S is for Sucktastic

S is for Sucktastic.

Yes, it's just giggles and rainbows all the time over here. I'm just a bundle of joy and light these days.

Hey, stick with me, it's not that bad...

I am NOT about to whinge* away right now.  (No promises for the future, though, sorry.)

This is actually a Mommy Confessional; a tale of habitual mom-fail.

It is *I* who am sucktastic, not my life. (Well, OK, my life IS sucktastic, but that's another tale for another day.)

Ready for it?

Most days, this is dinner for my eight year-old son, Ethan:

Yes, indeed, that's shaped chicken nuggets and peeled apple slices.  Do you see anything green on his plate?  No, I didn't think so.  If you give the man a vegetable he acts like you've tried to poison him.

If you give the man a cooked meal that involves multiple ingredients, sauces, spices; actual, you know, cooking involved in the preparation?  He acts like you've tried to poison him.

If you give the man anything to eat that does not fit the definition of "kid food" Ethan keeps in his head?  He acts like you've tried to poison him.

If you giver the man a piece of fruit that is not an apple, peach or apricot... if you give the man an apple that is not a Granny Smith... if you give the man a dessert that is not chocolate or lemon... if you give the man Chinese food that is not fried pot-sticker dumplings... if you give the man milk that is not chocolate... if you put any sort of topping on his pizza... well, you know.  Poison, ACK!!!!

OK, you're getting the point.  Ethan is incredibly rigid about food.

I feed him as well as I can within the constraints of his limits.  Grains are often whole.  Everything is mostly organic.  He eats the high quality, high-end version of junky kid food.  He takes daily vitamins to make up for the lack of anything green in his diet.

How has this come to pass?  It's complicated.  It evolved.  And it centers mostly on my survival.

And I know this is not abysmal failure.  He doesn't eat fruit loops with coca-cola for breakfast.

But I still feel bad, knowing that I have not done everything I could have done to help make him a better eater.

I was a child that had family meals every night, where we all sat down together, ate the same home-cooked food and engaged in lively conversation.

This is not what I pictured feeding my family would look like: the kids eating separately, and completely different meals from each other, often with the TV on so they actually eat and do not fight through the whole thing.

Yeah, I said completely different meals.  And it's not just the constraints of Jacob's special gluten-free / casein-free (GF/CF) diet that causes that.  It's this....

Evidence I am not a COMPLETE mom-feeding-failure.  This is dinner for Jacob, Ethan's twin brother:

 

Yes, indeed, that's real chicken, fresh fruit salad (pear and pineapple), GF/CF crackers, and, wait for it... broccoli.  Which he asked for by name.  As in: "I want broccoli for dinner tonight, Mom."

I know this not a real home-cooked meal.  This was assembly.  The chicken is rotisserie from the market.  Someone else made those crackers.  I did cut up the fruit and steam the broccoli myself, though (ooooo, cooooking).

But still, all basic food groups represented?  Eaten with enthusiasm?  It's a win.

"Wait," you think, "isn't Jacob your autistic son, the one on the autism spectrum, who are usually notoriously difficult eaters?"

Why yes, yes he is.  But no, no he isn't.  Because, as I've said before (and I'm sure I'll say again), if you've met one kid on the autism spectrum... you've met *one* kid on the autism spectrum.

And Jacob breaks a lot of the rules and assumptions people have about autistic kids.  His version is: he loves food, vegetables included.  He is willing to try anything once.  Interesting flavors?  Bring them on.  Not rigid at all.

Also, about sleep?  Kiddos on the spectrum are notoriously bad sleepers, many needing melatonin to help them shut down their brains.  But Jacob has always been the better sleeper of the twins.

Put him to bed and he's down in five minutes.  And his snuggly bedtime routine?  Takes about five minutes.  He needs (and mostly gets) a good 10 to 11 hours a night of sleep.  Goes to bed at 7:30 on school-nights.

Ethan on the other hand, as I have noted before (and if you follow me on Twitter you have heard many a 140 character grumble from me about), is just HELL to put to bed.  He's a classic night owl. He revs up at bedtime. Gets anxious. Wants to talk for hours.  Is scared of the dark.  Hates to go to sleep.

Sometimes he melts down completely and literally rolls around in his bed kicking and snarling like a cartoon Tasmanian Devil. Sigh. This is usually on a Sunday night, when the anticipation of the transition from weekend-time to school-time just unhinges him.

