Day 14: Write about Food

First, allow me to submit a footnote. There are people who don't have enough food. I've worked with them. There are people who don't have a choice about when and what they eat. I've met them. There are people for whom eating is an intensely painful, psychologically wrought effort. I know them. So, I would never want to complain about my picky eater. It feels very first-world problem-ish. But actually, the journey I've taken with a picky eater (she prefers "selective eater," by the way) over the past nine years has helped me more acutely appreciate the many layers of physical, emotional, cultural and psychological significance wrapped up in the food we eat.

When my 9-year-old was a baby, she vomited constantly. She wasn't in pain or discomfort, thank God, but she vomited ALL. THE. TIME. There is not a single picture from her infancy in which she's not wearing a bib. In fact, the day we baptized her, I had a scroungy old bib covering the gown her grandmother made for her until the absolute last possible second, when I whipped it off and stuck it in my husband's coat pocket, probably. I prefer not to think of the amount of vomit that infiltrated the fibers of the glider rocker where I fed her. Ick.

She was never much of a "healthy" eater, although that has become a bigger and bigger focus for me in these past few years. Currently, I spend hours every week researching food, recipes, grocery shopping and cooking -- only to have her, in response, somehow perfect the ability to feel and taste the tiniest piece of green cilantro (or anything of the hated World of Green, which she shuns), extricate it from a mouthful of food, and place it with utter disdain on the Siberian side of her plate.

She has always dealt with stomachaches, random vomiting, headaches, digestive back-ups and the ever-popular gag at the smell or sight of certain "healthy" foods. (God forbid you actually force her to take a bite of one of them). When we've spent time with people who try to "encourage" her to eat food she doesn't want to eat, she's asked us later if she's a "bad child" because she refuses. In restaurants and social situations that include food, she's asked to sit by me so she'll be shielded from the comments of others about what she's eating. (I guess the Evil Eye of Mama does still work in the world). Holidays and vacations (which always seem to revolve around food!) were sometimes torturous, as it was like being "outed" over and over again for her pickiness. She's cried in my arms because the cramping her tummy is so painful. She's told me flat out, "I can't take this anymore."

We've tried all of the above: Explaining why it's important to eat healthy foods, withholding dessert, making her "take one bite" of everything on her plate, cutting her carb and sugar intake (what's left?), making a game out of eating, tricking her sneaky-chef style (she was very offended when she saw that cookbook, let me tell you), arranging her food in "funny faces" and heart shapes, sending her to culinary camp, allowing her to plant her own vegetable garden, asking her to help with the grocery-buying and cooking, giving her probiotics, peppermint tea and herbal remedies. I drew the line at making her sit at the table until she cleaned her plate, although my husband told her pointed tales of how he was made to do that as a kid. We've had vials of blood drawn out of her little arm to test for food allergies (all negative). The nurse had to stick her three times, and she didn't even cry.

I have always known in my heart that her issues had to be food-related, but I couldn't, for the life of me, figure it out. Finally, last fall, I was prompted by two good friends and the Lord to take her to a specialist, who said confidently, "I know exactly what's wrong, and you can feel better right away by removing ONE little item from your diet." Gluten. The very same day, we went to Whole Foods and bought up every gluten-free item in which she showed an interest. The bill was $89. (I have since learned much more economical and easy methods to keep her diet gluten-free! But it was exciting for us both to think there may be light at the end of the tunnel). I didn't know a thing about the diet, but the words "gluten intolerance" were something to cling to.... Hope. She'd just come off a two-day diarrhea binge after eating the universal kid favorite fast-food hamburger and French fries.

We went back to the specialist one month later. I had to restrain myself from jumping over the desk and kissing her on the lips. Copious tears threatened to spill out as I answered her simple question... How's she doing? Fine. Really good. Really, really good.

That little girl has taken control of her diet and her health. She orders in a restaurant now with confidence. She politely declines any food she's not sure about. She's become (a bit) more open to the healthy foods I put on her plate. She feels consistently well, physically and emotionally. The black shadows under her eyes have disappeared. She doesn't worry that she's a bad child because she doesn't eat the same things that other people do. She started her own web site called "Gluten Free Lifestyle." She's been the catalyst for her whole family to become more mindful of the food we eat. Our family and friends have rallied around her and supported her in the sweetest of ways. Oh, and by the way, she's NINE. I'm so darn proud of her.

