Chapter 9 Lottie #2
Bunny moves closer to the audience as passion for the subject begins to grow inside her.
“Meanwhile, we’re coating ourselves in chemicals like oxybenzone, octanoate, and avobenzone—all endocrine disruptors that our skin absorbs directly into our bloodstream.
We’re trading the sun’s natural healing power for a cocktail of synthetic chemicals that can interfere with our hormones and cellular function.
” She pauses, letting that sink in. “I’m not saying to bake yourself into leather, but fifteen to twenty minutes of morning or late afternoon sun on your arms and face?
That’s not dangerous—that’s medicine. That’s your body doing exactly what it was designed to do. ”
I secretly vow to make sure my children get some sunshine each day and never hose them down with chemicals again. Although knowing my luck, they’ll probably burn to a crisp the first time I let them outside without industrial-strength protection.
The twins choose this moment to start making noises that suggest they’re either hungry or composing their first symphony of the day in the key of chaos. Possibly both.
“Now let’s talk about something that’s affecting every single one of us—hormone disruption,” Bunny continues, her tone growing more serious.
“Ladies, our endocrine systems are under constant attack. The shampoo you used this morning? Likely contains parabens and sulfates that mimic estrogen in your body. That plastic water bottle? It’s the leaching of BPA that confuses your hormonal signals.
Even our food is loaded with synthetic hormones from livestock and pesticide residues that wreak havoc on our delicate internal balance. ”
She moves to her chalkboard and writes CASTOR OIL in bold letters.
I give a slight nod because thanks to my mother, I’m in the oily know.
“But here’s something our grandmothers knew that we’ve forgotten—castor oil.
This miracle oil supports lymphatic drainage, reduces inflammation, promotes hair growth, and can help regulate hormonal imbalances when applied topically. ”
Bunny holds up a small bottle. “You can massage it into your scalp for thicker hair, apply it to your abdomen for digestive support, or use it on your face for clearer skin. But—and this is crucial—never, ever ingest castor oil unless you want to spend the next twenty-four hours intimately acquainted with your bathroom.” A nervous laugh echoes around the tent.
“It’s a powerful purgative that our ancestors used for constipation, but trust me, a little goes a very long way.
” She smiles warmly. “External use only, ladies. Your hair follicles will thank you, but your digestive system definitely won’t. ”
I mentally make a note to purchase gallons of castor oil, though I have no idea what I’ll actually do with it.
Maybe I’ll start a side business as a holistic wellness guru?
Lottie’s Lifestyle: Baking Your Way to Better Health.
Except that might be false advertising. My desserts can do a lot of things, but making someone healthier is iffy at best. But emotional well-being?
Now that’s a different topic, and one that my fudge brownies are masters of, hands down. Or icing down, as it were.
“Who here has cayenne pepper in their spice cabinet?” Bunny asks, and several hands shoot up.
“Good! Now, who actually uses it regularly?” Most hands drop, and she laughs.
“I thought so. Ladies, you’re missing out on one of nature’s most powerful healing tools.
” She picks up a small jar of red powder.
“Just a tiny pinch of cayenne pepper in your morning tea, your soup, even sprinkled on your fruit—yes, fruit!—can transform your health. Cayenne contains capsaicin, which fires up your metabolism, improves circulation, reduces inflammation, and can even help regulate blood pressure and blood sugar levels. It’s like having a tiny internal furnace that burns away toxins and stagnation. ”
Bunny’s eyes light up with enthusiasm. “But here’s what really matters—minerals.
Every single disease, every dysfunction in the human body, can be traced back to mineral deficiency.
We’re walking around depleted because our soil has been stripped bare by industrial farming.
” She moves to her chalkboard again. “Magnesium deficiency causes anxiety, insomnia, and muscle cramps. Zinc deficiency weakens immunity and slows wound healing. Iron deficiency leaves you exhausted and foggy-brained. And don’t get me started on what happens when you’re low in potassium, selenium, or iodine. ”
Bunny holds up a container of sea salt. “This isn’t table salt. Real sea salt contains over eighty trace minerals that your body desperately needs. A pinch under your tongue each morning, or dissolved in water, can start replenishing what modern life has stolen from you.”