There are many, many ways in which my autistic son is actually the mellower, easier going, more laid back of my two boys.  Go figure.

So if I feed my high-strung, high-maintenance non-autistic son on (high-quality) kid food until his tastes expand and his palate matures?  Please don't judge me.

I know it's a mom-fail.  But sometimes these are necessary.

Sometimes we just have to let ourselves be sucktastic at one part of life, so we can carry on brilliantly with at least some of the rest.

This post has been inspired by and linked up to Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday writing meme. And isn't "S" just a curvaceous, sexy looking letter?  DOH! Wouldn't "S is for Sexy" have been a much more fun post? Next time, my friends.


* I know I am American and here we say "whine" but I like the Britishism "whinge" so much better. Must be the influence of my dear Australian friend. (Don't worry I'm not going whole hog, I won't be calling our garbage "rubbish" any time soon.)

Half-Birthday

Today is my boys' half-birthday. Remember celebrating half-birthdays?  It seems to work only when you're still in the single digits, like my guys.

Eight and a half, today.  How did that happen?  One more birthday on this side of the fence, and then after that they're into the double digits.  Big boys.  Blink, blink. 

They were summer babies, and to think of their birthday is to think of late July's deep heat.

Jacob & Ethan, 1 day old

Not a bad thought today, as the mercury hovers just around the freezing point and we may be expecting a bit more snow later this afternoon.

Our car, street parked in New York City?  Is not currently a vehicle, but rather a vaguely car-shaped snowbank.  Plow-piled snow encases our car up to the windows plus the 19 fresh inches sit atop the roof like so much white fluffy frosting.

Frosting... that gets me to thinking... of cakes in general, and then birthday cakes in particular.  Which draws us right back round again to the matter at hand: boys and half-birthdays, half-birthdays and boys.

So maybe I should take my cue from the above, combat a case of the mid-winter blues, cheer myself up, inspired by all this birthday and cake talk, and herewith take you on a photographic tour down birthday memory lane via my ONE claim to domestic awesomeness: my amazing mommy-made birthday cakes:

In the beginning were cupcakes for birthdays one and two. Easy to make, no big knives need be left laying around curious toddlers with swift, fat, grabby fingers.  And?  They didn't know any better, what was important was the eating of them.

But then they turned three, and had seen birthday cakes in books and on TV.   Beautiful, decorated cakes.  And Ethan pounced, begged, made specific demands requests.

So it all began in 2005, when the boys were Thomas the Tank Engine obsessed 3 year-olds.  Ethan had asked for a James cake, as his then love of the color red extended to all things, including trains.  And I knew that for Jacob, who still yet did not always make his desires known, Thomas, the main character was the right choice.

Since I was making two cakes, and not everyone loves chocolate (although that makes no sense to Ethan who believes non-chocolate deserts have no reason to live), I made one cake, Ethan's, chocolate and the other, Jacob's, vanilla.

I pulled out the boys Thomas placements, and painstakingly copied the illustrations onto the cakes:

2005: My FIRST cake - Thomas for Jacob

As Ethan's chocolate frosting was so dark, problem solving how to write a legible "Happy Birthday" in the requested blue gel inspired the bug puffy steam cloud coming out of the smokestack, possibly my favorite part.

2005: James the red engine for Ethan

I wasn't sure I could pull it off, had never attempted anything quite like this before.  I dove in, in pure experimental mode, and... I succeeded, damn it!  The problem here being: once you do this well, once?  It becomes expected every year.  And I'm supposed to improve, too, to top myself, as it were.

OK, 2006: Once again, one chocolate, one not.  Lemon-vanilla, this time.  Also?  This was the first year Jacob was on his special Gluten Free/Casein Free diet.  So I had to find a really good vanilla GF/CF cake mix and make a practice cake before I inflicted it upon the masses.

I was, once again, taking design requests.  And this year I figured out that printing out simple line-drawing coloring pages found online was the best way to create a "pattern" for my decorating. 

So, four year-old Jacob was in love with Pingu the penguin:

2006: Pingu for Jake

While Ethan at four showed considerable loyalty to his father as his nascent superhero obsession erupted.  He chose Spider-man:

2006: Spidey for Ethan

Spider-main turned out a little lumpier than he was supposed to be, but within tolerable limits, I think.

