Don't Mess with this Mother

Chapter One: Watching Movies on the Bathroom Floor

It is October in the Midwest: wet, cold, windy, grey and raw outside most of the time, that awful transition period between real summer, or Indian Summer if you are lucky that year, and the real beginning of winter when the snow begins to fall. We (myself, my husband, and our 14 month old son) now live in a place that regularly has five feet of snow on the ground most of the winter months, light snows in October are not unheard of, and at least one blizzard is pretty much expected come the month of April. Just a note, our first winter in this “wonderland” ended with four blizzards in a row in the middle of April.

So, it is October and we are about to become homeowners for the first time. November 1st is the big day. We will have a big empty house to fill with all our stuff, which we did most spectacularly, by the way. Our new house was full top to bottom with all our stuff. I’m still tickled by the fact that we only bought three pieces of furniture once we moved in to the house, just to round out almost 10 years of accumulation.

But first, we have to have somewhere else to stay until we can move into the house. And so we rented a two room apartment for about a month. Yep, you read that right. Two rooms. I guess if you count the bathroom it was a three room apartment. But who counts the bathroom? Who actually counts all the rooms in their house? Who wants to? To be fair, so much time was spent in the bathroom of this tiny place, I guess I really should count it. It actually became the most important room in the apartment once our son was asleep. His bedtime was 7pm. His bed was my bed, a single size bed. My husband’s bed was the lumpy not pull out couch that came with the apartment. I hung a sheet between the bed and the couch for a room divider. The stove and a table were on the other side of the couch.

The bathroom was the most spacious room available to us. Our apartment was a chopped up house the first floor of which was ours, the second floor, someone else’s. So that is where we hung out in the evenings after our son went to bed, sitting on the cold hard linoleum floor of the bathroom. Becoming parents pushed some certain other night time adult activities to the wayside anyway. Remember that (maybe) sleeping child ten feet away on the other side of a thin door and an even thinner curtain? We have always liked watching movies together though. It’s been some of our most treasured adult time together since our son was born. Once he was born we started watching our movies at a low volume with the subtitles on, so no big changes in volume were necessary with this new miniscule living arrangement in which we found ourselves (thank god!) briefly.

So we layered blankets and pillows on the floor between the sink and the tub and set up the computer. Thank you Netflix for streaming movies! And we settled down every night around 8pm or so to watch a movie together. You know, it sounds romantic, doesn’t it? Maybe without a toddler in the next room; he wasn’t a good sleeper yet. Maybe without the stress and anxiety my husband and I both felt over starting a new life in a new place with new people and a new job. Maybe without all of those things it would have actually been really sweet and romantic.

Alright, rose colored glasses are on now. I guess it was pretty romantic. Every night we picked out a movie and snuggled on the floor together to watch it. So movies were our go to activity. Actually that’s still true, even in our house now, four years later, with a five year old who almost always sleeps 12 hours. And guess what, even with our son asleep on the second floor, and us watching our movie in the basement, all the stairs, doors and walls between us, we still use the subtitles every time.

Chapter Two: Legend of the Lost Sandwich

Mommy brain is real my friends! You know the thing about putting your keys in the fridge? So many new moms, and dads, too; let’s be honest here, amidst the fog of very little sleep and the constant needs of a newborn, we forget things - all the time. But unfortunately for those of you in the thick of the newborn time who desperately want me to say that it does get better…well…it doesn’t. My kid was almost five when this happened to me. And now, six months later, I still have no clue what really happened.

It is a beautiful summer day: Hot, sunny, a light breeze. It is the perfect day to pack a picnic and go to the beach! To make up for eight months of winter, the upper peninsula of Michigan (usually) gives us two to three warm golden months of absolute paradise. Mid August and/or early September on the beaches of Lake Superior are heavenly. Worth it! So we are loading up the car, making tons of trips back and forth in and out of the house, in and out of the car. Did you put the life jackets for the canoe in the trunk? Where’s the sunscreen? What does everyone want for lunch? Of course, I am making the sandwiches and packing the cooler with snacks and goodies for a day at the beach.

