicious display on red carpets letting a poor black child s uckle on her golden bosom on camera for ABC News? That could keep a whole army of shrinks writing books for decades.

Indeed.

Which had me thinking that maybe the deputy editor at a top UK-based parenting magazine, should ask HR if her health benefits cover a couple of couch sessions to discuss her hatred of breastfeeding.  Just this past week, after Kim Kardashian tweeted her disgust of a woman who was breastfeeding in public, Kathryn Blundell of Mother and Baby magazine WEIGHED IN WITH AN ESSAY in which she proclaimed her “fun bags” were strictly for lovers, and the idea of putting them in the mouth of a “bawling baby” is “creepy.” She added that she formula fed her child to give her boobs “at least a chance to stay on my chest rather than dangling around my stomach.”

Now, I get why Kim Kardashian’s ignorant ass would tweet some anti-breastfeeding sentiments. I mean, I find it ironic that a chick whose claim to fame is making uninspired, butt-naked sex tapes with Ray J, is bothered by a mother feeding her baby in public. But nobody ever accused Kardashian of being the brightest porch light on the block anyway, so her dimwittedness makes sense. But the editor of a parenting magazine going hard against breastfeeding? Really?

Of course, after all hell broke loose, Blundell explained herself, but stood surprisingly firm, even in the face of a firestorm of criticism:

My motivation behind writing this feature was to give a voice to those many women who simply do not want to breastfeed, and as a result of this choice have felt guilty, alienated and distressed. 
I also wrote with humour as I wanted to take a more relaxed approach to the topic, in a climate where unfortunately the type of milk a woman feeds her baby seems so open to serious judgment and criticism.

Exactly. Emphasis on judgment and criticism. How, exactly, does one try to stop mothers from judging and criticizing other mothers for their baby feeding choices by judging and criticizing women who breastfeed? I'm confused. 

Here’s an idea Ms. Blundell: How about we accept the fact that God put milk in our breasts to feed our babies, and that all over the world except here in the backwards ass United States and apparently the UK, it’s actually considered a GOOD, HEALTHY way to keep your kid alive.

It’s not creepy.

Or nasty.

Or abnormal.

And I don’t know about anyone else, but I got two-baby boobies—and they sit up right nice, thank you very much.

If you choose to feed your baby with formula—cool, do you.  Your choice. Just like breastfeeding was mine. Let’s leave each other alone about it already.

How to Braid Black Girl Hair the RIGHT Way

So the state of Illinois is backtracking on a law that requires hair braiders to get a cosmetology degree and be licensed before they sit clients in their chairs, and it's got me feeling some kinda ways. Some background from THIS Associated Press story:

Illinois requires hair braiders to get a cosmetology degree — which can take 1,500 hours and cost $15,000 — and then apply for a license, just like people who give haircuts, manicures and facials. Proponents say the rules are needed to protect consumers if they develop problems such as hair loss or have service complaints.

But the law seems ridiculous to many braiders, the majority of whom are African and African-American women who learned as children and have refined their talent in kitchens and on stoops for generations.

"Hair braiding is not cosmetology," said Alie Kabba, executive director of the Chicago-based United African Organization. "You cannot ask an engineer to get a degree in history."

The story goes on to say that hair braiders are ignoring the law and either working under threat of being shut down by state regulators or taking their shops underground so they won't get caught braiding without a license. New legislation passed by the state legislator and awaiting the governor's signature would allow licenses to be given to hair braiders who can prove they've practiced their craft for at least two years and pay a fee; new braiders would get a license after undergoing 300 hours of training in hair braiding and sanitation.

Now, I get the argument the stylists are making: Hair braiding is something we African-American and African women learn from little ol'; I taught myself how to braid hair at age five, just from watching my mom, and Mari and Lila, ages 10 and 7 respectively, are learning on their American Girl dolls. Learning how to get nice with hair braiding is almost a rite of passage for black girls—and, if you have a little girl with a thick head of hair, it's a necessity, too.

But hair braiding is not innate. And I can't tell you how many times I sat in a "professional" hair braiding salon that was a little too unsanitary for my tastes, where stylists snatched my hair so tight I could barely see straight—a practice that could and, on a few occasions, did, pull my hair out—and nobody could offer up tips for how to protect my hair from damage. Understand, once someone jacked up my hair, I never went back, but each time I wanted to wear my hair in box braids or cornrows, I had to take my chances with a new braid stylist until I could find one who knew what she was doing and cared enough about her clientele and business that she bothered to sweep the floor, sanitize her combs, wash the towels she used while she did her job, and knew and cared enough about black hair care to not only create a style, but do it without damaging our hair.