And in 2007?  Cars, baby!  Jake was in love, I mean IN LOVE with Mac, the big Mac truck who is Lightning's best friend:

2007: Mac for Jake

Ethan wanted 5 cars  on his, which I nixed, but did acquiesce (after much begging) to a 2 car road scene tableau, from above, with a Route 66 logo.  I'm a sucker, what can I say:

2007 for Ethan: Route 66

I can admit, this was not my best effort.  It was late, I was getting tired.  In an ideal world, I would have filled in more green at the side of the road instead of just that lame lone squiggle.  Oh, well, it was devoured and enjoyed, just the same.

In 2008 I discovered the existence of Wilton shaped cake pans.  Who knew?  Learning about these was a revelation.  There was still a fuck-ton of work involved, but at least I didn't have to research the design.  Just E-bay the pans.  (You didn't think my kids wanted any of the current, easy to obtain designs, did you?  My kids?)

Once again the current superhero obsessions ruled: Batman for Jake and Power Ranger for Ethan. Jake's Batman cake was orange vanilla flavored and really delicious, no one would ever guess it was GF/CF unless they knew:

2008: Jake loved Batman

2008: Ethan was all about the Power Rangers

Ethan had directed me in the color choice for the Power Ranger's costume.  I bit my lip and restrained myself from sharing with him that making the Ranger sleeve's trim into a pink and green argyle made me refer to this one as "Buffy the Connecticut Wasp Power Ranger" in my mind. 

In 2009, I had some serious fun.  Ethan had switched allegiances from the Bakugan to the Pokemon Japanimation tribe just before his birthday, and decided to "make it easy for you, Mom" by requesting a simple Pokeball design, as opposed to an elaborate character re-creation.

May I present the Pokeball cake: simple, elegant, nearly modernistic:

2009: Ethan gets a Pokeball

Jake, on the other hand, got his most elaborate cake to date in 2009.   

That summer he was a bit obsessed with the very hungry caterpillar character from the self named Eric Carle storybook.  His class had performed a stirring reading of this story at their graduation & moving up ceremony in June.

One day in June I had ducked into a Williams Sonoma store when a torrential rain suddenly came down upon me while waiting for the crosstown bus.  What was in the sale bin, but a shaped caterpillar cakelet pan, and the inspiration struck:

2009: A Very Hungry Caterpillar for Jacob

2009: Close up of the head cakelet

I had so much fun making this.  My little addition: I doubled the body pieces to make him really long.  Also?  I am very fond of my embellishments: the green colored sugar crusted over green frosting to make the eyes sparkle and then the grape twizzler antennae. (The mold was for a generic caterpillar with a different face. I turned him into Eric Carle's specific caterpillar.)

Which brings us up to the present. This past year, 2010, was the boys' year of Pokemon. A shaped cake pan Pikachu (thank you Wilton) for Jacob, whose favorite color progressed to yellow this summer:

2010: Pikachu for Jake

And for Ethan?  I think I outdid myself this past year.  He initially wanted some particularly complex and difficult to draw Pokemon, but we finally settled on this guy, Lapras, who seemed actually do-able.  I think I did a pretty damn good job re-creating him, using, once again, a computer coloring page pattern:

2010: Lapras for Ethan

OK, here's the Lapras, image I used, you be the judge:

Whew!

And now, in hindsight (because when have I ever NOT over-thought things), I realize that while I had thought I was doing this particular post to bring a little summer cheer into the winter gray, I also see, as this rolls along, that I had ulterior motives (when do I ever not, isn't there always a secondary agenda floating along under the overt... or is that just me?)*

I think I needed to remind myself, to prove to you all, that there's some things in life at which I do not, actually, completely suck.  Because lately?  I've been feeling pretty sucktastic, especially when it comes to the state of my messy home and all things domestic.  Sigh.

And maybe it's just the inevitable post-operative depression talking (I had been warned it might set in at about 3 weeks when the physical was mostly healed but I was not yet back to 100%).   But anyway, here it is: my house may be an absolute disaster, but there is something domestic at which I am fairly glorious.  So take that!

Also, before you go suggesting I do something like this for a living?  No, no and no.  These take me FOREVER.  I love doing this for my kids, they are a labor of love, and shall remain that way.  Once a year.  My kids only.  Probably my grand-kids (way) down the road.

And now I'm off to make a special half-birthday lunch for my dear boys.  Tomorrow they will be closer to nine, one day closer to being claimed fully by the world.  Today they are still eight and a half, still mine.