Please, picture this with me now. My son has requested a peanut butter sandwich on raisin bread, which is apparently delicious and he has mostly survived on this staple for most of his real food eating life so far. I have prepared a delicious turkey and toasted cheese with basil and spicy mayo on white bread for myself – god that is the best sandwich combination I can imagine! My mouth waters just thinking and writing about it. My husband, who doesn’t care for lunch meat or peanut butter sandwiches (and what on earth was done to him as a child to make him not like a good turkey and cheese on white?!) has only pretzels and chips to tide him through the day. Fine.

Anyway, I digress. So I have now finished making the sandwiches. The waters, juice boxes and pop cans are safely covered in ice in the bottom of the cooler; other various snacky things are layered on top. Now here is where I want you to really pay attention. Maybe you will catch something I missed. The cooler is the last thing that needs to make it into the car. Even the kid is strapped in safely and ready to go. I put each sandwich in a zip top baggie. I walk across the kitchen with a sandwich in each hand. I shift both sandwiches into one hand and wrench up the lid of the cooler. I put the sandwiches down on top of everything and close the lid. I carry the cooler to the car and put it in the trunk. Still with me?

Fast forward about two hours. After an hour’s car ride in the heat and then a lot of unpacking and reorganizing our stuff once we find the perfect section of beach, it is lunch time!! I am SO ready for that sandwich. That sandwich is my reward for a hectic morning. That sandwich is my excuse to relax for a few minutes because it is lunch time so no I will not carry the hundredth bucket of water up from the lake for you to the puddle you are making next to my feet!

Guess whose sandwich is NOT in the cooler…I will give you a hint. Our son is lounging happily beside me, basking in the sun, and holding, you guessed it, his beloved peanut butter on raisin bread. Luckily we met up with some friends who took pity on me and shared their sandwiches with me. I was crushed, utterly mystified. I searched the cooler, the car, every bag we had with us on the sand. I searched the path we took from the car to the beach. When we got home I cleaned the car down to the carpeting – our car was never so clean as it was after that day! I searched the garage. I searched the kitchen. I checked the toaster oven to see if I left the cheese and bread melting in there. I am guilty of doing that on occasion. I never found the sandwich. If it didn’t fall out of the cooler somehow at the beach and make an amazing banquet dinner for some very lucky sea gulls, then I sure as hell hope I never find it here at home!!

Chapter Three: Picky Eater’s Paradise – Why is the Peanut Butter Gone?

“Mommy, I wish I still liked cheese sticks!” – Mikey, 5 years old

“Me too, buddy, me too” – his very frustrated mother

When he was a baby my son ate whatever we gave him. His first year and a half of life made me think that I was going to be THAT parent. The one all other parents envy: the one with the kid who eats anything and everything. He loved the typical baby foods. Any kind of mush was good with him: fruit, veggies, even the pureed meats that smell gross to me were ok with him. When he was a little older all I had to do to get him to eat something was mash it up and call it oatmeal. He would eat “oatmeal” all freakin’ day. He loved finger foods of any kind. My baby was a GOOD eater!!

His first taste of real food at about six months old was a crust of pizza. Perhaps this was a mistake. Is this where the carbaholics/carbivores are born? I will also admit to bribing with him a corn chip at 9months. He wanted to eat one; I wanted him to walk. We both got what we wanted. Did I give him the salty tooth? This kid loves chips and salsa now, still does by the way. Sigh. Anyway, after the taste of pizza he stopped liking the mushy stuff. I was blissfully unsuspecting as to what was yet to come. This was consistent with my experience with older babies and my understanding of the normal progression of things. My son does still eat actual oatmeal once in a while at five years old.

