the way we eat, part 2

I'm honoured to be a featured guest on Little Homestead in the Desert's In Her Shoes series...please pop by KC's blog and leave a comment...even better, become a follower of her lovely blog!


At dinnertime, we go through phases where things are peaceful, we light candles, say grace, talk about the good things in our day, and everyone eats what's on their plates.


We're not in that phase right now. We're in the getting-out-of-your-seat-ten-times, arguing-over-who-sits-beside-mommy, spilling-at-least-one-drink, refusing-to-eat, treat-bribing phase.

It's stressful. And like every mother, in the midst of my exasperation I'm trying to be flexible, open-minded, and resourceful while also trying to make sure my children get the nutrition they need to grow.


Let's face it. Women are busy working outside the home, blogging, trying to keep up with decorating magazines and some weird concept they we about what our lives "should" be like. We nurture our hobbies, have interests and passions, and need more hours in the day.

So, why do we kill ourselves every day creating a meal that a lot of our kids refuse to eat? It creates a shift in the day's energy when daddy gets home and turns into a 1950s disciplinarian; we hear things coming out of our mouths that make us shake our heads (e.g. "You are not leaving this table till you eat what's on your plate"...can anyone say, "Future eating disorder"?) Someone always ends up crying, I get a knot in my stomach and wolf down my food just to get it over with. It's not fun or relaxing or enjoyable for anyone, to be honest.


There are many layers to my discomfort with this normal family ritual. My children have gradually gotten into the habit of expecting a treat after dinner. Christmas kind of oozes into the many celebrations of late Winter/Spring (Valentine's Day, Easter, and all five of our birthdays). It seems we're always celebrating something, and with celebrating comes treats. 

While promising a treat if your child eats their dinner up works in the short term, it intuitively feels wrong. But what mother hasn't fought her intuition in order to get her child to eat, sleep in her own bed, etc? Sometimes bribes and threats are all a girl has going for her.


I've decided I'm done with it. I'm going to experiment next week. Six small meals: 7 a.m., 10 a.m., 1 p.m., 4 p.m., and 7 p.m, with room for one more where needed. What's the difference? Do we hold on  to this notion of eating a big evening meal because our foremothers did it? 


This pattern of eating small meals throughout the day resonates with my own levels of hunger. It seems to me that by feeding my kids this way, I might help to regulate their blood sugar so that they will eventually stop craving the treats that have become a habit for them, and skip the daily "witching hour" which coincidentally corresponds with the time of day when I'm trying to make dinner. 

Because what is it that we really want? I know what I want: healthy children with healthy eating habits. By 4 o'clock, everyone is cranky and hungry and clamouring for a snack. I'm stressed and trying to get dinner ready at the worst time of day in terms of my children's moods, putting them off, promising that dinner will be ready "soon". I'm teaching them to ignore their hunger to eat at a prescribed (and admittedly arbitrary) time. 

Here are the ideas I've come up with for mini-meals:


*smoothies made with berries, bananas, nut butter, kefir or milk
*granola/cereal with milk
*mini-pitas with tuna salad
*ham slices rolled around pickles!
*scrambled or hard-boiled eggs
*hummus and veggies
*fruit and almonds
*crackers with cheese
*soup
*sushi
*chickpeas
*toast with nut butter
*cold chicken with steamed veggies
*yogurt
*dried fruit
*popcorn
*homemade muffins/energy balls/healthy cookies


With a bit of planning and preparation, it seems like it might actually be easier to have lots of little things on hand rather than feeling this pressure to cook a "meal".


How do you feel about this? This might be one of those unexpectedly inflammatory posts. A dear friend who is a mother of five does not feed her children snacks. They eat three meals a day, and because they don't have snacks, they eat what they're fed. I can see how that kind of system would be necessary when feeding seven people seven days a week. I know people who feel the ritual of sitting together as a family is vitally important (and I would agree). Please be assured that we will enjoy these mini-meals together, around the kitchen table as always. 


But can't we sit around a tapas plate taking the foods we prefer, listening to our own bodies when they tell us we've had enough, learning to not eat whatever is on our plate just because it's there? It seems to me that teaching our children to savour and enjoy their food will teach them much more about healthy eating than making them eat "one more bite" will. I trust my children's abilities to decide when they are satisfied; if they are offered only (or mostly) healthy fare, it seems that there would be nothing more to worry about.


