You know how bad news is supposed to come in threes?
Well, Rod Roddy died of breast and colon cancer last night, so that's thing one. I guess, along with listening to Bob and having your pets spayed or neutered, you should listen to Rod and get a colonoscopy and a mammogram. Sorry. I'm not so good with the dark humor.
Second, a new (cough cough funded by Gerber cough cough) survey (how else would PR get press but with the ever-present survey?) says that toddlers eat terribly. What specific brand of moron feeds a two-year-old not one single fruit or vegetable in an entire day, but pizza, soda or French fries? I guess it's easy for me to judge and all, but still... no wonder we're fat. I defer again to the wisdom of Jamie Oliver, who feeds his beautiful little girls fantastically well.
But the third thing - the one that's really getting to me - is the story of the four boys, foster children in Camden County, NJ, who were being starved. I don't know why I read these sorts of articles. It always does a number on me, and really, what purpose does it serve to read about it? But it's not even the story itself this time; it's the family portrait. You look at the boys, who are 19, 14, 10 and 9, and you do not have to be a nutritionist or a pediatrician or a DYFS worker to see that something is horribly wrong. You would have to be blind, literally blind, to look at a four-foot-tall, 45-pound boy and not see a walking skeleton. The stories say that the parents home-schooled their children, which I suppose would hide a multitude of sins, but still - how did no one know? Or, more accurately - because I doubt very much that no-one knew - how did no one do anything? The church has lovely Tiny-Tim-esque stories of the littlest boy, but I don't find that touching. I find it sick that no one had the balls to open their mouths and try to help them. Thank goodness they found it themselves and are going to be - if not okay - better now.