So we stopped buying baby foods and spending hours pureeing and freezing stuff, and began to give him small tastes of whatever we had on our plates. Success!! He ate spicy lamb curry, chicken soup, hamburger, pasta with pesto, cheese of ANY kind, applesauce of any flavor (I guess a few of the mushy items still lingered) you name it he ate it. Meals were a breeze, no power struggles, no problems; we had no issues at all. When we went to restaurants we ordered him side dishes of real food or just fed him off of our plates then too. Oh my gosh this kid was a good eater!!!

When he was about twelve months old I gave him peanut butter. I love peanut butter and ate it all the time before, during and after pregnancy. He was exclusively breast fed his first six months, so he got the peanut butter indirectly earlier than a year old also. But oh boy was I nervous to give him peanut butter. He loved it!! I watched him closely, and thankfully no issues materialized. So I made him peanut butter sandwiches for lunch almost every day from then on. This may also have been a mistake. Since then, with the only very occasional jelly added, a different variety of bread, or some other food entirely for lunch, his midday meal is always a sandwich of peanut butter on raisin bread. He is a creature of habit like his momma. Nowadays I get major anxiety when my son says he doesn’t want a peanut butter sandwich for lunch.

…And then at 18 months the issues began…green food was no longer acceptable, with the ONE exception of pesto; so guess who puts spinach in every batch now? Raw foods were no longer ok. If anything crunched it could crunch its way right into the trash as far as he was concerned. He stopped eating anything mushy, so no more obvious easy go to breakfasts of oatmeal for him. Unless it was applesauce, that was, and still is, a winner and the only way he happily ingests fruit. All other fruit was only acceptable if he picked them off the bushes himself and gorged on berries right then and there. Unless it was an apple, which had to be peeled of all horrible, nasty, crunchy, skin, then that was ok – but only sometimes. Everything had to be deconstructed; now I know this is fairly normal for this age, but soups and stews and curries, all favorites in my house became very difficult. Now he could see that they contained vegetables! NNNNNNNOOOOOOOOO!! Cue the toddler drama.

And cheese. Oh. My. God. This kid used to eat four cheese sticks a day if I let him. Around 4 years old he stopped eating cheese absolutely cold turkey. One day seriously four cheese sticks. The next, I turned into an insane idiot alien when I asked if he wanted a cheese stick with his lunch. NOPE. Done. Forever. No more cheese, unless it was a grilled cheese or boxed macaroni and cheese at a restaurant; concessions could be made and dinner would be eaten with a minimum of fuss. Making grilled cheese or mac and cheese at home was totally unacceptable. My husband and I DO not like American cheese and thus do not cook with it AT ALL at home. So many restaurants do, sometimes we are surprised to be asked “real or boxed?” when we go out to eat. So no plans for grilled cheese or mac and cheese at our house have ever worked out as a no-fuss dinner.

At five and a half years old, my son is still VERY picky. Pasta is always ok. Lamb curry is usually good. Chicken tenders are a nice change up. Veggies are a complete zero, except spinach in pesto. Fruit is always no except ocasionally apples and strawberries, or banana flavor "apple sauce".

Let’s break this down and see if I can find some rhyme or reason to all of this food insanity.

We have fruit and vegetables of all kinds in our house all the time. Now I love fruit and veggies of many different types. I enjoy them prepared many different ways, or plain and raw is good with me too. So that stuff is always around. I hate oranges and bananas, otherwise it’s good with me. Lima beans, Brussels sprouts and kale (sorry to my kale loving friends) are pretty much the only veggies that make me gag. My husband doesn’t eat fruit at all and only eats veggies in soups, stews, and curries. Now you see why those are on the menu at my house all the time. Broccoli is the only vegetable he won’t touch in any form. So not being exposed to fruits and vegetables can’t be the reason.

He is almost 10 years old now and the only other food he happily eats regularly for lunch is a cheese quesadilla. What the heck will I feed him if he stops eating those?! I have honestly no clue at all.