Please share your thoughts, experiences, eating habits, and ideas for mini-meals. It can't hurt to try it out, can it? I'll keep you posted.

the way they eat

An interesting topic came up in our house this past weekend. Jude mentioned that his friends at school "look at him weird" when he eats his lunch. He doesn't always express himself clearly, so gentle probing and questions directed at getting him to clarify are par for the course in a conversation with Jude. He has mentioned in the past that he feels shy about his lunch, so after the subsequent conversation on Saturday, I brought it up again as we drove out to the goat farm.

We make an effort to create school lunches that are as "normal" as possible when feeding a child with food sensitivities. We don't go in for lots of treats, but I do try to include homemade cookies or muffins when I can. His little containers are full of berries, cut-up fruit and veggies, hummus, rice crackers, gluten-free salami, etc. The main course is usually leftovers from dinner: meat and potatoes, soup, pizza. 

While we drove, we had a conversation:

"What is it that the other kids have that's different from your lunch?"
"Fruit loops and stuff like that. In shiny plastic".
(long pause while I thought out my next words)
"Do you know why we don't buy stuff like that?"
"Because we don't have enough money?"

Wow. Little ears pick up every conversation their parents have, don't they?

I explained to him that packaged foods actually cost less than good whole foods, but that we buy those healthy things because we want his body to be healthy. I tried to explain in terms he'd understand. I talked about the cells in our bodies, and how certain things can change our cells so they can't do their jobs anymore. We talked about smoking, chemicals, dye and additives in food. I reassured him that his lunch was full of FOOD: things that had grown on trees or walked on the earth, and that his body would be healthier because of it.

I reassured him that the way we eat is a CHOICE we've made as parents.

It pains me to think of him growing up feeling self-conscious or "different". I worry that it will all backfire when he's an adult and can finally make his own choices about what to eat, and decides he wants the packaged stuff. I worry that he doesn't understand my motivation or the effort it takes to make a lunch from scratch every evening instead of just throwing in a bunch of pre-packaged crap.

We arrived at the goat farm, and we each learned to milk.

As we were leaving, I said, "Jude, your lunch may be different from your friends' lunches. But I'll bet none of them have milked a goat before!"

His face shone with pride, and I knew that, for now, it's all good.

the musical fruit

I'm involved in a whirlwind romance. With beans. Dried beans, to be exact.

I always have jars of them in my kitchen. They look so pretty, all colour and texture, shape and size! But the other day, after a visit with a friend during which she gifted me with these charmingly (and aptly) named Orca beans,

I got those jars out and took a new look at them. I think what always put me off about dried beans is the planning and time involved in preparing them. It always just seemed easier to open a can.




But now all I can think about is beans. Growing them. Soaking them. Simmering them. Sprouting them. Making them into delicious things: dips, soups, or baked beans! In addition to being nutritious, delicious, and versatile, they're cheap AND easy to grow! I got my Terra Edibles catalogue in the mail yesterday and will definitely be checking out their bean selection for this summer's garden.

Beans take care of themselves in the garden. If you just leave them on their stalks, they'll dry right up; for good measure, you can uproot the whole plant once they've dried, and hang them in your barn or basement to finish drying. Then your kids can help unveil the little treasures inside the pods! Store them for eating, and save a few for next year...what could be easier (besides, ahem, opening a can)?

In the past week I've made Black Bean Cilantro Dip (from Jae Steele's Get It Ripe), Yellow Split Pea Soup (from Sarah Kramer's La Dolce Vegan), mung bean sprouts, and split pea and ham soup. Oh, and baked navy beans, too!

I find that soaking the beans overnight, then boiling for one to two hours softens them sufficiently for most recipes. In Feeding the Whole Family, Cynthia Lair recommends cooking your beans with a piece of the sea vegetable kombu. Sea vegetables aren't easy to come by in these parts, but apparently they soften the beans and reduce their flatulent effects!

That little handful of Orca beans made me feel like Jack must have when he bought the magic beans (before his mother berated him for his poor bargaining skills, of course).

