Not Your Mother's PB & J

Pumpin’ Fruit Punch! Blastin’ Berry! Awesome Orange!

The brightly colored packages practically jump off the shelves and demand our attention as we walk through the grocery store.

“Look mama, it says berry! It’s juice!” Nicholas helpfully informs me.

Poor little guy hasn’t learned about marketing yet. So, I explain to him that the liquid inside the pouch decorated with frolicking fruit really isn’t juice. It’s more like juice’s delinquent cousin who breaks his toys and blames it on the neighbor’s kids.

Ubuntu

Today, as most mornings, I am feeling my children away from my side. I have been so fortunate in being able to home school them during their early formative years. Together we have traveled the entire length of Route 66 and Route 10, from Oregon to Southern Florida, with many stops along the way to learn about science, history, the arts, geography and the wonders of our beautiful country. We have played music and danced, cooked dinners and read bedtime stories, gone air boating and “hunted” alligators (well, ok, we really just sit in the Everglades and observe these magnificent creatures). 


But now, the time has come for my children to begin their formal education and I am blessed to have found just the perfect school for them. Every morning, they eagerly set off for adventure. And every afternoon, the drive home is a happy cacophony of breathless stories of the day’s exciting events. I know they love this next stage of their lives. Still, it’s hard to be without my babies.