I glance down at the twins and vow to make sure they’re meeting their mineral needs, though I’m not entirely sure how to gauge the mineral content of breast milk. Maybe there’s an app for that.
The twins begin to fuss in earnest now, making sounds that suggest they’re about to escalate to full-scale warfare.
Lyla Nell tries her best to comfort them, patting their hands and letting a few loose threats fly, “Be quiet for Mommy, right now! Da nice lady is teaching us to be heal-fy! Or I’m telling Daddy! ”
All heads turn toward us, including my sisters Meg and Lainey, both casually nursing their babies as if they’re sipping lattes at a spa instead of wrangling tiny humans. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to keep my kids from starting a riot.
Sweet Piper snuggles against Meg while little Mimi contentedly nurses away in Lainey’s arms.
Piper was born in January, Mimi in February, and my twins arrived in March. Suffice it to say, the Lemon sisters have been busy procreating this year. Of course, I had to one-up them in the baby department, but as Noah likes to point out, Everett really is an overachiever.
This is actually Everett’s second set of twins.
We just found out last winter that during his heyday as a playboy, he fathered Olivia and Ava—a couple of twelve-year-old girls who live in Fallbrook, ironically the same town where Everett grew up.
Their mother Haley is now my children’s pediatrician, which says something about her character.
She really is that good, both professionally and personally.
“Now we come to the hardest truth I have to share with you today,” Bunny says, her voice taking on the gravity of someone about to deliver devastating news. “Sugar.”
A gasp circles the tent, with mine being the loudest.
“Beautiful souls, I need you to understand that refined sugar is quite literally poison in crystalline form, and we’ve been feeding it to ourselves and our children as if it’s harmless.”
She moves to her chalkboard and writes SUGAR = INFLAMMATION in large letters.
“Every single teaspoon of refined sugar creates a massive inflammatory response in your body that lasts for hours. Your immune system literally treats sugar like an invader, sending white blood cells rushing to deal with the assault. Imagine doing that to yourself three, four, five times a day with every meal and snack.”
Three, four, five times a day? Why, I have a sugary treat three, four, five times a morning, and round up into the teens by noon.
Bunny’s passion intensifies. “But it gets worse. Most disease cells feed on sugar—it’s their preferred fuel source.
When you eat sugar, you’re literally feeding any abnormal cells in your body, helping them grow stronger and multiply faster.
Studies show that people who consume high amounts of sugar have significantly higher disease rates. We’re essentially fertilizing illness.”
I gasp at the thought just as both of my sisters turn to give me a dirty look.
Bunny turns back to the audience. “And then there’s your hormonal system.
Sugar causes massive insulin spikes that lead to insulin resistance, which leads to diabetes, weight gain, and hormonal chaos.
Your cortisol levels spike, your adrenaline surges, and your body goes into constant fight-or-flight mode.
No wonder we’re all exhausted, anxious, and craving more sugar! ”
About six different women turn in my direction and glare.
Wonderful. I shoot Bunny a look. Way to make me look like the villain of this story—when ironically, it might just be her. Or at least she is in my book.
Bunny shakes her head sadly. “But here’s what breaks my heart the most—sugar is eight times more addictive than cocaine. Eight times! We’re raising children who are literal drug addicts, and we don’t even realize it.”
My fingers fly to my lips in horror while eyeing Lyla Nell, who has suddenly helped herself to her snack container and is happily gobbling down glazed donut holes two at a time.
“Their brains are being rewired to crave sugar constantly,” Bunny goes on. “They’ll grow up unable to taste the natural sweetness in an apple or a carrot because their taste buds have been hijacked by artificial intensity.”
Why, I’ve hijacked Lyla Nell’s taste buds!
Lainey turns around and sticks her tongue out at me before facing the front again.
A breath hitches in my throat. Et tu, Lainey?
Bunny gestures to the crowd. “How many of you have hidden candy bars in your purse, your car, your desk drawer? How many of you have eaten cookies standing in your kitchen at midnight, promising yourself it’s the last time?
” A tiny wave of nervous giggles circles the tent once again.
“How many of you feel genuine panic at the thought of giving up sugar completely?”