Now I'm hooked on beans as I journey towards a healthier, more whole way of eating.

something in the air

Can you feel it?

There's a chill in the air that has me wearing socks in the evening, and snuggling up closer to my husband at night. It has me wearing a sweater out to the chicken coop in the early morning, and craving the tastes of autumn.

I know. It's still summer. Technically. But the temperature in the evening is just a few degrees shy of woodstove-weather, and I find myself leaning eagerly towards those cozy fall evenings of reading and knitting in the kitchen.

For now, I will settle for a taste of something I don't make in the heat of summer:

Soup.

Today is our CSA pickup day, which means I have to use up last week's produce to make way for fresher fare. Three chairs pushed up to the island, three little paring knives, and at least three admonitions to be careful!

Celery is an easy thing for small hands to slice.

Mama cuts the onions to save little eyes from more tears than usual.

Carrots...

and zucchini are all added to the pot, sauted in coconut oil, with salt, pepper, and basil, till tender. Add six cups of stock, 3/4 cups yellow split peas, and 1/2 cup of rice. Simmer for 45 minutes, then whiz up till smooth. I have a feeling my children will proudly eat this soup without complaint, since they had a hand in its creation.

Their cooking zeal was not quite quenched, so out Jude went to gather apples from our old tree. With much paring and carving out of brown spots, we had enough to create a crisp topped with flour, brown sugar, rolled oats, cinnamon, and butter.

When the older two headed out to gift the chickens with all our seeds, peels, carrot ends and onion tops, someone was left behind to ensure that the apple crisp spoon was not neglected. Let no spoon go unlicked is her motto in the kitchen.

Lest you think, "Oh, her life is so idyllic! Her children are so responsible! She always says yes when her kids ask to help!", let me just add that Violet cut herself while slicing an apple, and wept, "I can see my skeleton! I can see the inside of my body!" (it wasn't quite THAT deep, but this girl does have a flair for the dramatic), and Jude protested mightily (for over an hour) when I confiscated his knife after I caught him wielding it, machete-like, over an innocent apple). We talked again about safety, and he announced that I am the meanest mother in the world for NOT letting him cook.

Still, the mouth-watering scent of apple crisp cooking on this cool evening more than makes up for the tears and the mess and the patience  required when cooking with children.

Fairy Tea Party

While I profess to follow the KISS* rule of raising children, I somehow cannot resist the potential of a little girl's birthday party...the food! the decorations! the favours! the costumes! I usually start checking out sites for ideas a few months in advance, jotting down anything that grabs my fancy. I can't really credit any of these ideas to one specific site; they're kind of a reflection of what my mind does with a bit of inspiration!

*Keep It Simple, Stupid!

Wands, created in Northern Ontario from birch bark coloured with watercolour paint, glued on to sparkly fun foam; ribbons and sparkly hearts were added as embellishments, then the whole lot was attached to a sturdy twig with hot glue.

Invitations gently suggested that fairy wings be worn, and every guest complied with joy. Daddy entertained the guests with silly songs, including the faery hokey-pokey..."You put your left wing in, you put your left wing out..."

Fancy tea cups are a must for any tea party; if the Guest of Honour's name happens to be Violet, then a tablecloth adorned with violets are a nice touch!

Tiny toadstool hors d'oeuvres...made from pinching one end of a mini-marshmallow and inserting it into a raspberry. Following the note I left before rushing away for the weekend, my husband and his buddy sat up till 2:30 a.m. making these...

...and these: Faery Fruit Wands!

Strawberry cupcakes with buttercream icing, tinted pink, of course...decorated with fresh violets from the garden (of course!)...

Violet requested that mommy wear a "special dress".

Tinkerbell graced us with her presence.

Sweet girl, with pink nail polish (only for a four-year-old girl!)

A wooden play kitchen has been on our wish list for a few years, but there never seems to be the money for one...so I printed off a picture of one I liked from the internet, handed it to my hubby and his buddy (the one with the tools and the know-how!), and sent him off night after night to work on it. I'm so thrilled with what they managed to create without a pattern!

Violet was thrilled, too!

