So, at dinner tonight, I had promised meatballs, but the ground beef from my favorite farmer had not fully defrosted, so I resorted to my old favorite SIMPLE VEG & GOAT CHEESE PASTA (but subbing feta for the goat cheese – it was good!). Of course, Audrey did not like it, but, cross my heart, this is what she said after she tasted it, WITH NO PRODDING: “I tried it, but it’s not my favorite. Can I have something else?” This, to us, is huge progress.
Back up a couple weeks, where I’m in despair because I fear nurture failure and I just don’t like my child at the moment – and my good friend Annie happens to call. She offers some wise (what she called tough love) advice: I need to stop trying to please Audrey, set some simple ground rules, stick by ‘em, and give her positive attention elsewhere. Her table rules, which I’ve tried to institute when I remember go something like this: We are grateful for the healthy and delicious food we’re able to buy and grow, We are thankful for the preparation of this food, and Children can choose how much they eat of this food, but not what they eat. Her caveat is that she tries to have a meal planning meeting every couple weeks. Mine are: if you try something and you really don’t like anything being served, you can fix yourself something else that is healthful (like a yogurt) AND you don’t get seconds until you eat all the firsts.
We’d been through taking a break from sweets – which I think may have caused some serious withdrawal for her, unfortunately intersecting with my hormonal peaks on one very bad day – and the combo of these two changes has (perhaps?) wrought some change in Miss Audrey. We shall see. I am still practicing giving her positive attention in other areas and avoiding attachment around her eating (she is growing and she seems healthy and this can’t possibly go on forever).
Meanwhile, I apologize for my blog absence last week – work and PTA prep are kicking my butt, plus computer difficulties – for, as hip young Cody at the Apple Genius Bar explains, our MAC G4 is “vintage”. Would he dare call ME “vintage”? Would I be insulted? I’m still simmering on that one.