So, writing about food. Not as easy as it sounds. Food is an integral, necessary part of every person's daily life and yet it can carry so much weight and burden. It can represent comfort and joy, deprivation and shame. One person's "What's the big deal?" is another's person's Jericho.

So grateful she's been given a victory.

Word of the Year

A word for the year. That is so my speed. I read it somewhere (there are so many smart people on the internet). Instead of a long list of resolutions at year's start, select just one word. A word that represents what you will strive for, search for, attempt to infuse into your life over the coming 365 days. I'm easily carried away with grandiose goals, resolutions and lists of things to do, things to be done. Which isn't bad in itself, but there is so much I want to do, see, accomplish, become. Overwhelming, that's what all that mess is. And so the idea of a word soothes me and appeals to me at the most basic level of my heart.

In 2010, the word was Gratitude. I posted a whiteboard on the refrigerator and vowed to find one thing every day for which I could be grateful. Sometimes I was grateful for the most simple of things: Hot coffee with cream. A warm bed. A clean kitchen. The abundance of tap water. Sometimes my gratitude went deeper: Healthy children. Knowing my grandparents. Our jobs. Sometimes, without my prompting, the children would express their thankfulness on the board: Mommy and Daddy. Our house. My cat.

I skipped a couple of years. Worries were rather abundant at that time, as I recall. Maslow's pyramid kicked in perhaps? But as we began to emerge from the Anxious Time, I selected a new word for 2013: Joy. Joy is an interesting word. Different from happiness with its pesky dependence upon circumstances. Joy is something you have in spite of circumstances. How in the world can I get me some of that? After a couple of years of head-down, survival-mode seriousness, I wanted to know. Needed to know. Strangely, I could feel it coming. It was coming because the Lord was teaching me that to experience Joy, I had to divorce my heart from Circumstances. In other words, I had to let go of everything to get the one thing that I really wanted. I had to redefine Security. That darn Security was elusive! It was not in any bank. I couldn't find it inside the walls of my pretty house, on the beautiful street on which we live or in the faces of my beloved neighbors. I couldn't even find it in any earthly relationship, no matter how lovely and wonderful that relationship was. My Security was someplace else altogether, and when I finally found it...well, what do you know? There was Joy as well.

This year my word is an exciting one. I came to it the first day I opened the Word in 2014. January 6. "I am able to do far beyond all that you ask or imagine." Or as it appears in Ephesians 3:20: "Now glory be to God who by his mighty power at work within us is able to do far more than we would ever dare to ask or even Dream of -- infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts or hopes."  Wow, now there's a promise! A great word to start the year. It's got it all: hope, excitement, energy, promise, courage and boldness.

I'm looking forward to see what Dreams He has for us in 2014.

5 Minute Friday: Broken

Go.

My dad fixes things that are broken. So does my husband. Evidence: Two hours spent trying to fix my outgoing email last night. What a man! Me? I'm far more likely to throw it out and buy a new one. Why? Because I like new things? Yes, that is true. Because there is something a little magical about new things? Remember when you'd get gifts for your birthday, and it would lead to an entire bedroom clean-out because your beautiful new doll just couldn't lay in a big heap with all the one-eyed, frizzy haired uglies with the torn dresses. Which leads to cleaning out the toybox, which leads to cleaning out the closet etc. etc.

But my children are different. They treasure the things they already have and often have trouble with my logic of throw-it-away-and-get-a-new-one. That 10-cent Polly Pocket who lost her arm is simply too valuable to toss in the trash. And that's where my dad, the hero, comes in. He will fix anything, even a teeny Polly Pocket doll who has seen better days. For the love of his granddaughters, he will do it. And it will probably be better than before. He may even add a teeny necklace made out of rice or have my mom sew a pink satin pillow for her to lay her puny head.

Broken is beautiful around these parts because it reveals the love of a man for two little girls.

Joining the writers over here today for five minutes of unedited free writing in five minutes, based on the prompt: Broken. Fun!

That Was Fun. Let's Do it Again.