While I did the research and planning of this party, credit for its execution goes to my beautiful man, who so graciously takes on extra tasks when I'm looking like I might burn out...sends me off to the north, stays home alone for a weekend with the kids, doesn't freak out when he realises that I accidentally took the van keys with me (OOPS!), and loads the kids into his little Mazda instead to get groceries for the birthday. Violet felt like the most special little girl in the world for a day, and what more could anyone want on their birthday? My heart overflows.

Asparagus Family

I was all set to do a post about the wonder of that earliest of harvests, the catch-me-before-I-bolt crop of asparagus that assures us Spring has indeed arrived. That perky green, the purple triangles that appealingly adorn its sturdy stalk, its pretty little overlapped head. The sweetness that reminds you to never buy it out of season. The way it makes your pee smell funny (which is apparently a genetic trait that doesn't affect everyone).

Then I laid out my asparagus for a photo. And noticed it. These asparagus stalks are just like my family. The tall daddy asparagus, with his only-slightly-smaller asparagus wife, their heads leaning affectionately together, sheltering their little asparagus kids. The almost-gangly older brother asparagus, with one skinny little sister, and one smaller, pleasantly chunky little sister.

I could hardly eat this little family of asparagus, that so resembled our own.

But I did.

And it was delicious.

Yaarrrr!

The Pirate Dad created a scavenger hunt for the pirate-partygoers, and helped the littlest ones read the clues, written in calligraphic script on tea-stained, burnt-edged scraps.

I kinda like my husband in his swashbuckling garb. I love piratey words: swashbuckling, swabbing the deck, keelhauling and parleying. I love how my husband adopts these words like they're his first language, as in "Sit ye down and drink yer grog!"

Lego pirates adorn the gluten-and-dairy-free birthday cake, where X marks the spot.

A proud first mate presents the cake to the Captain,

...and shows off her piratey grin.

By late afternoon, the guests are gone, a fire is lit, the two girls are sleeping,

and the Pirate Dad hits the bunk for a well-earned kip.

The remains of the party whisper of the fun we had,

and gifts are assembled and admired and played with.

Scattered wrappers of gold doubloons litter the floor,

and the evening sky wishes Jude River a wonderful 6th Birthday.

A New Heroine

 I'm almost in tears writing this, because I just baked these:

nut butter-and-jelly cookie cups

and when the kids came in, Violet said, "Can I have a cookie?". I said yes. Then Jude said, "Can I have one, too?" His expectant little freckle-face searched mine for the word that I sometimes cannot say because of his gluten and dairy intolerance:

Yes.

I used to bake, a lot. In our home, baking is synonymous with love and comfort. I remember coming home from school and finding the kitchen table covered with cookies sitting on a layer of newspaper. The greasy rings left behind spoke of home.

I rarely bake anything now because I hate to say "no" to him when the girls can eat it, and have found that gluten-free substitutes just don't make the cut. Without butter and the sticky, binding qualities of gluten, baking is often tasteless, gritty, or just...blech. It can taste like dried peas (if it contains chickpea flour), crumbles into a million pieces, or makes your tongue feel weird.

Last week I hit a wall. I do the majority of the cooking and feeding around here, and with a gf/df child, a picky preschooler, a husband who always feels underweight, I feel like I need the skills of a specialist, when really, I'm just a mom trying to work, garden, farm, knit, and sometimes sleep. My husband came home and no dinner was made and I made him take the kids out to the chip stand for fries. I stayed home and ate a scrambled egg. I was at the end of the line, after having spent too much money on mixes and substitutes that just didn't satisfy.

I knew there had to be something I was missing, but I don't have the know-how (or the time or discipline) to experiment with flours, starches and gums to come up with the best gluten-free flour blend.

Lucky for me, Silvana Nardone has done if for me! Author of "Cooking for Isaiah", Silvana tested and experimented and perfected gluten and dairy free cooking. I just got her cookbook and have made three recipes from it since yesterday: Sloppy Joe Stuffed Potato Skins, homemade pizza crust, and the cookies you see above.

Not only did all three recipes get rave reviews from Jude, they were also enthusiastically eaten by everyone else! The cookies are everything you want from a cookie: sweet and a bit salty, crispy on the outside, dense and chewy on the inside. Unbelievable.

