When my friend Aurora and I had infants we had a good laugh over a mom at the playground. This mom’s young child had to have squeeze yogurt, but she didn’t want him to have so much sugar. So she replaced the yogurt in the single-serve portable tube with yogurt that made her feel better. Aurora and I knew we’d never be in that situation. Ha ha ha! How long do you think refilling yogurt tubes takes? How do you thinks she keeps them closed? Can’t she just tell her kid “NO?” Oh, my sides! Stop! You’re killin’ me!

I have now pondered these questions without the mirth. We hadn’t had squeeze yogurt until Aurora and her daughter came to visit. At the time Maizy was subsisting solely on yogurt products in single-serving containers, and Aurora only had one left. Georgia was aghast to be left out of a treat offering, so Aurora fished around for a recently-sucked-dry squeeze yogurt tube while I looked for the funnel. It was a very embarrassing, elucidating moment: to what lengths would I go to appease my daughter? And this is how the single-serve portable tube entered my life.

So you can probably tell where I stand: I hate squeeze yogurt. It’s an incredibly wasteful way for a child to ingest two ounces of over-sweetened, if organic, yogurt. But I still cave and buy them for Georgia. Why? For all the worst reasons. Every kid at my daughter’s progressive, greenie, thoughtful pre-school has ’em, and my daughter asks for them, very sweetly and kindly, and, dang it, they are really convenient. She recognizes them in the store. Sometimes she wants the purple box, sometimes the red, even though she really doesn’t like the cherry yogurt. I explain that the plastic isn’t recyclable, I tell her it’s very messy, I tell her I don’t like how I end up with flaccid yogurt tubes all over my car (my fault... I tuck them inside the map pocket and forget about them until there’s that sickly sweet-and-sour smell). But she says, “Just this one little time? For a special treat?” And if I am in the right (wrong) state of mind I can actually convince myself they are good for her. Yogurt, right, with calcium and live cultures? Sure there’s a lot of sugar, but it’s better than candy. I’m wavering.

And I wonder, is there another fun way to eat yogurt? I’ve got the waste-free lunchbox, but there are some things that don’t have a waste-free substitute. I hypothesize that it’s best for me to give in every once in awhile, let her have the treat while explaining why I’m not so keen on it. Is my proselytizing going somewhere? I worry she’ll always think I’m trying to keep something “good” from her when I explain why we can’t always buy those non-organic strawberries and grapes, or the pre-packaged, compartmentalized lunches. I’m afraid she’ll equate “non-organic” and “wasteful” with “the most desirable thing.” But I hope some of the stuff I say about pesticides, waste and, sugar will lodge in her brain, and someday she’ll at least be able to think critically and not just shop mindlessly when she chooses clever packaging and sugary delight over environmental soundness and nutrition.