I’ve been in a food fight with my youngest son for 16-1/2 years. We battle about his food choices on the daily (I preach protein and fiber with every meal), but I’ve finally thrown in the towel on two fronts: school lunch and pre/post-game rituals.
As an infant, O had reflux, which was difficult for both of us. When he moved on to baby food, I thought we had turned a corner because not only did he not spit everything up (all over me), he ate savory vegetables, like peas and carrots, just as readily as he ate sweeter options, like bananas and applesauce.
As a toddler, O graduated to the typical “kid-approved” favorites of pizza and chicken nuggets, but he also ate lots of grilled and baked chicken, and he loved my turkey meatballs. That was his favorite. So much so that when he was 3 or 4, for six straight months, that’s all he’d eat. Turkey meatballs. EVERY NIGHT. He also only ate two vegetables: green beans and broccoli tops. Odd choices, given that they aren’t the sweetest options in the vegetable family, but at least he was getting his greens. Nowadays, green vegetables are a fight. (I don’t count lettuce, FYI.)
Don’t get me wrong: he’s not a kid who only eats “white food” like plain pasta, chicken nuggets, and fries. [Although, if you offer him Chick-fil-A, he’s not turning it down; same with a cheesesteak.] He actually eats some things that kind of surprise me, like grilled salmon and risotto, chicken stir fry, and beef stew. But he has a huge sweet tooth, and he only eats one fruit at a time. It used to be melon. Then grapes. Then bananas. Then apples. It’s still apples, but at some point — probably after I buy a bushel — he’ll decide he doesn’t like apples anymore. Like he did with melon, grapes, and bananas. And then I’m screwed.
The same is true with vegetables, which is why I still purée different ones into different recipes. Unlike years ago when he was little, now I don’t hide the fact that I do it, and he’s fine with it — as long as he doesn’t see, feel, or taste the squash, zucchini, or other vegetables I’m adding in. That’s all, no biggie! [Insert sarcastic tone here.]
To me, this is frustrating AF. To my mom, it’s karmic AF. You see, I was a picky eater as a kid, and now I have a kid who’s a picky eater.
Well played, universe. Well played.
Growing up, just like O, if I didn’t like the way food looked, smelled, or felt, I wasn’t having it. And just like O, I, too, only ate one thing at a time. One summer, it was hamburgers on the grill; never a hot dog. The next summer, only hot dogs; don’t even think about offering me a hamburger. The same went with vegetables; only the broccoli tops, never the bottoms (which I wrote about a while back, here) one year, and then I switched to green beans, but only the frozen, short, cut kind. Annoying AF, for sure, for my mom … Sorry about that, Gracie Sue.
But the best example of my pickiness came during elementary school lunch. Back when I was in the second and third grades, I would only eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. [This was the late ’70s/early ’80s, and peanut allergies weren’t a thing back then.] The problem was, I didn’t like how the sandwich got all mushy by the time I ate it. Being a clever kid, I convinced my best friend, Sharon, to bring only peanut butter sandwiches to school, and I brought only jelly sandwiches. Then we’d swap one piece of bread so we each had our own PB&J sandwich. Genius!
The next year, I took it up a notch (to overcome the mismatched bread issue that became my newest complaint): I had my mother pack all the ingredients separately in my metal, cartoon lunchbox*: two pieces of bread (probably wrapped in foil or plastic — again, it was the early ’80s), one small Tupperware of creamy peanut butter, one small Tupperware of grape jelly, and a plastic knife. At lunchtime, I would spread everything out in front of me and assemble my own, fresh PB&J.
I can see now how high-maintenance I was as a kid. Oy!
*SIDE NOTE: I’ve been racking my brain, trying to remember what kind of lunchbox I had during this time. For the life of me, I cannot remember, and neither can my mother (no surprise there), my sister, or my above-mentioned, PB&J-sharing best friend, Sharon. But I think it must have been something like The Smurfs, Strawberry Shortcake, or The Muppets. Maybe Charlie’s Angels, but I think that came in fourth grade.
At 50, I still have a lot of issues around food. As a person with an autoimmune disease, I need to eat a very clean and limited diet to avoid flare-ups. Needless to say, no more PB&Js for me, among other things.
Unfortunately, I’ve been known to project that food stress onto my family. As a result, I’m a bit of a hardass when it comes to getting my kids to eat three well-balanced meals a day. But as I’ve aged and my kids have grown up, I’ve come to know that there’s only so much I can do. At 19 and 16 now, my boys aren’t babies anymore. They make their own decisions, and more often than not, they’re going to choose the cookies over the apple, or the cheesesteak over the grilled chicken and broccoli … and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I know I have to pick my battles, and this year, I finally decided that school lunch and O’s pre/post-game candy ritual are not hills I’m willing to die on. Sure, the kid eats a gallon of ice cream a week and goes through Lifesavers like they’re … well, candy, but I also know he has a healthy breakfast and dinner each day because I make it for him.
So if lunch is less nutritious than I’d like, so be it. At least he says he takes the salad or raw veggies (i.e., carrots) with the combo meal each day. Whether or not he actually eats it, rather than just takes it, is up for debate. [He is a very literal kid, just like me.]
I’m not exactly ready to wave the white flag entirely in the great food debate, but I think the fight is over and it’s more like a cold war now. Maybe we’ll even reach a détente before he leaves for college in another year and a half.
A mom can dream.
-LJDT