*another example of how I have legitimately earned my crown as "Queen of the Run-on Sentence  (with parenthetical clauses).


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REALLY Wordless Wednesday: The Week in Pictures

I can tell a story in pictures, I can tell a story in pictures, I CAN tell a story in pictures.

OK, who am I kidding?  You know I'm going to throw at least a few words in there (me being me and all).  But today?  I'm trying, at least I'm TRYING, to keep them to a minimum.

So, maybe it's not REALLY wordless... how about NEARLY wordless?  Here goes:

We had: SNOW!

Snow + Ethan = snowballs!.

Ethan got a HAIRCUT!

Before: shaggy as he wants to be

After: Ethan shorn, but full of 'tude

Ethan was actually not as angry as he looks in this photo.  He liked his cut but was really ready to get the hell out of there, not in the mood to have his picture taken any more by his mom.

So I got "the face."  He's been practicing it, lately.  I was trying very hard not to laugh, because it's no fun being laughed at when you're trying to look mean and intimidating. 


I was hanging out with Jakey, my SUPERHERO:

Holy GF/CF breakfast waffle, Batman!

Talk to the Red Ranger Mask

Jake went BOWLING with FRIENDS:

Friends!

Jacob learned to use the 3 finger grip. Way to go, Jake!

Ethan's school's "BROADWAY NIGHT" fundraiser was a blast, with:

The Flying Karamazov Brothers (for real)

Um, yeah, when a Manhattan public school school has "Broadway Night" on a Monday, theater's dark night?  We get real Broadway stars.

Does that make up for an ancient building, tiny cafeteria, too small yard & gym, and overcrowding in general?   Hell, yes!  (Especially when you add in a wonderful, energetic principal; the world's best parent co-ordinator; terrific, smart & dedicated teachers and an incredibly generous, involved & motivated parent body.  And, oh yeah, the kids are pretty awesome, too)

And?  That's a WRAP! 

See?  Nearly wordless (for wordy me, that is).

I’m linking up to Wordless Wednesday at Angry Julie Monday.

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Baggage

I had a somewhat sad epiphany this past Sunday, when I took a trip with Ethan alone that I have always taken with both boys before.  And it was a real eye opener for me.  One of those moments when you peel back the veil and catch a glimpse of how the other half lives.

Because packing for a day trip with Jacob is like packing for an expedition: multiple changes of clothing (due to his complete intolerance of his clothes getting the least bit wet), lots and lots of food for his special GF/CF diet, vitamin/supplement/medicine packs for a full 2 days (because what if something happens and we need to stay overnight?) 

Also?  A ton of car food, because Jake can get extremely hungry at the drop of a hat (and frantically unhappy when hungry or thirsty).  And a collection of his currently favorite toys to entertain and engage him if he needs to be distracted, soothed.

It takes at least an hour.  We always run late.

Packing for just me and Ethan?  Took five minutes.  I couldn't believe it.  I kept turning around in circles, thinking there must be something else I must do, must pack.  But no, that was it.  Really.

Snow pants for sledding, a single change of clothes for Ethan (we're talking 8 year old boy here, after all, disaster is always possible), an extra pair of socks for me, present for the birthday boy, bottle of wine for the hosts, water bottles for the car, one snack item for the car.  Five minutes.  Done.

And then I nearly wept.

Because most of the time I keep those thoughts at bay, the evil "what ifs," but this just smacks it all up in my face: what life might be like if Jacob didn't have Autism.

Now, I love my son, Jacob to pieces, love who he is, would not change him.  He is full of love, overflowing with joy, enthusiastic in his embrace of the world.

But life with him is certainly 10 times harder than life with Ethan.  And 99.95% of the time I don't think about it, it just is.  I parent him the way he needs to be parented, the work-load is just what it is.

I am not a member of the "oh my life is so hard because I have a child with special needs" moanings and groanings crowd, really want to slap people upside the head that define themselves that way.

(Which is not to say it's not OK to complain, to say "this is fucking hard."  Because you know?  It is fucking hard.  And we are human, we are allowed to complain, should not have to slap on the happy face all the time just to make others more comfortable.  It's just when people constantly throw themselves a pity party and expect everyone else to join in, that truly annoys me.)

But every now and then?  I allow myself to think about it.  To picture that other, "what if" life, with the attendant freedoms therein.  And then I sigh.  And then I set it aside, and get on with it.

