Category: Kids

Food vs “Food”

Alison’s cousin came to stay over the weekend, and I found myself exasperated at the child’s refusal to eat any of the food I had to offer.

She’s always been a picky eater, and believe me, I get the whole picky thing. As a child, and actually through to my early twenties, my hypothalamus failed to notify me when my body needed fuel. As a result, I never felt hungry. And if food looked funny, smelled funny, or felt funny, I didn’t eat it.

So, yeah. I get it. My history of pickiness is the reason we have a household rule that the kids have to try at least one bite of everything I put on their plates, healthy or not.

However. In my opinion, this not-quite 7-year-old’s eating habits go beyond being picky. She will not eat anything that is not deep fried, unless it’s ramen noodles or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich – and even then, it has to be on white bread, no crusts.

Her visit was unexpected, and so I had nothing to feed her int he pantry. Blythe and I had to make a quick run up to the corner market, otherwise girlfriend was going to starve the whole time she was here. And yes, I told her that I was not happy about spending $20 on “junk” because she won’t eat a damn banana or whole wheat noodle.

The child does not consume anything with any nutritional value. N-O-T-H-I-N-G.

I know I go above and beyond when it comes to serving whole, nutritious foods in my household, and I also understand that not everyone eats that way. If it weren’t for Blythe’s food allergies, I’d probably even allow my kids to eat a deep fried this or that on occasion.

My in-laws insist that Alison’s cousin’s greasy food habit is normal, and my kids’ love of fruits, veggies, and whole grains is an oddity.

It’s hard for me to believe that in this age of information, serving kids nothing but hollow foods is standard. But then again, childhood obesity is at an all-time high, and you can’t go to a restaurant without seeing corndogs and chicken nuggets on the children’s menu.

So help me out, my friends. Where on the spectrum does your family fall?

Do your kids refuse to eat anything that isn’t fried or sugar filled? Are your kids fruit and veggie junkies? Or do they fall somewhere in between, in a happy medium?

Kids Life in general

Boundaries

Post author By Dre
Post date May 22, 2010
11 Comments on Boundaries

Recently, my mom took Alison to the library – two book worms, engrossed in words – one of their favorite activities.

They came home earlier than expected, and my mom said it was either that, or barf on the library floor.

It seems there was a girl child, somewhere between Blythe’s age (3) and Alison’s (6) who was sent to the children’s section of the library for some “alone time” while her guardian – whoever that may have been, for that person never made an appearance in the hour they were there – attended to other things in the adult section of the library.

Don’t even get me started on that, by the way. A 4 or 5 year old child, left to her own devices in the children’s section of the library, for an hour or more? It’s something I cannot fathom.

Anyway, the child in question did not know how to read. She saw my mom and Alison reading books, and asked my mom, obviously a Grandma but no less a stranger, to read her a Sponge Bob book.

My mom looked around for her guardian, and saw no one. Since Alison is beyond needing to be read to, and the child looked at her with pleading eyes, she agreed.

The little girl proceeded to crawl up into a hesitant stranger’s lap for story time.

At first, my mom didn’t mind. But as they read, the child’s fingers wandered to her nostrils. The further the girl’s finger went into her nose, the more uncomfortable my mom got. She has never been one to tolerate nose picking. But what do you say to a child you don’t even know about the hazards of boogar picking?

The child pointed to Sponge Bob with the nose-picking finger, and my mom suppressed a gag. She was touching books, the same books her grandchildren read, with a boogar-laced finger.

Since my mom couldn’t gag and read aloud at the same time, the child grew impatient, and began to rub her snotty finger on my mom’s leg, begging her to continue reading.

Thankfully, it was a fairly short book, and my mom got through it without actually vomiting on the child or the library carpet. The little girl announced her need to pee, and ran off to the bathroom – again with no guardian in sight.

My mom looked at Alison, engrossed in a book.

“Pssst” she whispered.

Alison looked at her.

“We need to get out of here right now.”

“But I’m not done with my book,” Alison replied.

My mom looked at the clock. She had three to five minutes, at best, to get the hell out of there before the nose-picker came back.

“We need to go now, Alison, and I’ll explain why in the car.”

Alison looked at her half-read book, unaware of my mom’s mounting panic. “Can I just finish this one?”

My mom shook her head. “I’ll take you to Burger King and get you a Kid’s Meal if you’ll walk away right this minute.”

Alison knew a good deal when she saw it. They hightailed it out of there.

And in the car, my mom explained why they needed to leave while the child was in the bathroom.

My mom, you see, was torn between a child that clearly needed some adult attention, and her own phobia of Other People’s Boogars. Blythe’s boogars, Alison’s snot – those she can handle. But some stranger kid’s nose pickings? There is no way.

She knew if they were still there when the little girl got back, she’d end up covered in them, because she simply cannot say, “no” to a sad little girl who wants to be read to.

And if she did, she knew that she’d continue to gag. She saw no other choice but to run away.

When they got home, my mom immediately removed her boogary pants and put on clean ones. To my surprise, she didn’t burn them. Because when I was a kid? That’s exactly what she would have done.

Kids Special Needs

Little by Little

Blythe’s therapist met with me and Jeremy recently and we all shared a laugh about the thought of teenaged Blythe wearing footie pajamas on her first date.

When I closed my eyes to imagine the scene, I giggled as I picture her getting ready. Her hair is washed but uncombed, because she doesn’t allow people to touch her head. She’s wearing biker shorts instead of pan.ties because the elastic irritates her skin.

Standing in front of her closet, she is trying to choose between jammies adorned with hearts versus kitties. Her shoes, of course, are either froggy boots or sandals purchased several sizes too large, so that they can strap over the bulky fabric covering her feet.

