October 26, 2007

Kids Just Don’t Like Vegetables

When I was a little girl I hated vegetables; well most green ones, anyway. My favorites were carrots, corn, cucumbers, lettuce and tomatoes. Put some broccoli, cauliflower, asparagus, green beans, peas (I would eat those fresh from the pod, but never cooked) or zucchini in front of me and I would declare war.

My mother was easy on me. If I didn’t like the vegetable du jour, I’d start to whine. Mom would say, “You don’t have to eat the beans as long as you eat everything else.”

But my father was tough. He was strict. There was no foolin’ Daddy. If we didn’t eat the thing we didn’t like, we weren’t allowed to leave the table.

He would lecture about the importance of eating vegetables, (you know, because HE SAID SO), or say that I was setting a bad example for my younger brother and sister (they hated vegetables, too), or tell us a story about the starving children in Ethiopia (and we should BE THANKFUL he didn’t trade us in for Ethiopian kids who appreciate food).

One of my most vivid memories is of my father telling me that I had to eat the vegetable on my plate or he’d double the helping and I’d still have to eat it. I sat at the dining room table, arms folded at my chest and yelled, “I’M NEVER GOING TO FORCE MY KIDS TO EAT VEGETABLES! YOU ARE SO MEAN! KIDS DON’T LIKE VEGETABLES, DADDY!”

I thought for sure this would get me off the hook. I was most definitely wrong. My father told me if I didn’t like vegetables as a kid, I wasn’t going to like them when I was older, and he made me eat two servings of green beans. He didn’t force feed me, but the fear of punishment was strong enough to make me try to eat the freakin’ things. I got up to vomit when I was finished. To this day, I can’t eat green beans from a can.

What’s more ironic is that the very same vegetables I hated as a child are the ones I can’t get enough of today. I have to wonder if there’s a method behind that madness.

My parents never hid vegetables in other foods. I asked my mother if she had ever thought of it, and she said, “What for? You kids would have figured it out and never ate my cooking again!” She makes a good point.

Several weeks ago we had dinner at my parents house and Dawson refused to eat anything. Not steak, not baked potato, and certainly not mixed veggies. I tried to get him to take a bite of something, ANYTHING, to no avail. Finally I put my foot down.

“Dawson, if you don’t eat some veggies, I’m not going to take you to see Go, Diego, Go!” I said.

“No, Mumma. Dawson not eat those. Those are yucky.” he replied.

“Okay, then. We’re staying home and Daddy and Murphy can go to the show.” I told him.

My father and mother started snickering. I was getting desperate.

“Boy…I remember someone saying they would never make their kids eat vegetables.” my father said. “Do you remember that, Monica?”

“Oh, yes. Dana was so sure she’d never use the same tactics we tried,” Mom replied. “Look who finally realized how tough it is to get kids to eat!”

They were thoroughly enjoying this. I suppose they earned the right to laugh about it. I did say it. Even I remember that.

Dawson wasn’t always a picky eater. Even his daycare person tells me he eats so good at lunch. But get him home and he wants nothing but crackers, spaghetti noodles and chocolate milk.

I heard that Jessica Seinfeld wrote a book called Deceptively Delicious, in which she cleverly sneaks puréed veggies into other food recipes to get her kids to eat! I don’t see anything wrong with that!

I’ve been known to hide finely chopped zucchini and carrot in my spaghetti sauce, and surprisingly, Dawson loves it. I tried to feed him zucchini slices before and he turned his nose at them. (Actually he took a bite of one, thinking it was a cucumber, and the sour look on his face was priceless.)

Last week I made mashed potatoes that were really half taters and half smashed cauliflower. (Ooh! Smashed Cauliflower sounds like a drunken dish, doesn’t it? Or a really cool rock band!) Dawson seemed to enjoy it.

I think I might have to pick up a copy of Deceptively Delicious, just see what other mouthwatering recipes I can try!

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This post is part of a Blog Blast sponsored by the Parent Bloggers Network. If you’d like to participate, click here for details. One winner will be chosen at random to win a $250 gift card for Williams Sonoma. I could definitely use that!

October 25, 2007

Magna-Doodlebug

I bought my son a Magna-Doodle yesterday. I probably never would have purchased this toy if it wasn’t on sale.

Magna-Doodles bring back sad memories of my grandmother’s struggle with communication as the result of her many strokes. Grandma Alice couldn’t speak and she wrote her responses to conversations on a Magna-Doodle or dry erase board.

When we went out to breakfast with my parents a few weeks ago, a little area of the dining room had a box of toys ready for impatient and hungry children to play with while waiting for their toast and eggs. Dawson chose to play with the Magna-Doodle and he loved it so much.

I watched him draw shapes, faces, and other scribbles. He made a near perfect circle and was so proud of himself! So, when I saw that these toys were on sale at Target I decided to purchase one. I was going to wait until Christmas to give it to him, but I started to get a little sad.

My grandmother died December 6, 2005. I just didn’t want to have sad memories of her when Dawson opened that toy at Christmas. I’m certain this sounds completely irrational, ridiculous even. But I came home and gave Dawson the toy.

“Mumma! This for me??” Dawson asked. The smile on his face was priceless. He was so happy.

“Yes, buddy. That is for you. Do you remember what that is?” I asked.

“Uh-huh, this my drawing toy.” Dawson said.