I asked my hubby to pose for a shot. I told him to act sexy while eating the cookie. He wasn't sure what that meant, but I'd say he nailed it, wouldn't you?

Porn for moms of gluten-free kids: exhausted-looking dad enjoys homemade cookie.

So, I am now following the church of Silvana. She's helped me out of a rut, inspired me, and has made me a heroine in my son's eyes, just because I made a delicious cookie that he, too, can eat.

St. Patrick of Ireland, My Dear!

You've heard of St. Denis of France, he never had much for to brag on.

You've heard of St. George and his lance

Who killed d'old heathenish dragon.

The Saints of the Welshmen and Scot

Are a couple of pitiful pipers

And might just as well go to pot

When compared to the patron of vipers:
St. Patrick of Ireland, my dear.

~Patrick's Arrival

St. Patrick's Day has always been a big deal in our family. My parents hosted parties every year, where we sang Irish songs around the piano, drank green beer, and ate soda bread. My sister has taken on this tradition, and we'll be heading down to her place to celebrate the "patron of vipers" this weekend. Having spent a year in Belfast and travelled extensively throughout the Emerald Isle, I have a particular fondness for this day. I've been a collector and performer of traditional Irish music since my teens, and few things bring me as much joy as lifting my voice in song. Irish music can be humorous, schmaltzy, tragic, and heartbreaking. Even if you haven't a drop of Irish blood in you, raise your glass today to the people of Ireland, and to dear St. Pat, without whom we'd have one less reason to party!

Culinary

Black and Tan Cupcakes

"Dinner with Julie" is an amazing blog by a fellow Canadian; Julie (the blogger!) also just happens to be a friend of my sister's, who shared this link for Black and Tan Cupcakes with me. They look like little mugs of Guinness,(and also reference the British forces that operated to suppress revolution in Ireland in the early 1900s). Every good Irishman knows to avoid the topics of religion and politics (or so I was told on my first night in Belfast)...so, enough said.

 

Creative

Luck of the Leprechaun Painting!

You'll need:

• large piece of white paper
• tempera or acrylic paints, or watercolours
• black construction paper for the pot
• glue
• glitter
• foam shamrock shapes (optional!)

Any number of crafts are suitable on St. Patrick's Day, as long as they include rainbows, crocks of gold, leprechauns, and shamrocks. The painting you see above is what I did with my kindergarten class. Give your child some red paint first, and help them paint the first arc of the rainbow (can you tell I wasn't helping Jude with his?) Then give them orange, then yellow, green, blue, and purple! I pre-cut the little pot, and helped the children sprinkle glitter onto the glue I spread there. You can decide how much control to give your child over the glitter. I tend to be very controlling about it. It's just one of those messes I HATE to clean up. But, if you're okay with finding sparkles everywhere for the next 10 years, cut them loose!

 

At school, we glued on the pot of gold, then added some foam shamrocks. We also glued on this little blessing:

 

"May St. Patrick guard you wherever you go, and guide you in whatever you do – and may his loving protection be a blessing to you always."

 

Social/Outing

Seek out a St. Patrick's Day event! I'm not sure about the rest of the world, but here in the Ottawa Valley, you could go to a different event every day of the week leading up to St. Patrick's Day, all with live fiddle music and stepdancing, hot tea, beer, and food! If you're not fortunate enough to live in the Valley (just kidding!), go here for free streaming of Irish music. Put on some green, dance a jig, and act like the Irish fools that you are (or wish you were)!

 

Fine Motor

Fill the Leprechaun's Pot!

 

As I've said in previous posts, any activities that encourage your child to pinch and squeeze will strengthen the muscles in their hands, which will lead to better fine motor control (preferably NOT pinching and squeezing their siblings...). Many children ages 4-6 struggle to coordinate their hands to grip a pencil correctly. I'll do a whole post on that soon. For now, let's concentrate on hand strength!

 

For this activity, you can use antique sugar tongs, large tweezers, or children's chopsticks (the ones that are connected at the top, available at many toy stores), OR you can make your own, using white glue, popsicle sticks, and triangular makeup sponges.

 

Neat, eh? Cheap to make, and fun to use.