(I also daydream about winning the lottery from time to time.)

Also?  I know that there are many whose work-load (if you want to avoid a head smack, do not EVER use the word "burden" around me, either) is so much more intense than mine, who might fantasize about MY life:  Those with severely autistic kids who are self injuring and cannot communicate even their most basic needs; parents of kids who have medical issues that require life maintaining equipment, who need round the clock nursing care, whose mobility issues are extreme.

I look at those parents and while I don't think "How do they do it?" (another big no-no, we SN parents HATE those thoughts and comments; you just do it; because it's your kid, duh!) I do think "thank goodness I don't have to do that right now."  Because it's what I already do, times another 10, or 20, and well, that would be tougher, yet more work.

When the boys were still tiny, maybe a year and a half old, and any outing required military expedition level packing, an out of town friend came to visit with her family, and she was happy as a clam.  She had somewhat older children and, she was explaining, as her youngest was now four, she had her exit pass in hand from the "age of schlepping equipment" forever.  She could pack light for the trip and then traipse about the city unencumbered, procuring any necessary items on the fly, as needed.

I began to look forward to this time in our lives, this passage into relative parenting ease.  And now, with the boys at eight and a half?  I'm clearly still waiting.

But the other day I got a glimpse, a sliver of vision into what it would be like to live that way.  And I liked it, I realy liked it.  And who knows what time and development and maturity will bring to Jacob.  Someday, hopefully, maybe someday soon, we will get there. 

And until then?  There is a large, always packed backpack, waiting for me by the door.  And a deep groove in my shoulder, eight and a half years in the making.

Having My Trader Joe's Moment

Some spoils from a hunting/gathering expedition to Trader Joe's

We have recently acquired a Trader Joe's in our Upper West Side neighborhood, and it still the object of much amusement and wonder to me and my Mom friends.  It's located closer to my kid's school than to my home, so while I talk about it a fair amount, I only actually show up to shop there sporadically.

Yesterday morning I was having coffee after drop-off at Ethan's school with a bunch of mom friends. We've all been rather busy, so it's been awhile since we've gotten a good coffee-klatch going.  There was the usual hysteria.  In the midst of a conversation one mom said, "they should call him Ari" to which another mom at the far end of the table, mishearing, piped up, "What about calamari?"  This caused the first mom to turn bright red as she made the heroic decision to nearly die choking rather than spray coffee all over the mom sitting across from her, aborting her spit-take moment.

With our kids in third grade, most of us have been hanging out together for four years now, and I have to say I have the best collection of friends I have ever had in my life, hands down.  I knew having kids was going to turn my life around in so many ways, but I had no idea it would bring me this incredible circle of women friends. I am wondrously grateful for them, constantly.

This morning after our allotted hour of caffeination and mirth, as we were preparing to scatter to our various errands and jobs, one mom made the announcement that she was off to Trader Joe's for some food shopping, and did anyone want to come along?

I had 10,000 things on my plate, but hadn't been to see Joe in a while, so I thought "What the hell?" and joined in.  Also?  It seemed a very virtuous way to avoid all my necessary "to do" items that needed to be done. "Can't you see I'm shopping for my family, not just procrastinating & hanging out with my friends, prolonging the fun before knuckling down to being a responsible adult.  How DARE you suggest otherwise?"

But of course that was exactly what I was doing.  Sure we needed food in the house, but I wasn't planning on shopping this morning yet, hadn't taken inventory of the cupboard, hadn't surveyed the fridge, and menu planning?  Please.  No such beast in our house right now.   So really, I had no list and no clear idea of what was needed at home food-wise.

Might I mention?  Not the wisest of plans.  It was however, boatloads of fun.  There were four of us altogether who set off on the expedition to feed our families, and a merry band we were.  Maybe we shouldn't have had the free coffee samples at Trader Joe's as we were already caffeinated to the hilt.  In any event, when you're at a store called "Trader Joe's" and the staff all wear Hawaiian shirts and have leis around their necks, shouldn't it be an adventure?

Well, I learned something new. With no plan and no shopping list, food not really on my mind, but WITH a bunch of fun giggly good friends in good spirits?  Was way too much like being in college and going food shopping with housemates, thoroughly stoned.  As I distantly recall (it's probably been 30 years).  (Yes, I'm that old, and yes it's been that long since I've done THAT, if you must know.)