The black old lady stretched and yawned, rolling her neck from side to side and blinking her wide, green eyes rapidly to chase the sleep out of them. Her bed was a nest, soft and cozy, positioned inches from the radiator. This should be a good day, she thought to herself. A cheshire grin crept on to her cheeks. As usual, her mind turned to murder.

That nasty little girl, the one they brought here--to her HOME, mind you--the Interloper...certainly that childish little brat was gone by now. Surely! There were traps set all over the house, and she grinned as she imagined the Brat falling into any one of them while the rest of the world slept peacefully. Drowning, electrocution, hanging, poisoned food...any one of those would do. All of them were too good for that kid.

She ambled to the door, stretching again for good measure. She asked to be let in, softly at first, then more insistently. Finally, the door opened, and she darted in. Ugh. What was that smell? Why wasn't everyone crying and wailing over the death of the kid? What was going on anyway?

From behind the door, the kitten jumped onto her back and they rolled, all hiss, teeth and claws, across the kitchen floor. Curses! She was still here! And alive. Another day begins.


The prompt, from Write Starts by Hal Zina Bennett: Find Your Inner Cat.

5 Minute Friday: Remember

Remember when you were her whole world? Just the two of you, all day long. Anyone who wanted to be in her life had to go through you. If there was a kid who didn't play nicely, they were cut out of the picture. Just like that. No mercy. You didn't care a whit about that poor mom's insecurities, the problems she was facing or that child's socializing deficits. Chop. And you didn't have to do no 'splainin' to nobody.

Now? You don't get to chop. You send her out into the world for seven hours and forty-five minutes, give or take. Not to mention weekends, sleepovers, trips to the mall. If someone's mean to her, you have to stand back and "guide" her, in all your flawed and insufficient wisdom. You grasp for that just-right piece of talk-show advice, that encouraging nugget from that parenting book you read so long ago...What was it? What was it? "You teach people how to treat you."

And then you bite your tongue until it bleeds.

It would be so much easier to chop.

Joining the writers at over here today for five minutes of unedited free writing in five minutes, based on the prompt: Remember. Fun!

Merry Christmas Ya'll!

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What did you do today, mom?

So I'm reading a post today about blogging written by my new favorite writer crush. The post is entitled "Focus." I am laughing all the way through the post. Not because it was a comedic piece. Mainly because I'm reading it like a 5-year-old reading about the birth of the universe. I know such a thing exists, this mysterious focus (woooooo), but I really can't grasp the concept. Take today, for instance. I had the whole school day to do anything I wanted. No obligations, per se, no appointments. I thought, YEAH BABY. I'm going to sit down at that computer as soon as I finish my breakfast, & I'm going to WRITE. Nothing will stop me. Here's what happened instead:

1. Clean kitchen from last night. (I had to watch The Voice.)
2. Re-do sour laundry that didn't get dry because of Adam Levine obession.
3. Make beds, pick up upstairs
4. More laundry
5. Change clothes four times. Who invented shorts?
6. Resolve to lose weight & get in shape.
7. Situps after remembering I can't work out today due to sprained muscle resulting from yesterday's resolution to lose weight & get in shape.
8. Start a new food journal.
9. Sit down at desk, finally!
10. Make a snack because I can't concentrate over my stomach growling. 10 almonds and half an apple, see #6.
11. Clean up papers and mail obscuring my laptop from view. Grumble about thieving children who steal my office supplies. Wonder if this would make a good blog post.
12. Obsessively open and read all new email. Possibly open a virus.
13. Panicked calls to Cutie Pie for help. Must wait for him to get out of a meeting.
14. Run virus scan and install updates.
15. Read about celebrity deaths, DUIs, Beyonce's butt and other uplifting & inspirational news while running virus scan.
16. Lunchtime!
17. Back at my desk, finally.
18. Run upstairs to find Tums to counteract lunch.
19. Open a document and start writing. Hooray!
20. Hear the cat throwing up in the next room. Shoo her outside to avert disaster.
21. More laundry.
22. Sit down at desk, finally!
23. Hear the bus. Sigh loudly.

So what were we talking about? Oh yeah, focus. To heck with it. I'm going to Starbucks.