Trust me when I tell you, those stylists/shops were rare.

I get that making someone get a cosmetology license, i.e. take hundreds of hours worth of classes on how to cut white folks' hair and apply relaxers—is kind of a waste. But why not create a licensing curriculum that teaches braiders how to braid hair without damaging it? Or how to tend to natural hair so that you help it, rather than harm it? Or to show stylists how to do something as simple as dip their combs into barbicide so I don't catch cooties from the last 100 women who had their hair done with the same dirty rat tooth comb?

More importantly, why not have hair braiders get real licenses so they can be held accountable when their styling goes wrong or they don't follow the simplest hygiene rules in their shops? I'll tell you this much: I'd be much more comfortable sitting in the chair of a trained, licensed stylist—and entrusting my daughters to said stylist—if I knew I could hold her accountable for her work and the care of her shop.

It makes me salty that Illinois and 10 other states in the union have been punked into excusing hair braiders from getting licensed under the claim that "black women learn to braid hair in the kitchens and on front stoops so they're experts" and that forcing them to be licensed is unfair at best, borderline racist at worst.

I readily raise my hand and say that though I can braid some hair and have for more than 35 years, I'm not a professional.

Know that the same thing can be said of plenty other women who hang an "open for business" sign in the window, tape on the wall a couple styles ripped from Black Beauty magazine, and charge upward of $300 per head for hairstyles that do way more to harm our hair than help.

Paying in Sweat at World Fitness Day

Um, yeah.

I never could strike that Jane Fonda leg-warmer pose. My legs are too heavy.

Seriously, I'm not going to lie: I have a love/hate relationship with exercise. Get me in the room with some African drums and my incredible dance instructor (and friend!) Sauda (as chronicled in THIS POST), and it doesn't matter that I can't dance a lick—I'm swaying and bending and leaping my way to a more fit body, and having so much fun that I'm telling everyone I know that I'm addicted to exercising. But let me walk into the great room in my basement and see the treadmill all dusty and lonely, laying up against my good walls, and I'll cuss out that big hunk of machinery like it stole money from my mama.

I guess you can say that I can't really be left to my own devices when it comes to staying fit. I do my best to eat right—not only for my sake, but for that of my family—and my girls and I are good for inspiring each other to get in a good work out at group classes, like belly and pole dancing. But outside of that, I need a bit of inspiration to get my work-out on at home.

On Saturday, May 1, I'm going to get a stadium full of inspiration to get moving, for sure, when I take part in World Fitness Day. The brainchild of actress, author, philanthropist and fitness icon Jane Fonda, World Fitness Day is an annual initiative to highlight the importance of staying active and fit. I'll be joining literally thousands of Georgians on the field of the Georgia Dome—home of the Atlanta Falcons—to participate in a one-of-a-kind group workout with celebrity fitness and health experts Richard Simmons, Billy Blanks, Denise Austin, dancer/director/choreographer Debbie Allen, and Dr. Sanjay Gupta. California Governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger also will deliver a video tribute—I swear, if he says, "I'll be back," it will make my millennium!—and The Pointer Sisters will pump up the crowd with live renditions of some of their greatest hits. Ludacris will also kick a few verses for the cause.



Tickets to participate in World Fitness Day are $75 a pop (though if you register now, you can get 50% off by CLICKING HERE); you can come alone or bring a bunch of friends and come as a team. If you want to just cheer on your peeps and get workout tips without moving, tickets are only $25. Kids ages 12 and up, accompanied by an adult, can participate, too; their tickets are $25, too. To register, form a team, or become a workout sponsor, CLICK HERE.

The event will benefit the Georgia Campaign for Adolescent Pregnancy Prevention, the nonprofit organization Fonda founded in 1995.

Not planning to be in Atlanta on May 1st? You can still participate in the workout by logging on HERE to check out a live feed of the event on UStream. Tune in and you might just see me getting my sweat on and doing my best Debbie Allen imitation:

You want fame? Well fame costs. And right here is where you start paying... in sweat.

Get it Debbie! And Jane! And Billie!

And Denene!

