I am an authoritarian chef in my house. The children will eat what I fix and when I fix it--no variation. And so for the first ten years of my second son's life I choose tortillas and yogurt.
Jesting aside, I really had great intentions to start. I would involve my children in food, allow them to explore and expand their own food horizons. I have video of Dia at three discussing in long sentences why she doesn't enjoy Asian food, "I like it fine, but it's just so hard to eat with chopsticks."
Ah so cute. And there sits the brother, the baby hitched up to the table in the background with this steely eyed grin on his face, and one eyebrow cocked as if to say, "Really, really? You are such a suck-up and I am so gonna introduce this family to the real world."
From the time he turned two, the boy refused to eat. It was as if the world no longer made food to his taste and he wasn't going to bother. Then he turned six and discovered that non-food items were another way to tweek the mother food instinct, and so the boy snacked on paper, plastic and other interesting items--but still, nothing of any nutritional value and never enough of whatever it was, to appease the mother and assure her that at least he was getting full... of something.
I tried everything and every doctor. I sought the help of a dietitian who said it had become a control issue and to give the boy a multi-vitamin and back off. At that point, I was willing to settle for the calcium deposits in chalk. The meals at home ended in anger and tears, (mostly mine). And when the child was mistaken at the pool for a visiting albino Ethopian, I was sure at the time, that the whole world was eyeballing Mom! Feed That Boy!
Nothing worked and he wandered about for years with dark circles (the photo evidence) from inability to sleep and when the movie "Meet The Robinson's" came out, I was certain that they modeled poor depressed and exhausted Guber after my son.
The story has a happy ending, the food police didn't come and haul me away and we finally discovered that what his body was yelling was, "Just don't feed me stuff that makes me sick."
The boy now wakes up early in order to get first pickin' before he leaves for seminary, he gets home and eats another full meal before school, he cuts out early for elevensies, gobbles lunch, eats after school and again for supper.
And now when food or anything else is missing...
Ian Ate It.
3 comments:
This is a pretty amazing story! I do remember the circles. Wow, what a relief it must've been to find an answer!
In our case, I feel like I'm poisoning my son all in the name of the state legislature's mandate. It is Florida state law that a child is not promoted to the next grade unless they prove that they can sit still for hours and read dull passages about main characters who have unpronounceable politically correct names. Then they must not only answer multiple choice questions that may or may not have anything to do with the story, but choose from answers that are all correct and hope they chose the "best," from the good, better, or best choices. AHHHHH!
Remember, you said you didn't mind a good vent. :D
I remember those days and when you were discovering what celiac disease was and meant. It's a joy to see a child eat!
J: It's supposed to be no child left behind... except yours. I wish there were an easier answer, 'cause their little brains are going to blow up before college! Or they'll adapt and that option is pretty sick too. Teach them how to enjoy misery and they'll fit right in with school?
I love a great rant!!! Whew!!
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