So I'm being all: Oh, over there, that looks yummy... into the cart the chazzerai goes.  Also?  I was highly suggestible: whatever my friends bought that looked good, I bought, too.  Whether I or my family members will actually eat those items?  Remains to be seen.  All in the spirit of "let's try new things."

We were giddy.  We were having fun food shopping.  Awesomeness abounded.

Now, the Trader Joe's on the UWS is a strange subterranean sort, real estate in NYC being at a premium and all, existing on two below-ground levels.  So there are these strange cart & people dual escalator things (I'm sure you've seen them) to travel between the levels.  Fun!

We had just finished shopping the upper level and descended to the bottom when a friend lost her cart.  She had put it on the conveyor, but when she arrived at the bottom?  Not to be seen.  It just... disappeared.  There was a cart, but it was not hers; was someone else pushing her cart?  Quel mystery...

While scratching our heads, I noticed another woman walking by with an employee in tow, looking for her missing cart.  On a hunch I pointed to the one that had come down the escalator just after my friend.  Yes, that was it!  But, she did not, reciprocally, have my friend's cart.  Stolen?  Unthinkable. After much searching, it was finally located -- still upstairs.

As best we figured it out: distracted by the levity and conversation, my friend had grabbed the wrong cart (this other woman's) and sent that down the cart escalator, leaving hers waiting forlorn, abandoned at the top.  Mystery solved, cart firmly in hand, onward we rolled.

We had each been to Trader Joe's numerous times but never together, so the advice was free flowing, always useful, often entertaining.  A big improvement over asking opinions and advice from strangers or employees.  Who knows what they eat?

"Ever tried their  hummus?"
"Yes, delicious!"
Into the cart it goes.

The cinnamon almonds?
"Do NOT buy, more addictive than crack!"

"irresistible snack" indeed

Should have listened, polished off the bag in under 24 hours.  (I was considering suing them but it has that warning right there on the bag, damn, guess there's no one to blame for my gluttony but myself.)

And no, it wasn't all useless junk in my cart, look at the picture up top, there's fruits & veggies: strawberries, heirloom tomatoes, oranges... oh, wait, those are chocolate oranges, my bad.

Also?  Trader Joe's is all with the program of having a lot of well labeled gluten-free, dairy-free items which I am always on the lookout for.   My son Jacob is on the GF/CF diet for autism, and has been for 5 years.  New yummy stuff is important to keep him from getting bored, keep expanding his food options.  Scored a lot of that stuff, too (mommy non-fail).

Eventually our carts filled and we had to hurry home to keep the frozen stuff frozen, so we finally settled into the checkout lines.  While there, we, of course, fell prey to the shiny objects lined up alongside the line, designed to catch our eyes and leap into our carts (hence the chocolate oranges).

The lines moved fast and the conversation was still sparking, and the mom next to the chocolate oranges was kept busy tossing them to the rest of us, so in no time we were all checking out.

Once again, I remembered why I love coming there, as I had an awesome cashier who was upbeat and chatty without being annoying and over the top.  Her lovely British accent may have been a part of the magic, that and the fact that she actually packed my groceries with a system and managed to put the heavy crushy things on the bottom the delicate ones on top and all my freezer foods in one bag together - genius!

Thank you, Lola, you are the best checkout-person ever.

The guy running the elevator looked at the four of us in terror as we piled in with our carts for the ride back up to the surface, but we all fit, and were comparing this experience with the evil elevator of the other, competing neighborhood market, Fairway.

"I have a friend who says she has to have a Xanax before she walks into Fairway."

"Everyone needs Xanax to survive Fairway"

"Hey, that's a great idea, they should have a free Xanax station at the door there, alongside the shopping carts."

We all decided Trader Joe's was infinitely more fun.

And when I got home? A million things to snack on, but nothing really to make for dinner.  Oh, well.  The local pizza place is on speed dial for a reason, folks.


P.S. You know?  Trader Joe's must have major blogging mojo going on, because Kris just wrote a hysterical post on her blog Pretty All True about shopping there with her family recently: Hence the sarcasm.  Go, read, laugh.

Bring on the Broccoli

There is a subtle war going on in my house over those green things on the plate. You know: vegetables. When you have children, even if you’re all modern and psychological minded, it’s still hard to not somehow expect them to be little carbon copies of you. Well, in my case carbon copies plus a y chromosome here and there, since I have two boys.