Generation XXL: Michelle Obama's Got a Good Point, and We're Listening

I didn’t appreciate my pediatrician’s words—at all—and I’m sure my face made that clear, seeing as I suck at hiding my emotions. Basically, she said my then-5-year-old Mari “is at the 95th percentile, which makes her just shy of clinically obese.” She’ll need more exercise and less macaroni and cheese, the doctor added—I thought a little too glibly. As far as I was concerned, there wasn’t anything wrong with our diet, the girl got plenty of exercise chasing her little sister, and while she was a little thicker than her bony friends, she was hardly fat. Clearly, our pediatrician was seeing something Nick and I did not.

But after we got back home and mumbled a few cuss words in her honor and tried to convince ourselves she didn’t know what she was talking about, we let her pronouncement marinate for a few days. And then we took a good, hard look at our daughter and how the entire family ate and the bottom-line numbers that told our story: We were all “phat”—cute and shapely and pleasantly thick, you know, like how we like it—but just a couple servings of pancakes, peach cobbler, and yes, my 11-cheese macaroni and cheese away from being “fat.” And the truth of it was that all of us—not just Mari—needed a health makeover.

This is all to say that I totally got what Michelle Obama was talking about last week when, while announcing her new crusade against childhood obesity, she used a very personal story to bring home the point that we parents need to pay closer attention to our children’s weight.

"We went to our pediatrician all the time," Michelle said. "I thought my kids were perfect—they are and always will be—but he [the doctor] warned that he was concerned that something was getting off balance."

"I didn't see the changes. And that's also part of the problem, or part of the challenge. It's often hard to see changes in your own kids when you're living with them day in and day out," she added. "But we often simply don't realize that those kids are our kids, and our kids could be in danger of becoming obese. We always think that only happens to someone else's kid—and I was in that position."

Of course, she caught some flak from critics who said her comments focus too much on weight and dieting, and not enough on healthy eating and lifestyle changes. But whatever—I heard you, Michelle, and I totally get what you were saying because we dealt with almost the identical thing in our home, too. And when we stopped complaining and making excuses and arguing with what our pediatrician said, we reminded ourselves that really, our daughters’ doctor wasn’t trying to hurt our feelings or call our child “fat”; she was simply concerned for the well-being of our baby, and was imploring us to open our eyes to the troubling stats, as mentioned in this video:



And so we made some changes around our way. With the help of our pediatrician, we tweaked our diet (less sugary snacks and salty carbs, more fruits, veggies, and vitamins), increased physical fitness for our entire family (the girls play soccer, Nick hits the treadmill every day, and I take belly dancing and African dance classes), and gave constant affirmations that being healthy leads to a long, beautiful life. Now, our daughter—and our family—is more fit than we’ve ever been. And we feel—and look—good.

We’re not perfect. But we’re trying. And we're going to keep at it, too.

So thanks, Michelle, for encouraging more families to do the same. We hear you loud and clear.

I’m Going To Sleep My Way To the Top

Oh, get your mind out of the gutter—I don’t mean that kind of sleeping! I’m talking, literally, taking my behind to bed and getting in some quality sleep time.

Let me explain: My friend and writer Meera Bowman-Johnson tagged me in a note on FaceBook last week, challenging me to get a minimum 7.5 hours a sleep every night for the next 30 days as part of the 2010 Sleep Challenge announced earlier this month by Ariana Huffington and Glamour’s Cindi Leive. Huffington and Leive insist that if we ladies squeeze in the roughly 7.5-hour minimum our bodies need to function happily and healthfully—instead of the paltry six hours most single working women and working moms with young kids tend to get—we’ll be more productive during our waking hours.

Now, being the productive chick I tend to be, I didn’t quite see at first how cutting into work time to—gasp!–sleep, would increase my productivity. “But then when,” I wrote on Meera’s wall, “do I get my writing done? And the dinner cooked? And the house cleaned? And the grocery shopping and laundry and errands finished? And the girls’ hair twisted? And their homework checked? And their extracurricular activities accomplished? And keep tabs on their teachers? And help in the classroom? And write the blog? And the helping everyone else with their books and blogs? And stay fit and sexy? And somewhere in there, I have to give my husband some… 7.5 hours is a LOT of time… LOL! (Only half LOL…)

Of course, seeing as Meera’s a busy, accomplished mom of three young kids, and Huffington and Leive clearly lead high-powered, hectic lives of their own, I’m thinking they understand my reservations. But, Ariana and Cindi insist in their Sleep Challenge 2010 post that the health of us sleepy heads is at stake.