Tongue depressors work even better, but are harder to find. Glue the popsicle sticks on to the sponge as in the photo above. Let dry!

Now, encourage your child to "put the gold nuggets in the leprechaun's pot"...pick up pompoms with the "tweezers", and release them into the cup.

These are easier to pinch closed than chopsticks or real tweezers, so they're a good place to start. You can begin with large pompoms, then work your way down to smaller ones. Have fun!

You might think about creating a "fine motor bin" where you keep scissors, tweezers, feathers, pompoms, paper strips, etc. When you have a moment to fill, pull it down so that the activities are special and fun for your child. If you send your child to school, his/her Kindergarten teacher will thank you for the work you do with your preschool child on these skills!

I'm heading out on St. Patrick' Day to spend the rest of the March Break with my sister and her family. We'll be returning to celebrate my husband's 30th birthday on Sunday, so I'll check back in with you all next week. If anyone tried any or all of the activities shared this week, I'd love to hear about them or see photos!

 

 

Mama's Elves

Sigh. You know that sigh, the one you may suppress each time your children follow the question "What are you doing, mommy?" with "Can I help?". The sigh that suggests the indicated task just might get done in less time, with less mess, if you could just do it yourself...

I've done a lot of sighing this Christmas season. Untangling lights. Decorating the tree. Making gifts and cards. Wrapping said gifts. But I almost always say yes. This is what memories are made of, after all.

My older sister, wise woman that she is, told me to let myself off the hook when it comes to baking this year. She suggested I go and BUY cookies! They're cheap, they're good, and my kids don't really know the difference yet. I may follow her up on that suggestion, but it just wouldn't feel like Christmas here without at least one batch of sugar cookies.

You can tell that I copied this down as my mom dictated it to me over the phone! Here it is in clearer language:

Cream together 1 cup Crisco shortening and 1 cup white sugar. Then add 1 egg, slightly beaten, and 1 tsp. vanilla extract.

In a separate bowl, combine 2 1/2 cups flour, 2 tsp. cream of tartar, 1 tsp. soda,, and 1/2 tsp salt.

Mix two bowls together. Roll to about 1/4 inch thick, cut, and bake at 325 degrees F for 10 minutes. Cool on rack, then decorate with icing sugar/water glaze (add colour if you wish). Go crazy with the sprinkles!

While you bake, allow your toddler to hang off the pockets of your jeans.

And allow your preschooler to "paint her nails" with the icing, then lick it all off.

Finally, give full creative license to your little decorators!

A memory we'll cherish in years to come, because once again, (albeit through gritted teeth), I said yes.

Culinary Adventures

They say that one of the hardest things to say is "I'm sorry".

If this is true, then the second hardest thing to say is "Yes".

There are so many appropriate reasons to say no. No, you can't watch another movie. No, you can't eat hotdogs for every meal. No, playing with a saw is not safe.

But let's face it: often we say no just to save ourselves the mess we know will ensue when they ask to play with glue, paint, and glitter. Or because it would be so much quicker to make pancakes or wash dishes without their help.

Still, sometimes you are granted a moment's grace, where you realise that every quest of a child, no matter how messy or annoying, is an opportunity for them to learn, create, and grow.

So when Jude asked to make soup, I said "Yes".

Go get your cookbooks and a pen, now, because I know you're going to want to write this down. In a small saucepan, combine grapes, bread, blueberries, rice milk, some Cheerios, and a healthy dose of sea salt. Make up the quantities as you go.

After much stirring and tweaking, Jude decided he wanted to eat his concoction for dinner. Good mama that I am (it was actually a bit of a struggle for me), I said, "Yes". Then along came the hardest request to say yes to: "Want to try some, mommy?"

But I did. I tasted it. It was sweet. And very salty. I managed to avoid consuming any of the solid, floaty things. Not to be outdone, daddy (who is a bit squeamish about certain textures of food) tried it. Even Violet, the picky eater of the family, gamely gave it a try.

 

Here's what she thought: 

Jude asked for a "side" of spaghetti, which is what the rest of us were eating. He was so proud of his creation, and delighted that we all tried it. He'll never know that we were all lying through our teeth when we said, "Yum!" What he'll remember is one word:

Yes.