I was a child with wide and adventurous tastes in food. I loved vegetables. Asked to name my favorite foods, alongside the requisite M & Ms, burgers and peanut butter, I would have put artichoke, avocado and asparagus on my list. And that’s just the top of the alphabet.

My twin 7 year old sons, however are another matter. Food is a complicated issue in our house. Before they were born, (OK everyone groan now, we all remember the things we swore we would NEVER do that we find ourselves doing on a daily basis for survival) I just knew I was going to feed my children only healthy foods: lots of vegetables and fruit, no sugar or chemicals, etc. etc. Not quite a member of the anti-junk militia, lets just say that I’m no stranger to the organic section at Fairway, and my local little health food store is near and dear to my heart, and wallet.

When they were babies and I could control every bite that went into their mouths (the occasional purple crayon notwithstanding), it was 90% organic and all good: lots of veggies, low sugar, low sodium, no artificial anything, yadda, yadda, yadda. Though it was clear that one twin, Ethan, had a sweet tooth, greatly preferring the fruits to the vegetables, the sweet to the savory, they still pretty much ate what was offered, hungrily and happily.

But then life happened. They became two year-olds. With opinions.

Then Jacob was diagnosed on the Autism Spectrum, and at three went on a special diet that made a huge difference in his physical and mental health, but created a royal pain in the ass in the kitchen. Because Jacob’s diet was now gluten and casein free, which to civilians out there means no dairy, no wheat or other gluten containing grains (like almost all other “normal” grains - oats, barley, rye), he needed special foods bought and prepared for him. And everywhere we went I had to carry a ton of food with, because you never know what’s out there and Jake is a hungry guy. Pizza, that birthday party staple: pure poison.

Some families go all gluten/casein free (GF/CF) when one child needs to, but besides the fact that I love blue cheese too much to do that, Ethan would have starved to death. Because he is, you see, a classic “picky eater” who thinks vegetables are evil and would live on beige food, if at all possible.

Ethan once turned his nose up with disgust at a wonderful meal I had prepared, and delivered his judgment “That’s not kid food!” with a precise mix of disdain and dismissal that was so precociously teenagery, I almost dropped the bowl.

Where he got the notion that there is a specific entity out there - “kid food” - and that he has the right to demand being fed that and only that, all the time, I will never know. It consists of things like chicken nuggets, french fries, bologna, hot dogs, bagels, string cheese, goldfish crackers, chocolate milk ... you’re getting the picture. All those things I’d sworn would never cross his lips, let alone become the mainstay of his diet.

I promise the processed meats he eats are all organic and nitrate free. At home. Just pretend you’ve never seen me buy my hungry kid an occasional hot dog from a vendor in Central Park, OK?

I thank my stars that Ethan really likes fruit. Well, some fruit. OK, apples, peaches and grapes. OK, Granny Smith apples - peeled; yellow peaches - when they are in season and really ripe and only with the skin ON; and green grapes with absolutely no seeds. Did I mention he’s a picky eater?

Jacob, after happily devouring whatever we put in front of him for the longest time (did I mention that for a kid on the Autism Spectrum he is amazingly flexible, easy going and compliant, it’s my “typical” one who is more high maintenance), then started to have opinions about what he would and would not eat at about three and a half. When he would so clearly say to us “I don’t like that” about a food, how could we not positively reinforce such great communication by honoring his request and removing the offending item from his food repertoire? Unfortunately, almost all vegetables soon fell into this category.

Lately, though a miraculous thing has been happening: veggies are back in! It started last year when he was obsessed with the Wonder Pets. They ate celery – so Jake ate celery. And now, thanks to a cute little PBS web video he watches over and over, Jacob has been asking for broccoli and carrots every day. It makes me so happy to steam his broccoli for him, I can’t wait to see what’s next on the vegetable agenda.

Ethan at this point is still a hopeless cause. I take heart from what a friend with grown children told me. Her three boys were all kid food aficionados and vegetable avoiders like Ethan when young, but they grew up and discovered girls. Sophisticated New York City girls who were not impressed by Neanderthal males who would not eat salads and dissed all things green. By the time those boys came home from college they were chastising their mother for not stocking their favorite vegetables in the house.

So therein lies my hope for the future. To think that Ethan might one day yell at me for not providing him with swiss chard… well, a mom can dream, can’t she.

NOTE: This post originally appeared on the sadly closed SVMG NYC Moms Blog.