You probably already know about the health consequences of sleep deprivation, how cheating your body out of the R&R it needs can make you more prone to illness, stress, traffic accidents and even weight gain…

But there's more to it than simple physical problems. Rob yourself of sleep, ladies, and you'll find you never function at your personal best. Work decisions, relationship challenges, any life situation that requires you to know your own mind—they all require the judgment, problem-solving and creativity that only a rested brain is capable of and are all handled best when you bring to them the creativity and judgment that are enhanced by sleep. "Everything you do, you'll do better with a good night's sleep," says Dr. Breus. Yet women who constantly push themselves to get by on less never know what that "peak performance" feels like.

Okay, but forreal forreal? More sleep = peak performance? Like, I’ll be able to knock out MORE work during the course of the day if I get more sleep at night?

Yeah, I gotta see this.

Starting tonight, it’s going to be lights out for me at 11:30 p.m.—a full two hours before I go to sleep most nights. I’m vowing to make sleep a priority for the whole of February—28 days straight. No more blogging at midnight—damn FaceBook and Twitter and book proposals and columns and feature writing at 1 a.m. Laundry, hair-washing, coupon clipping—all of that will be done, somehow, during the day. If it doesn't get done before 11:30 p.m., it's not going to get done. I'll update my progress on FaceBook (friend me at Denene Millner if you want to see my progress or you want to take the challenge and tell me how you're faring).

Shoot, if Meera, Ariana and Cindi are on the money, I might be able to knock out at least two more books by Feb. 28, what with all this extra productivity I’ll be gaining in the process.

Sleep on!

The Skin They're In: Healing African American Babies' Skin Naturally

by TERESHA FRECKLETON-PETITE
of Marlie and Me

When it comes to our brown babies, we take pride in keeping their skin healthy and blemish-free. So it can be distressing when you wake up one morning and see a patch of red, itchy bumps where there used to be smooth skin. Don't panic. It is common for babies and children to develop rashes because their still-developing immune systems are more prone to the bacteria/fungi that cause skin problems. The important thing is to identify a solution that clears up the infection without risking side effects. I learned that this is easier said than done.

My newborn has cradle cap and atopic eczema. Like all good parents we took her to the doctor. Thankfully, both rashes are mild, but her pediatrician still recommended treatment to prevent them from spreading (did you know that cradle cap can migrate to the face and as far as the tops of your child's feet? yikes!). My daughter's pediatrician advised me to wash the affected areas with a medicated dandruff shampoo, apply an over-the-counter cortisone cream and a commercial analgesic lotion. Have you read the labels on these products? They are full of harmful chemicals and alcohols and sulfates, which can further irritate the skin. Uh, no thanks! I wasn't willing to expose my baby to these toxins or compromise her health.

I set out to find a natural alternative, but my initial search left me frustrated and a bit discouraged. There are tons of web sites shilling their "miracle" salves, lotions, powders, and shampoos. Never trust a source trying to sell you something, right? I found the holistic sites somewhat helpful. They provide a lot of information on prevention, but offered little practical advice about homeopathic treatments. I almost gave up until I realized that the most trusted resource was right at my finger tips. I emailed other natural mamas, and they sent these recipes* to help my baby girl's skin heal:


CRADLE CAP RECIPE
Mix together:
1 tablespoon extra virgin coconut oil
5 drops tea tree oil

Use a soft-bristle brush to massage mixture into scalp loosening the flakes/scales. Let sit 10-15 minutes. Wash out with an organic shampoo like Dr. Bronner's Mild Baby Soap to remove oil. Gently detangle any remaining flakes from the hair with a comb. Moisturize scalp with a dab of a light oil like sweet almond oil with vitamin E. Repeat until scalp is clear.


ECZEMA HEALING RECIPE
Mix together:
1 tablespoon olive oil
1-2 drops grapefruit seed extract

Rub mixture on affected areas twice a day until rash disappears completely (typically 10-14 days).


ANTI-ITCH RECIPE
Mix together:
2 tablespoons pure aloe vera gel
2 drops tea tree oil
1 cup distilled water

Use a cotton ball to apply to affected areas for instant relief. It's also a great cleanser for the diaper area.