“Yeah. It’s called a Magna-Doodle. For my Doodlebug.” I told him.

“Thanks, Mumma, for buying this for me.” he said. He ran over to me and gave me a hug. It was the best hug ever.

Dawson spent the entire evening drawing and erasing and drawing some more. I couldn’t believe how much he loved his new toy.

This morning as we were getting ready, he asked if he could take it to Renee’s house.

“Okay, but you have to share with the other kids and don’t lose the magnetic shapes, okay?”

“I promise Mumma. Dawson share with all the kids, kay?

“Okay.”

He clutched the toy in his arms and we got into the car. He drew pictures all the way to daycare. When we got inside, he ran to show his friends. As I was leaving, Dawson stopped playing, ran to me and said, “Love you, Mumma.”

Who knew a $10 toy could bring so much joy and love to my little Magna-Doodlebug?

September 23, 2007

Le Tour de Pumpkin Patch

Last year, the weekend after his birthday, I took Dawson to the pumpkin patch at Altenburg Farms in Wisconsin Rapids. It was the first time I’d been there since I was a teenager.

Dawson got a kick out of the hayride and the tractor that pulled us and he didn’t mind standing next to his pumpkin so that I could take a picture for the Halloween card.

Such a tiny little tot he was.

This weekend I was looking back on the calendar and thought we’d take a trip to Altenburg’s once again. I was so excited because it was the opening weekend of the Fall Fun, and again it is the weekend after my Bug’s birthday. We’ve started a little tradition and it just makes me smile.

He’s grown so much since last year!

This year Dawson was more interested in the pumpkin patch and the hundreds of pumpkins scattered everywhere. He enjoyed the hayride again, but wasn’t as excited as the year before. I remember hearing “Tractor! TRACTOR!” several times. I think I heard him say, “Been there, done that!” this time.

The best part of our field trip was that my mom and brother came along again. My sister was with us last year but she had to work this time.

This is one tradition I’m going to look forward to every year!

September 6, 2007

Goodbye Old Friend

It’s kind of a difficult day for me.  What keeps nagging at my mind is something my sister told me last night.

“Mom and Dad are putting Shadow down tomorrow at 11 a.m.” she said. I could feel a wave of sadness wash over me.

Shadow is (was?) our family dog.  A mix of Rat Terrier and Pomeranian, Shadow looked more like a terrier with his beady eyes and his white, brown and tan coat.   We were visiting my grandma, Alice, on her farm in the spring of 1991.  Grandma Alice’s brother and his wife had given the puppy to her to keep her company.  When we saw the adorable pup, my brother, sister and I fell in love with him instantly.

“Please, Mom!  Can we take him home?  Can we have the puppy?” we asked.  My mother had just had a baby, our brother Frankie, and she didn’t think a puppy was a good idea.  I remember crying to Grandma about it.

“Gramma, can we take the puppy home?  We’ll be good and we’ll take care of it.  I promise.  Will you tell Mom I promise?” I asked.

Either I was a very persuasive 12-year-old, or Grandma was a sucker, because that little puppy came home with us.  My mother didn’t even tell my father until we got home because she knew he would have said no had she asked him over the telephone.

The puppy became a member of our family instantly.  We loved to play with him and he liked to run and jump and tug on our shoelaces when we walked.  He followed us everywhere and that’s when we decided to call him Shadow.  To be truthful, I chose the dog’s name.  My sister wanted to call him Huggy Bear and my brother liked the name Viet Cong Dog or something along those lines.

Like any new toy, the novelty of our pet wore off as he grew from a puppy into a dog.  We still loved our Shadow, but we slacked on our chores of feeding him and walking him.  Shadow became Mom’s dog and she loved her faithful friend.  As her children grew up and began to move out of the house, my mom loved Shadow as her companion.

In recent years, Shadow suffered blindness, he’s practically deaf, he has issues holding his bladder and bowel movements and he has a lot of difficulty walking, running and jumping due to his weight and his aging body.  A few months ago he started getting some open sores on his fur and my father thought perhaps it was doggie cancer.

Dad always mentioned that perhaps it was time to end Shadow’s suffering, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it.  She said she couldn’t bear to end his life.

“He’s not whimpering.  He doesn’t seem like he’s in pain!” she yelled.  “Would you put ME down if I were old and sick?”

“Monica, he’s not a human.  He’s a dog, and I hate to see him suffer.” Dad replied.

The discussion often bordered an argument and my dad hadn’t mentioned it again.   According to my sister, my mom isn’t speaking to my father and she is very mad that Shadow is going to be put to sleep.   I don’t blame her.

I know that Shadow is almost 17 years old.  I know he’s lived a long happy life.  It pains me to see him struggle to walk and to see his once beautiful coat of fur full of sores.  I feel sad that he can’t see and he can’t hear.  I also feel terrible for my mother who still loves her pal.  She still pet him and cared for him even in his old age.

But when I think about my Murphy getting older, I can’t fathom the idea of putting him to sleep, and I know exactly how my mother feels.

The tears are welling up in my eyes as I write this.  In 45 minutes our little Shadow, our good old friend, will enter Dog Heaven.  Dad hasn’t said if he’ll bury Shadow under a tree in the yard, but I hope he does.  It’s too painful to imagine him anywhere else.

We still love you, Shadow.   Rest peacefully, my little canine friend.  I think I’m going to miss you more than I ever imagined.