She is graceful and sweet and full of laughter as she zips up, covered from toe to neck in fleece, her protective suit of armor.

—

Before she started therapy, Blythe wouldn’t wear anything but footie pajamas.

Slowly, though, she’s expanding her wardrobe. The first step forward was wearing things over her jammies. The second step was wearing a soft cotton dress for a few minutes at a time. The third step was going to Target and getting to choose a beautiful Spring dress, all by herself. Fourth step? Wearing that gorgeous dress every evening after dinner, while she danced.

And now, finally and suddenly, my girl is getting dressed every. single. day. In real clothes. She’s even playing dress up – with itchy clothes.

This? Is astonishing. Amazing. Incredible. I am weeping behind my camera lens.

I am so proud of my little princess.

Kids Parenting Special Needs

Bye-Bye, Baba

This morning, Blythe and I watched the slide show I made for her first birthday.

I pointed out how big she is becoming, how tall and smart. We talked about how big girls drink milk from a cup, and babies drink milk from a bottle.

I pointed to the Blythe on the screen, baby Blythe. I pointed to the Blythe on my lap, Big Girl Blythe. We talked about how there are babies out there who could really use her bottles.

So, I made her one last bottle. She asked that it be a BIG ONE.

And then we emptied the contents of her bottle cabinet into a box, and sealed it up with miles of packing tape. I think all kids love tape.

Blythe decided to send her bottles to Baby A. She knows he could use them.

She carried the package out to the front porch all by herself, and set it on the bench for the mail lady to pick up.

She said good-bye to the box, good-bye to her baba’s.

And then, as we read books and got ready for nap, she began to cry. She missed her baba’s. She loved her baba’s. She didn’t want them back – in her mind, they already belonged to Baby A.

But she was grieving. She was so very, very sad. She doesn’t want to be a big girl anymore, she said.

I lay there in the dark with her, rubbing her back and feeling the tears fall down my cheeks and I mourned with her. For a kid with Sensory Processing Disorder, there aren’t a lot of sure-fire options when it comes to soothing.

Baba’s were her thing. If she got overwhelmed and her senses felt like they were going out of control, a baba would calm her right down. It’s hard for both of us to let them go.

But it’s time. Recently she was very, very sick for two full weeks. During that time, she developed a bad habit of “needing” a bottle to get her back to sleep every time she woke up in the night.

Now that she’s better, she continues to wake up every 2-3 hours, asking for one. There are at least a dozen reasons I want to nip that habit right in the bud. And the only way I can think of to do that, is to make bottles completely unavailable.

I know she’ll be alright. She’ll find another way to soothe herself, and I’ll help her every step of the way. This is a good thing. It is.

But walking away from that package, from the last thing that kept her in “baby” status? It was hard. She’ll always be my baby.

But it’s time for me to let her be a big girl. My big girl.

Kids Special Needs

Decisions, Decisions: Choosing a Preschool for my Special Needs Child

Post author By Dre
Post date January 20, 2010
6 Comments on Decisions, Decisions: Choosing a Preschool for my Special Needs Child

Blythe will be turning three this May, and it’s important to me that I find a suitable preschool for her before her birthday.

With Alison, I started looking for preschools right around her first birthday (anal retentive, much?) and I toured dozens before I found the right one for her to attend at age three. I assumed Blythe would attend the same school, and even began working there a few months ago, in an attempt to get the staff ready for dealing with Blythe’s food allergies.

But then, I stopped being in denial about the fact that Blythe has Special Needs. The truth of the matter is, most preschools – even amazing, incredible ones – aren’t prepared to handle kids with Special Needs, and when those needs are life threatening, as in Blythe’s case, there just isn’t room for error.

With Alison, I did all the researching, touring, and deciding without her input. With Blythe’s Sensory Processing Disorder, I knew she would have to be involved in the search. I don’t see, hear, or smell things the way she does, so I am pretty much unqualified to choose a preschool for her on my own.

Today, Blythe and I spent an hour auditing a small, in-home preschool run by a sweet German lady, whom I’ll call Frau. The school isn’t specifically for Special Needs kids, but Frau has a lot of experience with Autism and food allergies, so she will have no problem accommodating Blythe.

Random bonus? Jeremy and I have been teaching the kids German and Spanish (what little our addled brains can recall, that is) since they were in the womb, so Blythe may end up being bilingual, after all.

I’ve made a list of “Pro’s and Con’s” to file away and compare to other preschools when the time comes to make a decision, but so far, the list of “Pro’s” is a mile long. At the top, in big block letters, is the fact that Blythe was instantly comfortable in the environment.

I also really like the way Frau has coordinated the curriculum.  They study one subject per week (math, science, reading, social studies) so that even kids who only attend one day a week – as Blythe would, to start out – get a well rounded learning experience.

Another huge “Pro” is that while Frau’s preschool is structured, she also allows for individuality. Case in point: one of the kids today was having a hard time concentrating on the task at hand, and so she gave him the option of either participating or playing elsewhere, quietly.

And because of that, none of the other kids got distracted and the child in question didn’t have a melt-down. Blythe needs that kind of environment – at least at this stage, and definitely at this age.

And? It’s clean, organized, and child friendly. Frau’s kids are all grown and one of her grandkids (who calls her Oma, cue flashback to my childhood in Germany!) attends the preschool. Frau looks like a Grandma, which I think is one of the reasons Blythe was so immediately comfortable with her.

I’m excited about Blythe’s prospects. I’m excited about our meeting with Frau and her assistant, about focusing on the next step in Blythe’s development, about continuing to tour schools that have been recommended by the parents of other Special Needs kids. I’m excited about it all.

My baby is growing up! And for now, that thought doesn’t terrify me one bit.