DAILY SCALP SPRITZ RECIPE
(for older kids and adults)
1 teaspoon of Neem oil
1 teaspoon Tea Tree oil
1 teaspoon of Rosemary oil
1 teaspoon of Lavender oil

Add the oils together to one cup of distilled water in a spray bottle. Shake vigorously then spray onto your roots.


Note: Children can be sensitive to some essential oils. Before using any of these recipes do an allergy check by applying a small amount to the inner arm, what a few hours, and check for any reaction. Report any irritation to ask your child's pediatrician.




You've heard the saying that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Natural remedies are not cures. In order to prevent a recurrence of the rash you'll need to examine your child's diet and daily skin care regimen. What goes into their little bodies affects the condition of their skin more than what goes on it. My breastfed baby is allergic to dairy so I have to stop eating foods made from cow's milk to avoid another eczema flare-up. Other common food allergies include eggs, nuts, soy, wheat, and seafood. When your child develops a rash, take note of what (s)he child ate the day before. If you suspect a food allergy is the culprit, discuss it with the pediatrician. Other prevention tips I recommend are:

• Avoid detergents and beauty products that contain perfumes/fragrance, dyes, and drying chemicals. Don't be fooled by terms such as "hypoallergenic" or "doctor-approved." Read the label.

• Keep skin hydrated, especially in the winter. Use organic creams with thick emollients as the base (coconut butter, shea butter) and contain healing elements (calendula, vitamin E, aloe vera, lavender). I use Episencials Better Body Butter on Marlie several times a day.

• Consider vitamin supplements. Omega 3s promote healthy skin development from within and probiotics will boost your child's immune system so that it can keep the bad bacteria in check.

• Here's to healthy skin for all our beautiful brown babies!

:: Sources ::
OriginalSprout.com
SproutBaby.com
DryItchyScalpRemedies.com

About our contributor:
New mommy TERESHA FRECKLETON-PETITE lives in Dallas, Texas with her husband and 5-month-old daughter, whom she's raising the conscious way—natural childbirth, breastfeeding, cloth diapers, whole food nutrition, organic products. For Teresha, everything is trial and error—then she blogs all about it at Marlie and Me.

A Black Southern New Year's Feast Fit For (someone other than a pregnant) Queen

I almost killed my Lila on the New Year’s Day before she was born.

At least it felt like I did.

Let me explain. See, each and every New Year’s Day, my mother would host a New Year’s Day dinner at her and my dad’s place in Long Island; she’d invite over the folks—my aunties and uncles, cousins and close friends, neighbors and strays—and serve up the quintessentially storied southern black folk meal that was meant to bring good luck and prosperity to our homes: Black-eyed peas and all manner of pig parts, including feet, ears, and tails for good fortune, mustard and collard greens to conjure up dollar bills, and cornbread, because, well, who eats black-eyed peas, pigs feet and collards without cornbread? Top that plate off with some hot sauce and you were starting off the New Year on the good foot, for sure.

At least that’s what I was telling my four-months-pregnant self when I dove into a huge plate of my mom’s New Year’s Day goodness. It was divine. Great food, better company—my childhood home filled with love and light.

And then, the darkness came.

The evening when I got back home, I was so doggone sick I thought for sure every last bit of liquid and innards in my body were going to rush out of each one of my orifices. I was alternately praying to the porcelain god and sitting on it, too—crawling from my bed to the bathroom what seemed like every minute. What was worse was that my little baby, then enough of a bump to warrant maternity pants, wasn’t her usual self. She wasn’t kicking. She wasn’t shifting. She wasn’t poking her little butt out. Nothing.

And I was scared crapless.



It took two ob-gyn visits, several doctor’s phone calls, a five solid days of porcelain god worship, a pinky-swear promise from my mom that, really, nobody else got food poisoning, and normal baby movement for me to get right. Turns out it’s not a good idea, like, ever, to eat black-eyed peas, greens, pig’s feet, cornbread and extra hot sauce when you’re four months pregnant.

Right.

I mean, I didn’t really need to be sick for almost a week to know this; I’d already had one healthy baby and took great pride in keeping my head buried in pregnancy books that extolled the virtues of healthy eating. I took my vitamins regularly, I didn’t eat a whole lot of junk food, and I caved to only a few of my cravings (I said yes to popsicles, and freezing cold ice water, and no—as tempting as it was, to starch, clay, and, get this, Tide detergent. I know, weird right? Turns out those cravings were signs of a ridiculously bad iron deficiency.) But none of those pregnancy books specifically suggested I skip my mom’s New Year’s Day dinner.

