I am so not a vegan. Nor am I a vegetarian. As I mentioned in my Skinny Bitch post, mama loves herself some bacon. However, I am taking a day morning off and trying to amend my carnivorous habits to introduce you to someone.

My oldest daughter, Sarah.

Now normally, my readers know I don’t prattle on about my kids and their activities, accomplishments, etc. Mommyblogs where people write daily about how cute/brilliant/pizza-eating their children are make my brain bleed. So normally, I write about my kids only if it’s something funny (Wienis Anxiety, Soccer Mom Hell) or whatevs- by a quick count, I’d say only about 10% of my posts are about my kids. I mean, I love them and all, but dude, I just don’t think their every moves are that interesting. Being a mom for nearly 16 years and having four kids has given me a kind of ‘not the only kid in the world’ perspective, I guess.

So excuse me while I completely make your brain bleed by brag hagging about Sarah.*

Why?

She started a blog.

The apple, the tree much?

Her blog is called Green Vegan Queen (image at top stolen from her blog this morning) and it’s slogan is “A teen on a mission to vegucate the masses.” (Vegucate! Isn’t that cute?!) I love her whole blog vibe. She’s the only teen she knows (we live in the country, with the sausage) who’s a vegan, so I love the idea of her reaching out across the interwebs to find other granola crunchers healthy eaters to share ideas, recipes, and horror stories about McDonalds. Plus, she uses the word ‘douchebag’ on her blog, just like Mom taught her. Ha! I encourage you to stop by her new blog, follow it, comment up and encourage America’s next generation of bloggers. (Plus, we don’t want to piss them off, because they will totally blog shit about us.)

I hope she’ll do a post about why vegans can’t eat honey, because I am always saying “WHAT?! Do they ass rape the bees to get the honey out?!”

I try to be a good mom-of-a-vegan. I know which brands of Nature Valley Granola bars she can eat, which kind of Ramen Noodles are vegan (only one, Oriental, but she only uses half ths seasoning packet because ohmygodmomdoyouknowhowmuchsaltisinthat?) and which brand of soymilk she likes best. I know Oreos are vegan, to buy only the original veggie Boca burgers, and which brand of breading I can buy to make her fried green tomatoes. I made homemade vegan veggie soup for her when she was sick last week, and I make a separate batch of mashed potatoes with her vegan butter and soymilk. And can I just say? Yum.

She has changed our family’s diet for the better. I use soymilk much more, we eat more veggies and fruit and Oreos and I make healthier cooking choices (olive oil instead of butter, etc.). So for that, I thank her. (Even though I am totally eating a ginormous cheeseburger, it’s nice to have the fresh roasted veggies to put on top.)

I admire Sarah. She has one of the leading roles in the high school play, she runs like 6 miles a few times a week, she has a job (God, it is so great when your kids start making their own money!!) at the library and straight A’s in honors classes. We love to go to Broadway together (I got backstage passes so she could meet Elphaba, the Wicked Witch in Wicked and omg hold her dress) and this coming April, for her 16th birthday, I am taking her to Paris. I have never been out of the country, was too broke to go when my French class went in high school, so I can’t wait. She’ll turn 16 there, and since she’s in French 3 and I haven’t had French since college, she’ll have to find the bathrooms (and pate’! haha! just kidding sweetie!) for us, too. Of course, her iphone probably has an app for that.

Until now, one of the things Sarah says to me when I annoy her is:

“Why don’t you BLOG about it, MOM?!?” (Careful what you wish for, honey.)

Now, I guess I can say it right back to her:

“Why don’t you BLOG about it, SARAH?!”

And I’m proud of you for doing so.

*Since no matter how old they get you still want to ‘mom’ them, let me assure you that I wish she was wearing like a little shrug jacket in this picture. Or straps. Sheesh.  (Trust me, parents of young girls, you will curse the day your daughter wakes up with boobs.)