There’s a lot of talk about childhood obesity (and just extra pounds in general), but I’ve observed two tendencies in parents that seem destined to create fat, lazy kids. At the very least, I am irritated by these tendencies and am left wondering why this isn’t obvious to those authors of various studies and articles questioning the rise of overweight kids.

Observation 1: Parents don’t make their kids walk or bike-ride. Anywhere. Ever. Strollers are used for far too long, well past the toddler stage (I’d sold both of our strollers by the time Anna was 3). And despite the proximity of the school or the park, parents cram all the kids in the car and drive there. Case in point: Meet Your Teacher Day at the school. It’s a sunny 88 degrees, and as we biked to the school, we passed one other mother and child walking there. Everyone else drove to the neighborhood school. The parking lot was filled to capacity. The bike rack had two other bikes locked to it. I’m not talking about walking or biking for miles. It’s blocks. And instead everyone is driving their SUVs (which is a different rant in support of walking more).

Observation 2: While a child is strapped into a stroller or shopping cart, the parent is continuously feeding them to keep them quiet. At a recent trip to the zoo I saw kids in strollers eating potato chips straight from the bag! Today I was reminded of this observation while I was reading about feeding a kid free samples at the grocery store in this unusual eBay listing, sent to me by a friend who, I’m sure, thought I would identify with it. I didn’t. While I appreciate the humor, I am not that mom. Back when I would go grocery shopping with the little rugrats, I never fed them at the store. Free samples were off-limits for them, and me too. And I did just about anything to avoid shopping with them (went on Saturday, made Dan do it, went while the kids were at preschool). Now I’ve switched to Peapod, the online grocer. I can’t remember the last time I took the rugrats to the grocery store. Heck, I can’t remember the last time I set foot in a grocery store. Anyway, I digress. The point is, parents need to stop using food as a method of controlling their brood.

Sure, it’s easier to power through the mall with the kids in their strollers and their mouths full of Cheez-Its, but I think it’s better for them to walk on their own legs and wait for snacktime.

So we lived in Kansas for several years, and thank God none of us were ever seriously ill because the doctors there are apparently a bunch of quacks. Now I’ve known this for a long time (like immediately upon moving here when the KS docs were certain Anna’s head was misshapen and I had to take her to a neurologist when a simple X-ray would have sufficed. And no, her little egg head was not an indication of a neurological defect). The school nurse called yesterday and said Jake needs another vaccination because he received it at the wrong time back in Kansas. So I’ve had to tell the poor little guy that contrary to what mama told him earlier this summer, he does have to go back to the doctor for another shot. He is pissed (can’t quash those Garbe genes). Poor baby doesn’t even remember living in that backasswards state.

Back in the dark ages of handwritten notes and conversations on the land line, I was the Queen of Code. My circle of friends had code names for everyone and acronyms for our most discussed subjects. Now, apparently, the Code is standard issue among kids, and adults are spending time cracking the code and writing articles on it (like this I ran across from NBC). But it made me reminisce about those Dark Ages, when the attraction of speaking and writing in code was not simply to keep adults in the dark; we were also protecting ourselves from discovery by the objects of the code. Like, wouldn’t I have just died if Iceman knew I B [heart drawing] U 4-ever?

Ironically, earlier today on our morning bike ride, I needed to use a bit of Code from all those years ago: MSP, or Major Staring Problem. Back then we used it to refer to the goons who’d gawk at us girls from afar, but never say a word. Today I passed a man who was tinkering with some asphalt machine on a trailer and he actually stopped, turned to face our bicycle convoy, and stared at us as we passed. Two kids and a mother on bikes in a residential neighborhood is hardly worthy of an MSP. But that is why the condition is a problem, since it is apparent that the sufferer cannot help where his eyes fixate.

The funny thing is, I’ve taught my children from the time they were old enough to talk to “Say hi if you’re going to stare.” And Jake is very aware of the rule: “Mom, that guy was staring at us and he didn’t say hi!”

With Jake about to start kindergarten, I’ve been relaxing my restrictions against what he watches. Earlier this summer we watched Star Wars for the first time, and Jake inundated me with questions: What kind of space ship is that? Is that a good guy or a bad guy? Yesterday, after much pestering, we watched the first half-hour of Superman II. The questions were even more grueling, and non-stop, than with Star Wars. Here’s a sampling of what he asked just during the opening sequence: Why isn’t his mom coming to Earth with him? Did Superman bring nail clippers with him in his spaceship? How can he lift a car? Are they ever going to talk in this movie? So as the movie actually started, Jake grew more and more impatient with Clark Kent: when’s he gonna change into Superman? How does he change into Superman? Finally, the moment arrived, Clark Kent is sprinting down the alley, tearing at his shirt, revealing the giant S beneath his suit, taking to the sky… and Jake, sitting next to me, eyes glued to the screen, says, “Oh, that’s easy.” I had to laugh. Right now, to him, these movies and just more entertainment. They are not part of his American consciousness yet (I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have an American consciousness yet). He processed the moment of Superman’s transformation as a how-to, if only he were wearing an S embossed unitard under his clothes, all he’d have to do is rip off his clothes at a dead run and he’d take to the sky. It interesting to see him take in pop culture, to process it and interpret it as only Jake can.

I am always impressed by someone who can create a new word (like J.K. Rowling, who recently said in an interview that she enjoyed making up the words in Harry Potter’s world). But I am truly amazed by my children’s creative language, the phenomenon of describing their world using common words in a completely unexpected, but accurate way. Granted, it’s a writer’s mission to describe her world using fresh expressions, but writing as an adult includes the baggage of years of training and workshops and critiques that both help and hinder the internal editor in its quest for the perfect description. That a child who does not yet have the vocabulary to describe exactly what she’s feeling, but is still able to convey her meaning, is amazing. Anna said to me this morning, “When you sit like this [legs tucked beneath her], you get sprinkles in your legs.” When she’s older, she’ll know to say her legs have fallen asleep, or they’re on pins and needles, or simply tingling. But “sprinkles” is exactly right for now. And Jake, who comes up with these kinds of phrases quite regularly, said my favorite one when he was just barely verbal. We were sitting on the floor together, and apparently I was taking up too much space. He said to me, “Toes in lap, Mama.” So I put my toes in my lap, and guess what? I was sitting cross-legged. Brilliant!