So let me just go on ahead and put it on out there: If you’re pregnant, it’s probably best to stick to a sound eating plan, like the one laid out HERE on the super-informative March of Dimes website.


The March of Dimes also has a fine set of guidelines for healthy weight gain for moms-to-be so that your body can perform all the wonderful miracles of motherhood—from giving birth to a healthy baby to producing a nutritious mix of breast milk for your baby to getting your body back in tip top shape after the baby is born.

Um, and tempting as it may be to eat it, stay away from the contraband food this Friday if you’re with child. I’m just saying.


This blog post was donated by MyBrownBaby to the March of Dimes as part of its March of Dimes Moms initiative.

In The Mix: Great Natural Hair Care Recipes For Brown Babies On Up

By KAREN PETERS

Our hair is a beautiful, curious institute. We can have loose spirals, free-flowing coils, tight corkscrews, strong and determined tresses, or even a combination of each of these intertwined all on one head. Even more peculiar is our babies’ hair, because they’re born with one texture that’s easy to comb and style, and then somewhere between learning to walk and learning to talk, something happens.

It changes.

Big time.

As parents, we fear it, dread it, hate it, wish it away, try to stop it, and, of course, try to battle with it. But we need to remember that “The Change” in our babies’ hair is what was intended—a rite of passage that should be embraced and honored. Still, we do need to know how to make the transition smooth—not only for our babies, but for ourselves.

There is a way—a natural way—to usher our babies’ hair through “The Change.” To help MyBrownBaby answer the call of dozens of mothers who reached out to her on The Parenting Post for advice and tips on the best way to care for their babies’ hair, I’ve assembled a few recipes—with natural ingredients—for your baby’s hair regimen, plus alternative products that can be purchased in stores and online for those of you who aren’t up for the mixology.

Remember, there is no one product that will do it all; you will have to try some things, buy some things, and even mix up a few concoctions of your own.

Note: I did not include essential oils in these recipes because even though they are natural, some people—especially children—are sensitive to them. As your baby matures, you can experiment with the following essential oils as needed for…

• Oily Hair: Lavender, lemon, sage, cedar
• Dry Hair: Rosewood, Ylang-ylang, honey, Balm
• Dandruff: Yarrow, Sandalwood, Lavender, Cypress, Balm
• Stimulating hair growth: Coriander, Rosemary, Birch
• Helping split ends: Rosewood, Cedar, Ylang-ylang




GREAT NATURAL HAIRCARE INGREDIENTS TO KEEP ON HAND:

From your local health food store:
• Coconut oil (about $8)
• Jojoba oil (about $10)
• Sweet Almond Oil (about $6)
• 1 8-ounce bottle of Dr. Bonner’s Liquid Castile Soap (Lavender or Baby Formula, about $5)
• 1 ounce plant wax (about $2)
• 2 ounces water

To buy online:
• Castor wax – www.gardenofwisdom.com $6
• Sal butter – www.gardenofwisdom.com $8

Note: You will need clean, empty bottles and glass jars in at least 4-ounce sizes.



TWO GREAT BABY HAIR CARE RECIPES

GENTLE BABY SHAMPOO

Mix together in a bottle:
2 ounces of Dr. Bonner’s Liquid Castile Soap
2 ounces of water
2 ounces of jojoba oil
Voila! It’s a super rich, thick, conditioning baby shampoo that is gentle for your baby’s hair that isn’t drying.

GENTLE CONDITIONING BALM

Gently melt on your stove’s lowest setting:

• 1 ounce coconut oil
• 1 ounce sal butter
• 1 ounce sweet almond oil
• 1 ounce jojoba oil
• 1 ounce Castor wax

Pour into a jar and use as needed.


If you want to just buy and try products, visit the following websites and do not be afraid to “water down” or modify any of their formulas to suit your baby’s needs.

• www.carolsdaughter.com (Body Jelly)
• www.organicblessings.com (Foaming Shampoo)
• www.californiababy.com (Shampoo and Body Wash)
• www.100percentpure.com (Body Wash and Shampoo)

Products To Avoid:

• Tear free shampoos: They include an ingredient that numbs babies’ tear ducts and eyelids.
• Shampoos and body washes with 1, 4 dioxane: This is an extreme toxicant and carcinogen.
• Petroleum- or mineral oil-based ingredients: They’re made with the exact same chemicals that produce gasoline and kerosene.

