I am quite sure it has gotten worse since we moved to the farm. In fact, I can hardly remember anything more than a rare occurence when we were city-folk. And it never happened at an innapropriate time...at least not often. Things are definitely regressing.   I am a very visual person. I can perfectly picture house plans in my head, and paint colors on walls. As Mr. Visionary gives me driving directions, I visualize that blue house on the corner of Fifth and Main and that certain  oak tree that was struck by lightening back in '92. During any conversation with any person, I create mental images of the topics discussed. It is a very useful skill.   Unless it happens while I am attempting to ingest food.   Let the record show that a farm is a bad place to be a 'very visual person'... especially with a passel of homeschooled children around. They are encouraged to seek, find, explore and generally take dominion over the farm. As long as their finds do not take dominion over my house, I am usually happy. It is the vivid re-creations at dinner that get to me...   'Tell her how he ate the head of the mouse first!' 'No, tell her about how Buckwheat fell in the...' 'And then, Mom, we found this weird egg that was...'   I try remember to stop what I am doing, give my full attention and actually listen to the children when they want to talk. Sometimes I am even successful. I am truly working on this area of listening-truly listening. I know what a blessing it is to the children to share their heart with me, so I keep at it. Although the visualizing of these stories could be a great weight loss program, I feel rather justified in just tuning it out. Thanks, but...no thanks.   'Whatsoever things are lovely...think on these things', that's my motto.   I tell you what...I won't ask...and please, please...don't tell.

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Folks spend their weekend evenings in all manner of ways. Some go out, some stay in. Some relax in front of the TV, others get a head-start on their weekend chores. Our family doesn't have a set pattern for Friday night activities-we wing it based on whatever is going on at the moment.   This Friday night, our "family-bonding" time was nothing short of, well...weird.   Mr. Visionary holding everyone spellbound with his story-telling.     Chick'n Pick'n Fun! (Missing is The Dreamer, who was on "Doodle Duty".) Needing to make room in the freezers, we had billions of chickens cooked, and everyone helped bone and chop it. All for one and one for all, eh? I know you are anxious to be invited over for some Friday night fun.

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These substances were never meant to be drunk. Gulped, guzzled or gargled, they miss their intended use. On the list of "Things-I-Never-Thought-I'd-Say", is the frequent injunction to my children (namely those of the male persuasion), "It's a condiment, not a beverage".

I have never been a stickler for the purist mentality in feeding small children. If it takes some ketchup to get it down, so be it. I count it a small price to pay for children who eat green vegetables. Granted, it was necessary with the canned variety of slimy green goo spinach, but my own mother taught us to put mayonnaise on our spinach. I don't have a problem with that. To each, his own, eh?

If I were to confess (which I am not), I would readily acknowledge that in my junk food days I regarded a potato chip as simply a crunchy vehicle to load with dip. With the quantities of dip to which I was accustomed, it mattered little if the vehicle were a dry leaf, a credit card, or a four-month-old french fry from the crevices between the car seats. (Don't act like you don't have those.) It simply wasn't about the vehicle.

Even considering my past eating habits, I truly don't believe that condiments were quite as much a staple of my diet as they are for my children. Especially in school, I never ate ketchup. It was too much fun to save the packets for middle school pranks like lining them up in the road in hopes of getting splattered by passing cars. I do remember the kid who ate a full cup of mayonnaise on his french fries every day. As gross as it was to watch, we agreed that it was better than school food.

So, when my children pile high the condiments, I encourage moderation, set some reasonable limits (a tablespoon of ketchup per fry is too much), and am glad that they are eating healthily underneath it all (homemade french fries baked in organic virgin coconut oil). Sure, there are times I cringe,  and even feel my own throat being cauterized by the flood of vinegar consumed when my eight-year old son eats collard greens. But he's eating collard greens. There is something to be said for that.

Something along the lines of, "It's a condiment, not a beverage".

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