Meat Is Murder. But What Do I Tell My Kids?

I was making chicken salad yesterday, and I offered my five-year-old son a tiny piece to feed to our cat. We've only had Paulina a few weeks, and she's still a bit shy. I thought if my son offered her a delicious morsel of chicken, perhaps she'd eat out of his hand--and that would totally make his day.

As my son headed to the stairs with the chicken, he called out, "Paulina, here's some fresh chicken from the stream!"

I'm pretty sure the fact that chicken is from, well, chicken is something he already knew. I'm positive we've discussed this before. But you know how little kids are--they only remember what they want to remember. And because he knows cats like fish, I guess he just assumed.

"Chicken isn't from the stream; it's not a fish. Chicken is chicken," I corrected.

"Does that mean the chicken had to be killed first?"

"Yes."

"So that means farmers are so, so mean, right?"

Uh, hmmm.... I didn't know what to say, because I do sort of think farmers are mean. I just don't understand it: How they can witness the birth of an adorable little piglet, raise this intelligent animal until adulthood, and then slaughter it for bacon? I guess you get used to it after a while, but still. I want my son to know the truth but I don't love the idea of him going around bad-mouthing Old MacDonald all the time. After all, nobody wants their kid to be a Debbie Downer.

I'm trying to raise my son so he'll be equipped to make his own educated decisions on issues like whether or not to eat meat, so I've been trying not to subject him to any anti-meat tirades. (For the record, I don't eat anything with four legs and haven't for about 15 years. I used to not eat birds, either, but then I got pregnant and realized how little protein I ingested. It was just easier to start eating chicken again. Chickens are pretty stupid, right?) I don't want to freak him out by explaining to him in gory detail where his food comes from because I have trouble getting him to eat protein-rich foods as it is, but at the same time, I do have my opinions and I am his mother. The fact that I find it disgusting when someone digs into a massive, bloody steak is not easy for me to hide; it's such a visceral experience that the cringing is involuntary.

I ended up explaining to my son that we eat chicken and turkey meat, and that, yes, someone had to kill them in order for us to do so. I also told him this: "I don't believe in eating any animal with four legs, and so I don't cook it and we don't eat it. Except for bacon--which comes from pigs--because Daddy likes bacon."

"I love bacon, too!"

And, with that, the conversation was over. My son ran upstairs to feed chicken to our cat (who did, in fact, eat it out of his hand and made his day).

What I Learned Today: Sheep Hate Having Their Butts Shaved

Seven years ago today, my husband and I were married on Cape Cod. It was a beautiful thing. Our years together have been surprisingly harmonious considering: 1.) we are raising two small children, 2.) I am opinionated, 3.) I am bossy, 4.) I pretty much always think I'm right (though, to be honest, I really and truly usually am).

Did I remember it's our anniversary today? No, I did not.

To be fair, we don't usually celebrate our anniversary beyond a nice dinner out (sans kids). We don't exchange gifts or make a big deal out of it. This is the first time I've forgotten all about it, however. But this year was a tough one; with our anniversary falling on Mother's Day and all my attention focussed on Charlotte's birthday party, I plum forgot. Luckily, my husband did not; he made a dinner reservation at a restaurant we've been wanting to try and even booked the babysitter and everything.

Ladies, if you want a husband who will do nice things for you, marry a man with sisters. Mine has three, and so far, he's never forgotten a birthday, Mother's Day, or anniversary. He even remembers his sisters' and mother's birthdays, which is pretty impressive for someone with a Y-chromosome.

For Mother's Day, he gave me a lovely bouquet of flowers, two cool tops, and two interesting books (Tina Fey's Bossypants, which I can't wait to read, and a bio of Obama's mother, which will probably make me feel like an underachiever). And I got to pick our day's activity.

I chose the sheep-shearing/farmer's market at Muscoot Farm. Muscoot Farm, originally a "gentleman's farm" begun in the 19th century, is now open to the public and free. It's only 20 minutes away so I take the kids there all the time. Gavin loves the two huge Percherons and Charlotte adores the cows and ducks.

My favorites are the piglets, though the two giant Tamworth pigs haven't had a litter these past couple of years. It's too bad for Charlotte because pigs are her favorite animals, but she has yet to see a real-life piglet in her three short years on Earth. I keep hoping we'll show up at the farm one of these days and there'll be a bunch of adorable oinking piglets frolicking around, but I think they would've been born already if it was going to happen this spring. Bummer.

The sheep-shearing was interesting. I know it doesn't hurt the sheep, but their pleading baaas made it clear they didn't exactly love what was going on. In particular, they did NOT like it when the dude shaved around their anuses. Wow, those were some angry sheep! But I thanked them for sacrificing their wool so I could have a cozy blanket to keep me warm all winter, and I think that made them feel better. The kids got to take home a piece of freshly-shorn wool, which made it all worth it.

And at the farmer's market, I bought myself a Mother's Day present: some Hudson River Apricot Kir wine, which is chilling in the fridge as we speak.

All in all, a pretty darn good Mother's Day (if I do say so myself). Oh, yeah...and a nice anniversary, too.