About our MyBrownBaby contributor
Karen Peters is founder of The Peace & Beauty Project, a nonprofit organization that encourages girls to honor natural beauty while making health conscious decisions. To learn more about Karen's organization and her workshops for girls, click HERE.

Babies and Bubbles: Natural Ways To Care For Your Child's Delicate Skin

By KAREN PETERS

When my first son was born, I didn’t think twice about running out and purchasing the usual fare: petroleum jelly, baby oil, and the moisturizer that we all associate with that magical "baby smell.” I had about seven or eight baby bags already packed with all these products—everything I thought I needed to take care of my baby. For sure, I believed that the products everyone else was using would be best for my new baby.

It didn’t occur to me that the typical baby products would contain harsh, toxic, or carcinogenic ingredients, but I was wrong; when I finally started reading the labels, my eyes were opened to another reality entirely. It really snapped me out of my new mommy daze and made me remember that I was born knowing everything I needed to know about how to incorporate more natural products into my baby's skin care regimen. After all, the wise mothers who came before me embraced nature as they cared for their children, and an internship in the bush of Cameroon, Africa, inspired me to start mixing up natural and organic shea butters and essential oils and herbs in the lab, a.k.a. my kitchen. I've long created natural, simple, freshly made, healthy products for grownups who shunned ingredients that were deemed toxic, irritating, or cancer-causing (and believe me, there were thousands of them).

Right then and there, I got “the wake up call” and started fashioning some of my grownup products for my baby's delicate skin. Everything I blended for him was natural and had no more than four or five ingredients. When it was bath or bedtime, he would coo and ooh about our annointing rituals using the wonderful, safe products that I made especially for him—one of the best, most powerfully nurturing gifts that I could offer him. I could rest easy knowing that I was massaging his skin with healthy, nourishing baobab fruit seed oil instead of coating it with a by product of gasoline and kerosene (mineral oil, also known as baby oil). It did me and my baby good to soothe his mild eczema with shea butter and lavender instead of flammable, chemically-treated hydrocarbons (petroleum jelly). He and I were happier cleansing his tender little arms and legs with a wash made from olive and coconut oil instead of antifreeze and solvent ( 1, 4 dioxane is found in more than half of the baby washes on the market and is an ingredient used to make coolant and bubbles).

Now that all of my boys are past the baby stage—my youngest is 3, yeah!—and I no longer blend baby care products in my kitchen, I literally make it my business to share what I know with other mothers and encourage the blending of something sweet and beautiful for babies. Now I host Honey B.U.N.S. (Babies Use No Synthetics) gatherings where a bunch of us mothers get together around our sacred blending pots and add a lot of love, blessings, and super simple ingredients to create some of the most incredibly nurturing baby washes, oils, and lotions for special, spiritual and most perfect beings—our babies!

Here, a simple but special recipe you can make all on your own—safe for you and your babies. It's simply delicious. Enjoy!

Basic Recipe for Gentle Massage Oil

What you'll need:
16 oz. jojoba oil (this oil is most similar to the components in human sebum, our inherent moisturizer.)
16 oz. sweet almond oil (moisturizing and gentle; easily absorbed)
16 drops of lavender essential oil (this is not fragrance, but a pure essential oil for soothing any skin ailment)*
8 drops of Roman chamomile (this is not a fragrance, but a pure essential oil for calming)*
4 4-ounce bottles
1 32-ounce jar

The mix:
Pour all ingredients into the 32 ounce bottle or jar; shake well and pour evenly into the four, 4-ounce bottles. Enjoy massaging your baby with this special, delicious elixir.

Note: Natural does not always mean best for your baby. There are some babies who are sensitive to many things, including ingredients that come from the Earth, such as essential oils. If your baby is prone to allergic reactions or has sensitive skin, simply use jojoba oil without essential oils. Also, please note that all ingredients with the exception of the jars can be purchased at Whole Foods or your local health food store.

About our MyBrownBaby contributor
Karen Peters is founder of The Peace & Beauty Project, a nonprofit organization that encourages girls to honor natural beauty while making health conscious decisions. On Wednesday, November 11 at 5 p.m., she will host a "Babies & Bubbles Baby Care Workshop" to help moms learn about the ingredients that are safe for babies' skin. To learn more about Karen's organization and her workshop, click HERE or call 407.339.7529.